I--I hire you over again."
"Suit yourself."
"You see, don't you? My love for Helen is the only serious thing
I ever experienced," said the boy. "I--can't lose her. You've got
to help me out."
And so it was agreed.
That evening, when the clock struck nine, J. Wallingford Speed
was ready and willing to drag himself off to bed, in spite of the
knowledge that Fresno was waiting to take his place in the
hammock. He was racked by a thousand pains, his muscles were
sore, his back lame. He was consumed by a thirst which Glass
stoutly refused to let him quench, and possessed by a fearful
longing for a smoke. When he dozed off, regardless of the snores
from the bunk-house adjoining, Berkeley Fresno's musical tenor
was sounding in his ears. And Helen Blake was vaguely surprised.
For the first time in their acquaintance Mr. Speed had yawned
openly in her presence, and she wondered if he were tiring of
her.
It seemed to Speed that he had barely closed his eyes when he
felt a rough hand shaking him, and heard his trainer's voice
calling, in a half-whisper: "Come on, Cull! Get up!"
When he turned over it was only to be shaken into complete
wakefulness.
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