Speed broke into a run.
"A tear, a sigh, a last 'Good-bye'—
The pardon came too late."
"Here, what are you singing about?" angrily protested Speed, as he rounded into view.
"Oh, it's Mr. Speed!"
"Good-morning!" chorused Helen and the chaperon.
"Welcome to our city!" Fresno greeted.
Glass tottered to the steps. "Them songs," he puffed, "is bad for a man when he's trainin'; they get him all worked up."
"We had no idea you would be back so soon," apologized Helen.
"Soon!" Speed measured the distance to a wicker chair, gave it up, and sank beside his trainer. "We left yesterday! We've run miles and miles and miles!"
"You can't be in very good shape," volunteered the singer.