"Oh, are you an athlete?" "No, but I timed a foot-race once. They gave me a beautiful nearly-bronze emblem so that I could get into the infield." "And did you win?" "No! no! I didn't run! Don't you understand? I was an official." Fresno was vexed at the girl's lack of perception. "I'm not an athlete, Miss Blake. I'm just an ordinary sort of a chap." He led her to a seat, while Jean enlisted the aid of Larry Glass and completed the finishing touches to the decorations. "Athletics don't do a fellow any good after he leaves college. I'm going into business this fall. Have you ever been to California?" Miss Blake admitted that she had never been so far, and Fresno launched himself upon a glowing description of his native State; but before he could shape the conversation to a point where his hearer might perchance express a desire to see its wonders, Still Bill Stover thrust his head cautiously through the door to the bunk-house, and allowed an admiring eye to rove over the transformation. "Looks like a bazaar!" he exclaimed. "What's the idea?" "Trainin'-quarters," said Glass. "Mr. Speed goin' to _live_ here?" inquired the foreman, bringing the remainder of his lanky body into view. "No, indeed," Jean corrected, "he will merely use this room to train in." "How do you train in a room?" Stover asked her. "Why, you--just train, I suppose." Miss Chapin turned to Glass. "How does a person train in a room?" "Why, he--just trains, that's all. A guy can't train without trainin'-quarters, can he?" "We thought it would make a nice gymnasium," offered Miss Blake. "Looks like business." Stover's admiration was keen. "I rode over to Gallagher's place last night and laid our bets." "How much have you wagered?" asked Fresno. "More'n we can afford to lose." "But you aren't going to lose," Miss Blake said, enthusiastically.