" Speed turned to behold his trainer ravenously
devouring the cake, and dashed to its rescue.
"It's heavier than a frog full of buckshot. You won't like it,
Cul."
"It's perfectly delicious!" came the choking answer.
"Then get back of them curtains. Willie'd shoot on sight."
All that morning the prisoner idled about the premises, followed
at a distance by his guard. Wherever he went he seemed to see the
sun flash defiance from the polished surface of those lenses, and
while he was allowed a certain liberty, he knew full well that
this espionage would never cease, night or day, until--what? He
could not bear to read the future; anything seemed possible. Time
and again he cursed that spirit of braggadocio, that thoughtless
lack of moral scruple, which had led him into this predicament.
He vowed that he was done with false pretences; henceforth the
strictest probity should be his. No more false poses. Praise won
by dissimulation and deceit was empty, anyhow, and did he escape
this once, henceforth the world should know J. Wallingford Speed
for what he was--an average individual, with no uncommon gifts of
mind or body, courage or ability.
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