Chapter 11 - Page 2

stoop-shouldered.

"Willie!"

"That's who."

"He's following us!"

With knees trembling beneath him Speed jogged feebly on down the road, Glass puffing at his heels.

When, after covering five miles, they finally returned to the Flying Heart, it was with difficulty that they could drag one foot after another. Wally Speed was drenched with perspiration, and Glass resembled nothing so much as a steaming pudding; rivulets of sweat ran down his neck, his face was purple, his lips swollen.

"Y-you'll have--to run alone--this afternoon," panted the tormentor.

"This afternoon? Haven't I run enough for--one day?" the victim pleaded. "Glass, old man, I--I'm all in, I tell you; I'm ready to die."

"Got to--fry off some more--leaf-lard," declared the trainer with vulgarity. He lumbered into the cook-house, radiating heat waves, puffing like a traction-engine, while his companion staggered to the gymnasium, and sank into a chair. A moment later he appeared with two bottles of beer, one glued to his lips. Both were evidently ice cold, judging from the fog that covered them.

Speed rose with a cry.

"Gee! That looks good!"

But the other, thrusting him aside without removing the neck of the bottle from his lips, gurgled:

"No booze, Wally! You're trainin'!"

"But I'm thirsty!" shouted the athlete, laying hands upon the full bottle, and trying to wrench it free.

"Have a little sense. If you're thirsty, hit the sink." Glass still maintained his hold, mumbling indistinctly: "Water's the worst thing in the world. Wait! I'll get you some."

He stepped into the bunk-room, to return an instant later with a cup half full. "Rinse out your mouth, and don't swallow it all."

"All! There isn't that much. Ugh! It's lukewarm. I want a bucket of ice-water--ice-water!"

"Nothing doing! I won't stand to have your epictetus chilled."

"My what?"

"Never mind now. Off with them clothes, and get under that shower. I guess it'll feel pretty good to-day."

Speed obeyed instructions sullenly, while his trainer, reclining in the cosey-corner, uncorked the second bottle. From behind the blanket curtains where the barrel stood, the former demanded:

"What did you mean by saying I'd have to run again this afternoon?"

"Starts!" said Glass, shortly.

"Starts?"

"Fast work. We been loafing so far; you got to get some ginger."

"Rats! What's the use?"

"No use at all. You couldn't outrun a steam-roller, but if you won't duck out, I've got to do my best. I'd as lief die of a gunshot-wound as starve to death in the