Cinder Path Tales

ATHERTON'S LAST "HALF" m he sogered like a Turk, and came inat least five seconds slow. He had no idea whatever of pace, was not a sprinter, and was easy for any opponent with a turn of speed, who would trail him round and pass him in the stretch. We had told Sherman (who hadno chance to win, and knew it) to run the first lap in fifty-nine, instructing Bates to stay withhim. Bates stayed all right, but Sherman was as far off as the man he paced, — inthe first trial running insixty-three, which was as bad as ever; and in the second pulling him out to fifty-six, so that neither finished. The question was,who should make pace for Bates. There were, sprawling on the steps that night, beside myself, Griffith, Smith," Doc," and of course Tom Furness, for Tom had missed few such conclaves in the last half- dozen years. Now, the public knows pretty well who wins the events, but mighty little about the plan­ ning and contriving by which the athletic material of a college is developed and made the most of. Upon us five rested much of the responsibility formaking winnersof the team of 188-. With me it was a matter of business and professional standing; to the others, the glory of their college, and the