"What's the difference if you're astraddle of a cloud with a gold guitar in your lap?" "Oh, they won't _kill_ us." "I tell you these cow-persons is desp'rate. If you stay here and run that race next Saturday, she'll tiptoe up on Sunday and put a rose in your hand, sure. I can see her now, all in black. Take it from me, Wally, we ain't goin' to have no luck in this thing." "My dear fellow, the simplest way out of the difficulty is for me to injure myself--" "Here!" Glass hopped to his feet and dove through the blankets. "None of that! Have a little regard for me. If you go lame it's my curtain." All that day the trainer stayed close to his charge, never allowing him out of his sight, and when, late in the afternoon, Speed rebelled at the espionage, Glass merely shrugged his fat shoulders. "But I want to be alone--with _her_. Can't you see?" "I can, but I won't. Go as far as you like. I'll close my eyes." "Or _I'll_ close them for you!" The lad scowled; his companion laughed mirthlessly. "Don't start nothin' like that--I'd ruin you. Gals is bad for a man in trainin' anyhow." "I suppose I'm not to see her--" "You can _see_ her, but I want to hear what you say to her. No emotion till after this race, Wally." "You're an idiot! This whole affair is preposterous--ridiculous." "And yet it don't make us laugh, does it?" Glass mocked. "If these cowboys make me run that race, they'll be sorry--mark my words, they'll be sorry." Speed lighted a cigarette and inhaled deeply, but only once. The other lunged at him with a cry and snatched it. "Give me that cigarette!" "I've had enough of this foolishness," Wally stormed. "You are discharged!" "I wish I was." "You are!" "_Not!_" "I say you are fired!" Glass stared at him. "Oh, I mean it! I won't be bullied." "Very well." Glass rose ponderously. "I'll wise up that queen of yours, Mr. Speed." "You aren't going to talk to Miss Blake? Wait!" Speed wilted miserably. "She mustn't know. I--I hire you over again." "Suit yourself." "You see, don't you? My love for Helen is the only serious thing I ever experienced," said the boy. "I--can't lose her. You've got to help me out." And so it was agreed. That evening, when the clock struck nine, J. Wallingford Speed was ready and willing to drag himself off to bed, in spite of the knowledge that Fresno was waiting to take his place in the hammock. He was racked by a thousand pains, his muscles were sore, his back lame. He was consumed by a thirst which Glass stoutly refused to let him quench, and possessed by a fearful longing for a smoke. When he dozed off, regardless of the snores from the bunk-house adjoining, Berkeley Fresno's musical tenor was sounding in his ears. And Helen Blake was vaguely surprised. For the first time in their acquaintance Mr. Speed had yawned openly in her presence, and she wondered if he were tiring of her.