The cowboys bathe me in ice-water to toughen
me, and feed me raw meat to make me wild. In every corner there
lurks an assassin with orders to shoot me if I break training,
every where I go some low-browed criminal feels my biceps,
pinches my legs, and asks how my wind is. I tell you, I'm going
mad."
"And the worst part of it is," spoke Glass, sympathetically,
"they'll bump me off first. It's a pipe."
"But, Wally, you can't run."
"Don't I know it?"
"Don't _I_?" seconded the trainer.
"Then why attempt the impossible? Call the race off."
"It's too late. Don't you understand? The bets are made, and its
'pay or play.' The cowboys have mortgaged their souls on me."
"He was makin' a play for that little doll--"
"Don't you call Miss Blake a doll, Larry! I won't stand for it!"
"Well, 'skirt,' then."
"Why don't you cut it? There's a train East at midnight."
"And leave Helen--like that? Her faith in me has weakened
already; she'd hate me if I did that. No! I've got to face it
out!"
"They'll be singin' hymns for both of us," predicted the fat man.
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