"But is it really so serious?" the latter asked, finally.
"It's life or death. There's a homocidal maniac named Willie guarding me daytimes, and a pair of renegades who keep watch at my window all night. The cowboys bathe me in ice-water to toughen me, and feed me raw meat to make me wild. In every corner there lurks an assassin with orders to shoot me if I break training, every where I go some low-browed criminal feels my biceps, pinches my legs, and asks how my wind is. I tell you, I'm going mad."
"And the worst part of it is," spoke Glass, sympathetically, "they'll bump me off first. It's a pipe."
"But, Wally, you can't run."
"Don't I know it?"
"Don't I?" seconded the trainer.
"Then why attempt the impossible? Call the race off."
"It's too late. Don't you understand? The bets are made, and its 'pay or play.' The cowboys have mortgaged their souls on me."
"He was makin' a play for that little doll—"
"Don't you call Miss Blake a doll, Larry! I won't stand for it!"