"Then I shall do my part." And Mrs. Keap, who could not bear deception, turned and went indoors while J. Wallingford Speed, a prey to sundry misgivings, stumbled down the steps, his head in a whirl. CHAPTER VII Berkeley Fresno was devoting himself to Miss Blake. "What do you think of our decorations?" she inquired. "They are more or less athletic," he declared. "Was it Mr. Speed's idea?" "Yes. He wanted training-quarters." "It's a joke, isn't it?" "I don't think so. Mr. Fresno, why do you dislike Mr. Speed?" Fresno bent a warm glance upon the questioner. "Don't you know?" Helen shook her head with bland innocence. "Then you _do_ dislike him?" "No, indeed! _I_ like him--he makes me laugh." Helen bridled loyally. "Did you see those medals he wore yesterday?" the young man queried. "Of course, and I thought them beautiful." "How were they inscribed? He wouldn't let me examine them." "Naturally. If I had trophies like that I would guard them too." Fresno nodded, musingly. "I gave mine away." "Oh, are you an athlete?" "No, but I timed a foot-race once. They gave me a beautiful nearly-bronze emblem so that I could get into the infield." "And did you win?" "No! no! I didn't run! Don't you understand? I was an official." Fresno was vexed at the girl's lack of perception. "I'm not an athlete, Miss Blake. I'm just an ordinary sort of a chap." He led her to a seat, while Jean enlisted the aid of Larry Glass and completed the finishing touches to the decorations. "Athletics don't do a fellow any good after he leaves college. I'm going into business this fall. Have you ever been to California?" Miss Blake admitted that she had never been so far, and Fresno launched himself upon a glowing description of his native State; but before he could shape the conversation to a point where his hearer might perchance express a desire to see its wonders, Still Bill Stover thrust his head cautiously through the door to the bunk-house, and allowed an admiring eye to rove over the transformation. "Looks like a bazaar!" he exclaimed. "What's the idea?" "Trainin'-quarters," said Glass. "Mr. Speed goin' to _live_ here?" inquired the foreman, bringing the remainder of his lanky body into view. "No, indeed," Jean corrected, "he will merely use this room to train in." "How do you train in a room?" Stover asked her. "Why, you--just train, I suppose." Miss Chapin turned to Glass. "How does a person train in a room?" "Why, he--just trains, that's all. A guy can't train without trainin'-quarters, can he?" "We thought it would make a nice gymnasium," offered Miss Blake. "Looks like business." Stover's admiration was keen. "I rode over to Gallagher's place last night and laid our bets." "How much have you wagered?" asked Fresno. "More'n we can afford to lose." "But you aren't going to lose," Miss Blake said, enthusiastically. "I got Gallagher to play some records for me." "_Silas on Fifth Avenue?_"