"Oh, see here, now! I can't do that!"
"You promised!" cried Mrs. Keap, fiercely. "I have tried to think of something to tell him, but I'm too frightened."
"Yes, but—but I—want him here—for this foot-race." Wally swallowed bravely.
"Foot-race!" stormed the widow, indignantly. "Would you allow an insignificant thing like a foot-race to wreck a human life? Two human lives? Three?"
"Can't you—wire him?"
Mrs. Keap stamped her foot. "If he dreamed I was here he would hire a special train. No! It must come from you. You are his best friend."
"What can I say?" demanded the bewildered Speed, unhappily. "I don't care what you say, I don't care what you do—only do something, and do it quickly before he has time to leave Chicago." Then sensing the hesitation in her companion's face: "Or perhaps you prefer to have Helen know the deceit you have practiced upon her? And I fancy these cowboys would resent the joke, don't you? What do you think would happen if they discovered their champion to be merely a cheerleader with a trunkful of new clothes, who can't do a single out-door sport— not one!"
"Wait!" Speed mopped his brow with a red-and-blue silk handkerchief. "I'll do my best."
"Then I shall do my part." And Mrs. Keap, who could not bear deception, turned and went indoors while J. Wallingford Speed, a prey to sundry misgivings, stumbled down the steps, his head in a whirl.