eived an idea which was
crystallizing into a determination.

"I believe it happens that this is our first walk together," he said to
Margaret, as they reached the pavement, "but, from the kind of tennis
you play, I judge that you could go a pretty good gait. Do you like
walking fast?"

She nodded. "For exercise."

"Shall we try it then?"

"You set the pace," said Margaret. "I think I can keep up."

He took her at her word, and the amazing briskness of their start seemed
a little sinister to Penrod, though he was convinced that he could
do anything that Margaret could do, and also that neither she nor her
comely friend could sustain such a speed for long. On the contrary, they
actually increased it with each fleeting block they covered.

"Here!" he panted, when they had thus put something more than a
half-mile behind them. "There isn't anybody has to have a doctor, I
guess! What's the use our walkin' so fast?"

In truth, Penrod was not walking, for his shorter legs permitted no
actual walking at such a speed; his gait was a half-trot.

"Oh, WE'RE out for a WALK!" Mr. Blakely returned, a note of gayety
beginning to sound in his voice. "Marg--ah--Miss Schofield, keep your
head up and breathe through your nose. That's it! You'll find I was
right in suggesting this. It's going to turn out gloriously! Now, let's
make it a little faster."

Margaret murmured inarticulately, for she would not waste her breath in
a more coherent reply. Her cheeks were flushed; her eyes were brimming
with the wind, but when she looked at Penrod, they were brimming with
something more. Gurgling sounds came from her.

Penrod's expression had become grim. He offered no second protest,
mainly because he, likewise, would not waste his breath, and if he
would, he could not. Of breath in the ordinary sense breath, breathed
automatically--he had none. He had only gasps to feed his straining
lungs, and his half-trot, which had long since become a trot, was
changed for a lope when Mr. Blakely reached his own best burst of speed.

And now people stared at the flying three. The gait of Margaret and
Mr. Blakely could be called a walk only by courtesy, while Penrod's was
becoming a kind of blind scamper. At times he zigzagged; other times,
he fell behind, wabbling. Anon, with elbows flopping and his face
sculptured like an antique mask, he would actually forge ahead, and then
carom from one to the other of his companions as he fell back again.

T