"Nix, now! Don't kid yourself too far. This thing is funny enough as it stands." "Oh, I dare say it looks like a joke to you, but it doesn't to me, Larry. If I don't marry that girl, I--I'll go off my balance, that's all, and I'm not going to overlook any advantage whatever. Fresno sings love-songs, and he's got a mint of money. Well, I'm going to work this athletic pose to death. I'm going into training, I'm going to talk, eat, sleep, live athletics for a week, and when I'm unexpectedly crippled on the eve of the race, it is going to break my heart. Understand! I am going to be so desperately disappointed that I'll have to choose between suicide and marriage. The way I feel now, I think I'll choose marriage. But you must help." "Leave it to me, Bo!" "In the first place, I want some training-quarters." "That's right, don't be a piker." "And I want you to boost." "I'm there! When do we begin?" "Right away. Unpack my running-suit and rub some dirt on it--it's too new. I think I'll limber up, and let her get a look at the clothes." "It's a bright idea; but don't let these animal-trainers see you run, or the stuff will be cold in a minute." "Fine! We'll have secret practice! That suits me perfectly." Speed laughed with joy. From inside the house came the strains of _Dearie_, sung in a sympathetic tenor, and upon the conclusion Berkeley Fresno's voice inquiring: "Miss Blake, did I ever tell you about the time I sang _Dearie_ to the mayor's daughter in Walla Walla?" Miss Blake appeared on the gallery with her musical admirer at her elbow. "Yes," said she, sweetly. "You told me all about the mayor's daughter a week ago." Then spying Speed and his companion, she exclaimed: "Mr. Fresno has a fine voice, hasn't he? He sings with the Stanford Glee Club." "Indeed." "Sure!" The Native Son of the Golden West shook up a hammock- cushion for the girl. "Tenor!" said he, sententiously. "Say no more," Speed remarked; "it's all right with us!" Fresno looked up. "What's wrong with my singing?" "Oh, I've just told the girls that you're going to run that foot- race," Helen interposed, hurriedly, at which Fresno exploded. "What's wrong with my running?" inquired Speed. "I can beat you!" Larry Glass nudged his employer openly, and seemed on the verge of hysteria. "Let him go," said he. "Let him go; he's funny." Speed addressed Helen, with a magnanimous smile: "Suppose we allow Frez to _sing_ this foot-race? We'll pull it off in the treble cleff." "Oh, I mean it!" maintained the tenor, stubbornly. "I don't want to run Skinner, the cook, but I'll run you to see who does meet him." Speed shrugged his shoulders indulgently. "I'm afraid you're a little overweight." "I'll train down." "Perhaps if you wait until I beat this cook, I'll take you on." Glass broke out, in husky indignation: "Sure! Get a rep, Cull, get a rep!" Then to his employer: "Come on, Wally, you've got to warm up." He mounted the steps heavily with his protege.