Cinder Path Tales

A VIRGINIA JUMPER 147 It was a little after seven when I left my door and started for Dick's room. Now, I am no spring poet; in fact, thirty years' con­ nection with the cinder-path has knocked most of the romanceout ofme, but I remem­ ber that morning still. It had been a late winter, and this wasreally the first dawn with no chill on the air; the trees wereblossom­ ing, the birds singing, thesun shining, the air like a tonic, and there wasan indescrib­ able something which told that winter was gone at last. After some delayat Dick's door, — forhe was a wonderful sleeper, particularly in the early morning, — I succeeded inwaking him, and sat in the window-seat while he took his tub. I helped him a little in the rub-down, and a man more fit I never saw. This over, Dick pulled on his trunks, jersey, and sweater, and taking his shoes in his hands he followed me leisurely down-stairs. We waited a moment on the steps, while he pulled his shoes on, and then jogged overto the track. So fresh was the air, that just before we reached the ground I found myself quicken­ ing strides with Dick, until we finished at a very pretty sprint, something I had not done for a long time. It does not help a trainer to compete under any conditions with his man.