With Edge Tools

by H. C. Chatfield-Taylor

"It would only take one example of true sentiment to convert me," said Duncan gravely. "Well," he added, after a moment, "there may be rough spots in a worldly life, but there is no dullness, and, after all, that is what most of us try to avoid. While the sparkle lasts life is sweet, but when it is gone one might as well give up the fight."

Mrs. Smith of Cincinnati interrupted them by asking Florence if she knew what the large, brick building on the left was.

"That is the Calumet Club," Florence answered, and then they subsided, for a moment, into silence.

Approaching Grand Boulevard the crowd of vehicles became denser, and the coaching party found much to amuse them. Sedger pointed his leaders around the corner of Thirty-fifth Street, and the coach swayed and rocked as the four browns dashed around the turn into the short cross-street. The horn was sounded to warn the street cars of their approach, and then, after a passing glance of horses, coach, and party, reflected in the broad shop windows of the street, another corner was turned, and they were rolling along the broad boulevard leading to Washington Park. Sedger was late, and, anxious to be in time for the first race, he sent his lash under the lead bars, and touched the off leader a clip on the legs which made him jump into his collar in quick order. The team all caught the inspiration of the lash, the pace was quickened, and the great vehicle rumbled on past the small fry of the road, quickly measuring off the two miles or more of straight avenue stretching away toward the park. The party on the drag laughed and talked, and occasionally glanced at the quickly changing scene. Soon the coach was rolling past the great, green meadow of the park so English in its aspect, and then, after passing a bit of lake where hundreds of holiday seekers were now stretched in the cool shade of the shrubs on its banks, rattled down the little incline which leads to the Club House road. The strains of band-music came over the bit of level ground and the party could see the great Grand Stand crowded with its ten thousand spectators. By its side was the Club House, standing on a rise of ground skirted by lawns and flower-beds, its two verandas filled with people, and the driveway in front crowded with arriving vehicles.

Sedger urged his team to a gallop, and the horses scampered through the lodge-gate and up the little hill to the Club House, where he brought them up "all standing." The people on the veranda crowded forward to see the coaching party, while Sedger and his guests descended, and the coachman drove the steaming horses off to the stables. Scores of smart traps followed the drag up to the club steps, and the party stopped a moment to view the brilliant scene. Sleek horses and polished brass, neat liveries and shining panels, bright gowns and gay parasols, moved in seemingly endless succession to the accompanying music of champing bits and the restless pawing of countless hoofs. After watching the changing throng for a moment, Sedger and his party walked through the Club House to the veranda facing the course, which they found filled with members and their friends. On the enclosed lawn before them people were sitting in chairs, or walking up and down. Considering this the best place to view the sport, they placed seats on the green turf and sat down in the shade of the Club House.

"A capital course this," said Duncan to Marion, as he glanced across the turf-covered enclosure filled with smartly dressed people to the track beyond, where a half dozen racers were taking their preliminary gallop. "I had no idea you had such a place as this in Chicago," he added, and then Sedger suggested that they go to the betting ring and see how the betting was.

"Wait till after this race," put in Wainwright. "There go the horses to the post."

"Well, if we can't play this race, we must have a hat pool," answered Sedger, who felt that not to have something on a race was to lose half the sport. "Let's see, there are just seven horses and seven of our party. Five dollars apiece for a flyer."

No one objected, so Sedger wrote the seven numbers on little pieces of paper which he tore off his programme, and, shaking them up in his hat, he passed them about among his party.

"What horse have you, Mrs. Sanderson?" asked Duncan as she drew her number from the hat.