Arnaux 
for joy in his bird than in the purse he had 
won. 
The men sat or kneeled and watched him in 
positive reverence as he gulped a quantity of 
water, then turned to the food-trough. 
‘Look at that eye, those wings, and did you 
ever see such a breast ? Oh, but he’s the real 
grit!’’ so his owner prattled to the silent ones 
whose birds had been defeated. 
That was the first of Arnaux’s exploits. Best 
of fifty birds from a good loft, his future was 
bright with promise. 
He was invested with the silver anklet of the 
Sacred Order of the High Homer. It bore 
his number, 2590 C, a number which to-day 
means much to all men in the world of the 
Homing Pigeon. 
In that trial flight from Elizabeth only forty 
birds had returned. It is usually so. Some 
were weak and got left behind, some were 
foolish and strayed. By this simple process 
of flight selection the pigeon-owners keep im- 
proving their stock. Of the ten, five were seen 
no more, but five returned later that day, not 
all at once, but straggling in; the last of the 
al 
