Cinder Path Tales

MY FIRST, FOR MONEY 9 from trunks and jersey alltrace of the well- loved color. When he looked me over his eyes glis­ tened, for he had not seen an English athlete in a proper rig for many a long day. We went down the backstairs and through the barn yard to a little track back of the house. It was a foggy morning and one could barely seethe length of the hundred yards. I jogged once or twice over the course to warm up, and discover some of the bad spots, and then announced that I was ready for the trial. Just then the sun came out, and as I waited at the start whileHacking went to the finish, he walked through agolden haze. It seemed a good omen. I felt more at home in my running-shoes than I had since I left the Old Country, and was once again happy, with my foot on the mark, drinking in full draughts of fresh air and waiting for the signal to be off. This wasthe drop of a handkerchief, for Hacking didnot care to use a pistol. There was the quick spring, the crunch of the cinders, the rush of the soft wind, the ever- quickening stride, until with one last effort I passed the post with a rush. It was a rough trial, sure enough, but Hacking's watchshowed ten and four-fifths. He announced himself satisfied, confirmed