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Beach, Rex Ellingwood, 1877-1949

"Going Some"

Speed.
Come on, Mr. Fresno, and give us a hand. We'll bring it in."
"It's a present!" exclaimed the athlete, brightly, when the three
had gone out. "They seem more friendly this morning."
"Yes!" Glass laughed, mirthlessly. "They think you're going to
win."
"Well, how do you know I can't win? You never saw this cook run."
"I don't have to; I've seen you."
"Just the same, I'm in pretty good shape. Maybe I could run if I
really tried."
"Send yourself along, Kid. It won't harm you none." The speaker
fanned himself, and took a seat in the cosey-corner.
"Ah! Here they come, bearing gifts." Speed rose in pleased
expectancy. "I wonder what it can be?"
The three who had just left re-entered the room, carrying a tray-
load of thick railroad crockery.
"We've brought your breakfast to you," explained Stover. "We'd
like you to eat alone till after the race." Still Bill began to
whittle what appeared to be a blood-rare piece of flesh, while
Willie awkwardly arranged the dishes.
"You want me to _eat_ as well as sleep here?"
"Exactly.


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