Mr. Gubbs sighed and withdrew his head, and explaining to his astonished wife that he was going for a little stroll, gloomily dressed himself and joined his trainer below. “Shoulders back,” said the small publican. “Head up.” He led the way down to the beach, and, ignoring the looks of aversion which Mr. Gubbs bestowed upon the silver sea, stood by while he disrobed and picked his way painfully over the shingle to the edge of the water. It was a bright morning, but somewhat chill, and Mr. Gubbs’s breathless gaspings furnished an excellent clue to the temperature of the water. “How do you feel?” inquired Mr. Larkins, anxiously, as he rubbed him down. “I feel ill,” said the other, shivering. “You’ll feel better when you’ve had your run,” said Larkins, cheerily. “’Ad my w—w—_wot?_” inquired Mr. Gubbs, staring at him offensively, and rubbing himself furiously with the towel. “Your run,” repeated Larkins, sternly. “You don’t want your coat. I’ll hold that. And mind, I don’t want you to go running like a steam-engine, or a runaway horse.” “I wasn’t goin’ to,” said Gubbs. “Just trot easy,” continued the other, “for about half a mile. Go as far as that gate over there, then rest two minutes and trot back again.” His manner was so dictatorial that Mr. Gubbs, remembering in time his score at the “Three Fishers,” swallowed something he was going to say—and it was nearly strong enough to choke him—and set off at a strange, weird gait towards the indicated goal. He reached it at last, and after a long two minutes started back again in response to the semaphore-like appeals of the enthusiastic Larkins. “I’ve got my work cut out for me, I can see,” said the latter, as his victim, puffing and blowing, sat down on the ground. “But I’ll soon get you in trim, and mind you keep quiet about it. I don’t want Bullock to know.” “Why not?” demanded Mr. Gubbs. “Because he’d train Tarbut the same way,” said Larkins, with a cunning grin. “Well, why shouldn’t Tarbut ’ave a doing same as me?” said Mr. Gubbs, vindictively. “Why should ’e be a-laying in comfort in ’is bed while I’m catching cold bathing and killing myself running?” “Don’t you be a fool,” said Larkins, affectionately patting him on the shoulder. “Come into my place when you have time, and I’ll put the gloves on with you a bit; and be careful what you eat, mind, else you’ll undo all the good I’ve done you.” If it is possible for a man to expectorate sarcastically, Mr. Gubbs achieved that feat. “Only two cups of tea with your breakfast,” continued Larkins, solemnly, “and no greens for dinner, and I’ll send you in one pint of old ale every day free gratis.” The tensity of Mr. Gubbs’s features relaxed, and he smiled faintly as he rose and accompanied his friend back. Larkins saw him to his door, and after explaining fluently to Mrs. Gubbs that her husband was training for a race, gave her explicit instructions as to his diet, and departed.