"Oh, that's all right," wheezed the trainer. "As long as you didn't spill her out, she'll be back." "Well, what is it?" "I had a stomach-laugh slipped to me just now." He began to shake. "So you broke up my tete-a-tete to tell me a funny story?" "Listen here. These cowboys have got you touted for a foot- runner." This time Glass laughed aloud, hoarsely. "They have framed a race with a ginny down the block." "All right, I'll run." Mr. Glass's face abruptly fell into solemn lines. "Quit your kiddin', Wally; you couldn't run a hundred yards in twenty minutes. These guys are on the level. They've sent General Garcia over to cook it." "Yes. The race comes off in ten days." Glass allowed his mouth to drop open and his little eyes to peer forth in startled amazement. "Then it's true? I guess this climate is too much for you," he said. "When did you feel this comin' on?" Speed laughed. "I know what I'm doing." With an effort at restraint, the trainer inquired: "What's the idea?" "I'll tell you how it came up, Larry. I--I'm very fond of Miss Blake. That's why I broke the record getting out here as soon as I was invited. Well, she believes, from something I said--one of those odd moments, you know--that I'm a great athlete, and she told those cowboys that I'd gladly put on my spiked shoes and carry their colors to victory. You've heard about the phonograph?" Glass smiled wearily. "I can't hear nothing else. The gang is daffy on grand opera." "When I was accused of being an athlete I couldn't deny it, could I?" "I see. You was stringin' the gal, and she called you, eh?" "I wouldn't express it in quite those terms. I may have exaggerated my abilities slightly." Glass laughed. "She is such a great admirer of athletics, it was quite natural. Any man would have done the same. She got me committed in front of the cowboys, and I had to accept--or be a quitter." Glass nodded appreciatively. "All the same," said he, "you've got more nerve than a burglar. How you goin' to side-step?" "I made the match for an 'unknown.'" Speed winked. "Covington will be here in a day or two. I'll wire him to hurry up. Fortunately I brought a lot of athletic clothes with me, so I'll go into training under your direction. When Covington gets here I'll let _him_ run." The fat man sighed with relief. "Now I'm hep. I was afraid you'd try to go through with it." "Hardly. I'll sprain an ankle, or something. She'll be there with the sympathy. See? Covington will run the race; the cowboys will get their phonograph; and I'll get--well, if I can beat out this Native Son tenor singer, I'll invite you to the wedding. There wasn't any other way out." Glass mopped his brow. "You had me wingin' for a while, but I plugged your game with the cowboys. Pawnee Bill and his Congress of Rough Riders think you're a cyclone." "It's the first chance I ever had to wear that silk running-suit. Who knows, maybe I _can_ run!"