198 CANADIAN TURF EECOLLECTIONS 



HE WAS ONE OF THE RIGHT SORT. 



Poor Jack Munro ! He was weighed in some years ago, 

 but it will be many a long year before he is forgotten by 

 those who in the '70 's used to be in his company at the 

 various race meetings throughout the country. 



Poor Jack had the misfortune to get a leg broken, and 

 even after it had mended so that in the doctor's opinion 

 our old friend might have safely trusted to it for support, 

 he steadily refused to discard his crutches, and many a 

 laughable incident occurred which went to show that the 

 props might have been thrown away. 



The first time our old friend's peculiarity shone con- 

 spicuously was up at Aurora. Major Peel, then a gentle- 

 man farmer, had a cosy little box on his farm a short 

 distance north of the village. On the opening day of the 

 inaugural meeting he gave a luncheon to a few friends at 

 his house, and foremost among the merry-makers was 

 Munro. For about the six hundredth and sixty-sixth 

 time he told the story of his break, and with a face that 

 for mournfulness would have made the fortune of a pro- 

 fessional mute, declared he never expected to walk an- 

 other step without using his crutches. No amount of fun 

 appeared to enliven him and the unlimited amount of 

 joking about his perpetual lease of the crutches, failed 

 to thaw him out. 



Finally Mrs. Peel proposed a stroll on the lawn, and 

 Munro was one of the first to respond to the invitation. 

 Jumping from the table, entirely forgetful of his 

 crutches, he escorted our hostess to the grounds, and 

 was soon chatting away and walking as free from lame- 

 ness as any one of the party, who, as a rear guard, were 

 following up, wondering what on earth excuse Munro 

 would have for so soon discarding his sticks. 



