"How were they inscribed? He wouldn't let me examine them."
"Naturally. If I had trophies like that I would guard them too."
Fresno nodded, musingly. "I gave mine away."
"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.