After training for weeks one begins to look for some satisfactory results. It is about this time that the boys who have made a special study of track work, under the guidance of a clever instructor, can begin to feel enough confidence in his work to warrant his entering for the final contests.

Oftentimes the boy with the shortest legs has the keenest desire to enter for the standing broad jump. Is it his fault if his legs have not kept pace with his will and brain? You really feel the truest sympathy for him because he always falls an inch or two short. Again he tries, but no go. How can he help it? His spirit is willing, but his legs too short.

The big boy with legs so long that he looks like an animated compass as he strides along is the next to try.

Now you have pinned your faith to him. If he, with those legs, cannot go in and wrest the honors, then who can? He makes a brave enough start, but jumps so wildly that he falls, scattering the dirt all over without gaining enough inches to speak of.

Next to step forward is a spare-built medium sized boy, about the frying size, with not one ounce of flesh to spare, fine bones, slim little ankles, broad chest, good eye for measurement and plenty of strength to carry him over. His followers have great belief in him and frankly tell him they depend upon his work to gain their side so many extra points.

Sometimes if we endow a man with all kinds of virtues, he will really try and live up to them, if only to show us that he can make good. Again he will make good because he wants to do so, both for his own sake and ours. This boy was of that type, loved to do the best in his power to oblige his friends and also because it pleased himself.

He made good, as we all knew he would, winning for his side far more points than they deserved.

The excitement grew so that it was necessary to appoint deputy sheriffs to keep the peace.

All morning were the running, jumping, hurdle races, short sprints, long sprints, broad jumps, standing high, hop skip and jump, every jump known to mankind and a lot that are not known.

The only jump that I did not see done was the one we all are very familiar with, viz., "Jumping to a conclusion," and the reason that was not practised was that there was no prize offered for it.

The next event on the schedule was junior running races. All of the little fellows who had ambition enough, combined with wind and muscle, were entered. It is one thing to think you can run a race, but quite another thing to keep on going after the first excitement is over.

All you can think of as you run, run, run, is the beating of your heart, your breath growing shorter, a sharp pain running through the calves of your legs, a nasty stitch in your side, and then the worst and hardest sound of all, the breathing of the fellow behind you. You feel without looking back that he is gaining on you at every yard.

"If you can only keep going," is your unspoken prayer, until you are around the next turn. "Go it, old boy," you hear them yell. You don't know whether it is intended for you or for the man behind you. Anyway it spurs you on. Why shouldn't you take that yell for encouragement for you? As you turn into the home stretch, the boys who are friendly to you run alongside on the infield cheering and pacing you right up to the wire. Oh! thank goodness, you have broken right through the line, to fall, happy though exhausted, into the arms of your friends.

One race after another is run off during the morning. It matters not whether it is a junior, intermediate or senior race; the same rules and regulations hold good, fair play, no crowding and handicaps where needed. Then at the signal every man to do the best he can, win if possible, never quit unless taken ill, run the race through, even though it is a losing one for you.

In every race there can only be one winner, several who are placed, and the rest are grouped under one head and called "also rans."

Whether it is horses or men the same spirit prevails. The horse with grit will go ahead. Sometimes his shoes don't fit. His bridle is not properly adjusted, hurting his poor mouth fearfully and causing it to bleed. His harness is loose where it ought to be tight. Tight where it ought to be loose. The driver is far more of a brute than the beast he is driving, and yet you will see, in spite of all these drawbacks, that horse, with so much grit, such a game sport, that he will come in winning by a nose, though afterwards one can see him being led to his stable with drooping head and limping feet.

The same with a boy. If he has the pluck, grit, gameness, call it what you like, he will go ahead in spite of all obstacles; win if possible, come second if that is the best he can do, and if he lose, why, then he will look the world in the face knowing he has done his level best.

Separate Games.

Throwing the discus is another manly sport that calls for splendid muscular action, accurate balancing, steady nerves, good eyes and quick action.

This game, old as the hills, is still very popular. Its followers try to play it in both a scientific and artistic manner, taking poses that remind us of Greek gods. There is keen competition between the contestants, and prizes are awarded the winners.

Putting the Shot.

This game might have been handed down from the time of David, who so cleverly put his shot that Goliath was killed, to the surprise and joy of his enemies. Like throwing the discus, it calls for strength, speed and courage. It is a particularly good exercise for the arm and shoulder muscles, but being rather strenuous, is a game for the older boys, who enjoy it very much. Like all other games at Camp, prizes are awarded for the best record.

Quoits.

Still another of the good old games that is as popular on sea as on land. The only difference is that the rings are made of rope for sea use while of iron for those on shore.

On board ship it looks quite easy to throw the ring over the stick, but what with the motion of the vessel and poor calculation, it more often rolls to one side than makes a ringer.

On shore it is not so easy, either. The ground, from being pounded so often by the iron quoits, becomes powdery, the stake is harder to find as the player finds out. One ringer, out of a dozen throws, would be called very fine playing.

It is lots of sport; good to train the eye for measuring distances, the arms to curb their strength, just as the least little bit too much muscle sends the quoits 'way off, and last, teaches one to have infinite patience.

Shuffle Board.

Like quoits, we play this game at Camp as well as at sea. Compare our dandy big table at Camp with firm floor to stand on with the deck of a ship. You cannot begin to make the scores at sea that you can on land. With the best of intentions you send your board along, thinking it will send your opponents off while giving you an added score. Does it do that for you? Well, not always. Most of the time yours goes off or stays on the wrong square, deducting your score while adding to theirs.

On our table at Camp the chances are better for both sides. We play many a spirited game for fun during the season. When the final contests take place this indoor game, as well as any other one, has its turn. Sides are chosen, the losers dropping out while the winners play each other. When the contestants get down to two men the final game is played. As usual, the winner receives a prize.

For the smaller fry the games of checkers, dominoes, etc., etc., offer a chance to even the littlest Camper to compete and win a prize.

Most of the boys would engage in these pastimes for fun, even if there was not any reward offered, but the promise of some prize always stirs up the indolent and timid boy.

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