On this April morning I talked about as plainly as I knew, using good old Anglo-Saxon phrases, and not many French idioms. I would not care to see my exact words in print, and I am afraid some of the bright eyes that I hope to please with this book would open wide with surprise. A trainer is given a certain license, like the driver of a yoke of oxen and the captain of a football team. I knew one of the latter who was seriously blamed because his puritanical training forbade the use of any stronger language than "board of health" when a signal was lost or the ball was dropped. Out in the open air, and among strong men, it is very easy to form the habit of using strong words on occasions like this. I told Dick, in effect, that I had given him time and attention that rightfully belonged to other men on the team, and had nothing to show for it; that he could do better, and must do better; that his lack of improvement was a reflection on me as well as himself; and finally, if he was not an arrant cur, without courage and without honor, he would have tired of a child's jump long ago. "Why, man," said I, "if you had sand enough for an ant-hill, with a pair of legs like yours, you would be making a jump of twenty-three feet this morning." Now, Dick was a great pet of mine and had never heard a hot word from me; he was very much surprised, and when I called him an "arrant cur, without courage and without honor," he flushed to the roots of his hair. The question of his honor was what touched him most deeply, for his Virginia atmosphere had made him especially sensitive, if not over careful. I was pleased to see his face grow dark, and the smile fade from the corners of his mouth. He was first indignant, and then in a towering passion. He stepped toward me, with clinched hands, and opened his mouth a couple of times to speak, but not a word did he say. Then he turned suddenly on his heel, walked away from me down the cinder-path, pulled his sweater over his head, dropped it on the grass, faced toward me again, and set himself for his sprint. I was standing with him close to the joist when I delivered my lecture, and I remained where I was, wondering what the boy was up to. He came down the path for his jump, with his jaw set, his eyes aflame, his brows black, and with two bright red spots in his cheeks. One of Dick's faults was that he would not force himself to full speed, an absolute essential for a good broad jump. In fact, a man who will not or cannot sprint should not be allowed to waste his energies on this event. This morning was an exception to the rule with Dick, for he came toward me like a whirlwind, apparently paying no attention to either stride or distance. He fortunately reached the mark all right, caught the joist firm and strong, and launched into the air with his knees high.