"You and she are old friends, I believe?" Helen interposed. "_Yes!_ Oh yes!" Culver flashed his chum a look of dumb entreaty, but Speed was staring round-eyed into space, striving to read the future. Helen started to fetch her just as the pallid chaperon was entering the door. She shook hands with Covington. She observed that he was too deeply affected at sight of her to speak, and it awakened fresh misgivings in her mind. "H-how d'y do! I didn't know you were--here!" he stammered. "I thought it would surprise you!" Roberta smiled wanly, amazed at her own self-control, then froze in her tracks as Jean announced: "Jack will be home to-night, Culver. He'll be delighted to see you!" J. Wallingford Speed offered a diversion by bursting into a hollow laugh. Now that the world was in league to work his own downfall, it was time someone else had a touch of suffering. To this end he inquired how the toe had come to be broken. "I broke it in Omaha--automobile accident." Culver was fighting to master himself. "Omaha! Did you stop in Omaha?" inquired Jean. "A city of beautiful women," Speed reflected, audibly. "Somebody step on your foot at a dance?" "No, of course not! I don't know anybody in Omaha! I went motoring--" "Joy-ride?" "Not at all." "Who was with you?" Miss Chapin's voice was ominously sweet. "N--nobody I knew." "Does that mean that you were alone?" "Yes. I stopped off between trains to view the city, and took a 'Seeing Omaha' ride. The yap wagon upset, and--I broke my toe." "You left Chicago ten days ago," said Speed accusingly. "Of course, but--when I broke my toe I had to stay. It's a beautiful city--lots of fine buildings." "How did you like the jail?" "What in the world are you boys talking about?" queried Miss Blake. "Mr. Speed seems amused at Culver's accident." Roberta gave him a stinging look. "Now we'd better let Culver go to his room and freshen up a bit. I want to talk to you, Helen," and Speed drooped at the meaning behind her words. But it was time for a general conference; events were shaping themselves too rapidly for him to cope with. Once the three were alone he lost no time in making his predicament known, the while his friend listened in amazement. "But is it really so serious?" the latter asked, finally. "It's life or death. There's a homocidal maniac named Willie guarding me daytimes, and a pair of renegades who keep watch at my window all night. The cowboys bathe me in ice-water to toughen me, and feed me raw meat to make me wild. In every corner there lurks an assassin with orders to shoot me if I break training, every where I go some low-browed criminal feels my biceps, pinches my legs, and asks how my wind is. I tell you, I'm going mad." "And the worst part of it is," spoke Glass, sympathetically, "they'll bump me off first. It's a pipe." "But, Wally, you can't run." "Don't I know it?" "Don't _I_?" seconded the trainer. "Then why attempt the impossible? Call the race off."