Cinder Path Tales

CINDER-PATH TALES She wasdressed in her best gown, and had been sitting at the windowto watch the arri­ vals. I took aseat by her side on the little chintz-cushioned window-seat, and watched with her. To those who to-day see the throngs of well-dressed and refined people, manyof them ladies, whoattend college, amateur, and even professional sports, itmay not be amiss to describe the spectators of my first match at Hacking's Brighton track, back in the sixties, for a typical sporting crowd it was. They drove to the door in all sorts and descriptions of vehicles, drawn by animals as various. They soon filled the long sheds back of the house, and then a dilapidated fence was utilizedfor hitching-posts, and even a few trees of the young orchard. The drivers were many of them English­ men, for the averageAmerican was too keen after the dollars in those days to leave them for sport ofany kind. The adjournment to the bar wasalmost unanimous, where enough money was taken for fancy drinks to make good Hacking's stake had he lost. We could see them come swaggering up the steps, many of them carrying whip in hand, andthere wasmuch loud talk of pass­ ing Tom, Dick,or Harry on the road, with the " little bay " or the " brown colt."