When they had gone, Miss Blake clapped her hands. "I'm so excited!" she exclaimed. "You see, it's all my doings! Oh, how I adore athletes!" "Most young girls do," Fresno smiled, sourly. "My taste runs more to music." After a moment's meditation, he observed: "Speed doesn't look like a sprinter to me. I--I'll wager he can't do a hundred yards in fifteen-two." "'Fifteen-two' is cribbage," said Miss Blake. "Fifteen and two-fifths seconds is what I mean." "Is that fast?" Fresno smiled, indulgently this time. "Jean's friend Covington can go the distance in nine and four-fifths seconds. He's a real sprinter. I think this fellow is a joke." "Indeed he is _not!_ If Mr. Covington can run as fast as that, Mr. Speed can run faster. He told me so." "Oh!" Fresno looked at her curiously. "The world's record is nine and _three_-fifths; that's the limit of human endurance." "I hope he doesn't injure himself," breathed the girl, and the tenor wandered away, disgusted beyond measure. When he was out of hearing, he remarked, aloud: "I'll bet he runs so slow we'll have to wind a stop-watch on him. Anyhow, I think I'll find out something more about this race." Once in his room, Mr. J. Wallingford Speed made a search for writing materials, while Larry Glass overhauled a trunk filled with athletic clothing of various descriptions. There were running-suits, rowing-suits, baseball and football suits, sweaters, jerseys, and bath robes--all of which were new and unstained. At the bottom Glass discovered a box full of bronze and near-gold emblems. "Here's your medals," said he. "Good! I'll wear them." "Nix! You can't do that. Those gals will get wise." He selected one, and read on the reverse side. "Clerk of the course"; another was engraved "Starter." All were official badges of some sort or other. "You always were strong on the 'Reception Committee' stuff. There's six of them," said he. Speed pointed to the bureau. "Try a nail-file. See if you can't scratch off the lettering. How's this?" He read what he had written for the wire. "'Culver Covington, and so forth. Come quick. First train. Native Son making love to Jean.--Wally.' Ten words, and it tells the whole story. I can hardly explain why I want him, can I? He expects to stop off in Omaha for a day or two, but he'll be under way in an hour after he gets this. I hate to spoil his little visit, but he can take that in on his way home. Now I'll ring for somebody, and have this taken over to the station by the first wagon." "Say, you better scratch this Fresno," said Larry. "Why?" "He's hep to you." "Nonsense!" Glass looked up at a sound, to discover Mariedetta, the Mexican maid, who had come in answer to Speed's call. "In the doorway'" the trainer said, under his breath. "Pipe the Cuban Queen!" "You call?" inquired Mariedetta of the younger man. "Yes, I want this telegram to go to the depot as soon as possible."