It seemed to Speed that he had barely closed his eyes when he felt a rough hand shaking him, and heard his trainer's voice calling, in a half-whisper: "Come on, Cull! Get up!" When he turned over it was only to be shaken into complete wakefulness. "Hurry up, it's daylight!" "Where?" "Come, now, you got to run five miles before breakfast!" Speed sat up with a groan. "If I run five miles," he said, "I won't want any breakfast," and laid himself down again gratefully--he was very sore--whereat his companion fairly dragged him out of bed. As yet the room was black, although the windows were grayed by the first faint streaks of dawn. From the adjoining room came a chorus of distress: snores of every size, volume, and degree of intensity, from the last harrowing gasp of strangulation to the bold trumpetings of a bull moose. There were long drawn sighs, groans of torture, rumbling blasts. Speed shuddered. "They sound like a troop of trained sea-lions," said he. "Don't wake 'em up. Here!" Glass yawned widely, and tossed a bundle of sweaters at his companion. "Ugh! These clothes are all wet and cold, and--it feels like blood!" "Nothin' but the mornin' dew." "It's perspiration." "Well, a little sweat won't hurt you." "Nasty word." Speed yawned in turn. "Perspiration! I can't wear wet clothes," and would have crept back into his bed. This time Glass deposited him upon a stool beside the table, and then lighted a candle, by the sickly glare of which he selected a pair of running-shoes. "Why didn't you leave me alone?" grumbled the younger man. "The only pleasure I get is in sleep--I forget things then." "Yes," retorted the former, sarcastically, "and you also seem to forget that these are our last days among the living. Saturday the big thing comes off." "Forget! I dreamed about it!" The boy sighed heavily. It was the hour in which hope reaches its lowest ebb and vitality is weakest. He was very cold and very miserable. "You ain't got no edge on me," the other acknowledged, mournfully. "I'm too young to die, and that's a bet." Suddenly the pandemonium in the bunk-house was pierced by the brazen jangle of an alarm-clock, whereat a sleepy voice cried: "Cloudy, kill that damn clock!"