"I'm pretty near through. There! Now get up and dress," ordered
the trainer, who, pushing his way out through the blankets,
halted at sight of the onlookers.
"How is he?" demanded Stover.
"He--he's trained to the minute. I'm doin' my share, gents."
"Sounds that way," acknowledged Stover's companion. "Say, does it
look like we'd win?"
"Well, he just breezed a mile in forty, with his mouth open."
"A mile?" Fresno queried.
"Yes, a regular mile--seven thousand five hundred and thirty
feet."
"Is 'forty' good?" queried Willie.
"Good? Why, Salvator never worked no faster. Here he is now--look
for yourselves."
Speed appeared, partly clad, and glowing with a rich salmon pink.
"Good-morning," said Fresno politely. "I came in to see how you
liked the cold water."
"So that was one of your California jokes, eh? Well, I'll--"
Speed moved ominously in the direction of the tenor, but Willie
checked him.
"We put the ice in that bar'l, Mr. Speed."
"You!"
Willie and Stover nodded.
"Then let me tell you I expect to have pneumonia from that bath.
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