"I don't care. They can boil me in oil--I won't let her think I'm
a coward."
"Larry doesn't have to stay."
"Of course not. He can escape."
"Not a chance," said the trainer. "They watch me closer 'n they
do him."
Covington considered for a moment. "It certainly looks bad, but
perhaps the other fellow can't run either. Who is he?"
"A cook named Skinner."
"Happy name! Well, two-thirds of a sprint is in the start. How
does Wally get in motion, Lawrence?"
"Like a sacred ox." Glass could not conceal his contempt.
"I'll give him some pointers; it will all help." But Speed was
nervous and awkward--so awkward, in fact, that the coach finally
gave it up as a bad job, saying:
"It's no use, Wally, you've got fool feet."
"I have, eh? Well, I didn't break them getting out of jail."
"The less said about that jail the better. I'm in trouble
myself."
Speed might have explained that his chum's dilemma was by no
means so serious as he imagined, had not watchman Willie thrust
his head through the open window at that moment with the remark:
"Time to get busy!"
"We'll be right with you!" Glass seized his protege by the arm
and bore him away, muttering: "Stick it out, brother, we're
nearin' the end!"
Again Speed donned his running-suit and took to the road for his
farewell practise.
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