dn't quit
after that for a hundred dollars."

Queed turned away from Klinker's honest eyes, and wrestled the bitter
thing out. _Thirty Hours stolen from His Book!..._ Yesterday, even an
hour ago, he would not have considered such an outrage for a moment. But
now, driving him irresistibly toward the terrible idea, working upon him
far more powerfully than his knowledge of headache, even than Klinker's
promise of a net gain in his working ability, was this new irrationally
disturbing knowledge that he was a physical incompetent.... If he had
begun systematic exercise ten years ago, probably he could thrash Mr.
Pat to-day.

Yet an hour a day is not pried out of a sacred schedule of work without
pains and anguish, and it was with a grim face that the Doc turned back
to William Klinker.

"Very well, Mr. Klinker, I will agree to make the experiment,
tentatively--an hour a day for thirty days only."

"Right for you, Doc! You'll never be sorry--take it from me."

Klinker was a brisk, efficient young man. The old gang that had fitted
out the gymnasium had drifted away, and the thought of going once more
into regular training, with a pupil all his own, was breath to his
nostrils. He assumed charge of the ceded hour with skilled sureness.
Rain or shine, the Doctor was to take half an hour's hard walking in the
air every day, over and above the walk to the office. Every afternoon at
six--at which hour the managerial duties at Stark's terminated--he was
to report in the gym for half an hour's vigorous work on the apparatus.
This iron-clad regime was to go into effect on the morrow.

"I'll look at you stripped," said Klinker, eyeing his new pupil
thoughtfully, "and see first what you need. Then I'll lay out a reg'lar
course for you--exercises for all parts of the body. Got any trunks?"

Queed looked surprised. "I have one small one--a steamer trunk, as it is
called."

Klinker explained what he meant, and the Doctor feared that his wardrobe
contained no such article.

"Ne'mmind. I can fit you up with a pair. Left Hand Tom's they used to
be, him that died of the scarlet fever Thanksgiving. And say, Doc!"

"Well?"

"Here's the first thing I'll teach you. Never mister your
sparring-partner."

The Doc thought this out, laboriously, and presently said: "Very well,
William."

"Call me Buck, the same as all the boys."

Klinker came toward him holding out an object made of red velveteen
about the size of a pocket handkerchi