"Rot, Larry! You played into Fresno's hands deliberately! Now I've got to spend my evenings in bed while he sits in the hammock and sings _Dearie_." He shook his head gloomily. "Who knows what may happen?" "It will do you good to get some sleep, Wally." "But I don't want to sleep!" cried the exasperated suitor. "I want to make love. Do you think I came all the way from New York to sleep? I can do that at Yale." "Take it from me, Bo, you've got plenty of time to win that dame. Eight hours is a workin' day anywhere." "My dear fellow, the union hours for courting don't begin until 9 P.M. I've got myself into a fine mess, haven't I? Just when Night spreads her sable mantle and Dan Cupid strings up his bow, I must forsake my lady-love and crawl into the hay. Oh, you're a good trainer!" "You'd better can some of this love-talk and think more about foot-racin'." "It can't be done! Nine o'clock! The middle of the afternoon. It's rather funny, though, isn't it?" Speed was not the sort to cherish even a real grievance for any considerable time. "If it had happened to anybody else I'd laugh myself sick." Glass chuckled. "The whole thing is a hit. Look at this joint, for instance." He took in their surroundings with a comprehensive gesture. "It looks about as much like a gymnasium as I look like a contortionist. Why don't you get a Morris chair and a mandolin?" "There are two reasons," said Speed, facetiously. "First, it takes an athlete to get out of a Morris chair; and, second, a mandolin has proved to be many a young man's ruin." Glass examined the bow of ribbon upon the lonesome piece of exercising apparatus. "It looks like the trainin'-stable for the Colonial Dames. What a yelp this place would be to Covington or any other athlete." "It is not an athletic gymnasium." Speed smiled as he lighted a cigarette. "It is a romantic gymnasium. As Socrates once observed--" "Socrates! I'm hep to him," Glass interrupted, quickly. "I trained a Greek professor once and got wised up on all that stuff. Socrates was the--the Hemlock Kid." "Exactly! As Socrates, the Hemlock Kid, deftly put it, '_In hoc signature vintage_.'" "I don't get you." "That is archaic Scandinavian, and, translated, means, 'Love cannot thrive without her bower.'" "No answer to that telegram yet, eh?" "Hardly time." "Better wire Covington again, hadn't you? Mebbe he didn't get it?" "I promised Mrs. Keap that I would, but--" Speed lost himself abruptly in speculation, for he did not know exactly how to manage this unexpected complication. Of one thing only was he certain: it would require some thought. "Say, Wally, suppose Covington don't come?" "Then I shall sprain my ankle," said the other. "Hello! What in the world--" Still Bill Stover and Willie came into the room carrying an armful of lumber. Behind them followed Carara with a huge wooden tub, and Cloudy rolling a kerosene barrel. "Where do you want it, gents?" inquired the foreman. "Where do we want what?"