The Track Near the Marsh 103 



parently to forestall any accident, had taped his shoes around 

 the insteps. 



The runners had ticked off one lap when I heard a voice 

 at my side. I turned and saw a young engineer with whom 

 I frequently played golf, the one friend I might have ex- 

 pected to run across on such a day, a fellow who considered 

 it a crime to spend the week end anywhere but in the open. 

 He was a man who concentrated on golf for his own exercise, 

 and on the competitive games of his old college for the rest 

 of his diversion. A waterproof hat and an army raincoat com- 

 pletely covered him. 



"I thought your contract called for all Saturday afternoon 

 in the marsh," he said jokingly. "What are you doing here?" 



I watched the runners, still closely bunched, round the 

 second lap. Then I replied: 



"There's not enough activity to justify canoeing in such 

 weather. I can use my glasses and see most of the marsh 

 population from here." 



The uniforms of the milers turned to dirty gray and then 

 to black. Mud covered their legs and track pants. A visitor 

 led, another followed, and then came the local man still in 

 ^is stride but with an ever-widening gap showing that he was 

 at the top of his capabilities. And that is the way the race 

 ended. 



My friend philosophically accepted the outcome and 

 quoted records to show that it was to be expected. He knew 

 the local, state, and northwestern records for the event. His 

 memory was as sharp as a quiz-kid's. He knew the home 

 towns of the runners and much about their high school his- 

 tory. He said: 



"This is only one event. Wait till our boys get going." Then 

 he added: "Why do you waste so much time in those bul- 

 rushes? You won't find anything like this in your messy 

 marsh." 



The javelin throw had begun at the east and open end of 



