The Cruise of the Branwen

THE WREATH OF OLIVE light-built runner, had done a fine long-distance race in the Transvaal over twenty-five miles, and Daly was our other champion, a man of very different style, tall, heavy, hot-tempered, and very plucky. The general opinion was that the better runners, with their greater experience, would beat the previous time, and would be well under three hours for the forty-two kilometres. There were also great rumours about the Americans and Greeks practising for weeks on the course, so that the long interval of waiting by the 60,000 spectators was easily filled up, and every inch of the hill ahove the marble arena was packed with Greeks from every district south of Turkey, and there was a solid line of soldiers right round the top against the blue sky. At ten minutes to six a sudden roar began gather– ing in the distance, and finally swelled up to the stadium gates, where a cavalry officer was seen riding ahead of a solitary runner. This was Sher– ring of Canada, a small, light man, running happily with a smile on his face. The Crown Prince ran alongside him beside the track, and he finished his long and dusty journey in front of the King and Queen of Greece, who handed him a bouquet of flowers. He then walked steadily to the dressing– room, evidently none the worse. Some time after a Swedish runner came in second, and I myself went out down the long road, lined with soldiers and spectators, leading from the suburbs into the stadium. A barbarian victory was evidently un– expected and unwelcome to the Athenian crowd. 83