enthusiastically. "I got Gallagher to play some records for me." "_Silas on Fifth Avenue?_" "Sure! And _The Holy City_, too! Willie stayed out by the barb-wire fence; he didn't dast to go in. When I come out I found him ready to cry. That desperado has sure got the heart of a woman. I reckon he'd commit a murder for that phonograph--he's so full of sentiment." Fresno spoke sympathetically. "It's a fortunate thing for you fellows that Speed came when he did. I'm anxious for him to beat this cook, and I hate to see him so careless with his training." "Careless!" cried Helen. "What's he done?" inquired Stover. "Nothing, so far. That's the trouble. He's sure he can win, but" --Fresno shook his head, doubtfully--"there's such a thing as overconfidence. No matter how good a man may be, he should take care of himself." "What's wrong with his trainin'?" demanded Glass. "I think he ought to have more rest. It's too noisy around the house; he can't get enough sleep." "Nor anybody else," agreed Glass, meaningly; "there's too much singin'." "That's funny," said Stover. "Music soothes me, no matter how bad it is. Last night when we come back from the Centipede Mr. Fresno was singin' _Dearie_, but I dozed right off in the middle of it. An' it's the same way with cattle. They like it. It's part of a man's duty when he's night-ridin' a herd to pizen the atmosphere with melody." "What I mean to say is this," Fresno hastened to explain. "We keep late hours at the house, whereas an athlete ought to retire early and arise with the sun. I thought it would be a good scheme to have Mr. Speed sleep out here until the race is over, where he won't be disturbed. Nine o'clock is bedtime for a man in training." "Oh, I don't think that is at all necessary," said Miss Blake quickly.