ing on skies in a truly remarkable manner. The society folk of Duluth had also become interested in the sport, and family groups and social sets could be seen returning from excursions to log cabins and other public and private retreats in the country. Red flannel suits, stocking caps, German sox and moccasins were all in evidence and suggested the good times of twenty years ago when St. Paul could depend upon real winter weather and became famous for its ice palaces and winter carnivals. Surely Duluth could be depended upon for freezing weather in February at least; and what possibilities the Zenith City offered for winter sports with her bays for ice boating, her curling and hockey rinks and deep snow over a wild, high, rolling unfenced country to the west and north of Lake Superior.

Monday scarcely dawned at all, being dull and misty with temperature crowding the freezing point. The ski riders from Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota and even Illinois were arriving by clubs and singles, but fearful for the morrow. By noon the city streets were slop and slush, though pilgrims from Chester Hill reported but little thaw there, and a reasonable drop in temperature during the night would ice the hill with still better prospects of greater speed and higher records. But with no sun during the day there was no drop in temperature that night, and on Tuesday the conditions in town were such that those who did not realize the difference on the hill, never dreamed that the amateur events could be pulled off. The attendance was therefore limited and light-weight riders on rather sticky snow, and starting from the middle landing, did well to clear as high as seventy feet.

With but little encouragement from the weather man the club members nevertheless carried loads of snow to the chute and gave it a fresh layer the entire length, tamping it down by side-stepping all the way up on skies. The landing was also well raked and loosened up and everything made ready to accommodate the twenty or even thirty thousand people who would gladly pay 50 cents on the following national holiday to see the exciting sport with prospects of new records if the temperature fell below freezing.

In place of growing colder the mer

cury rose to forty, and all Wednesday umbrellas were necessary for protection from an April drizzle. Nothing could be done but postpone the tournament until Thursday, and loyally enough the merchants of Duluth agreed also to postpone Lincoln's birthday by closing the following afternoon should the weather admit of skiing. Then, too, the weather man had sighted a drop in temperature on its way from the Dakotas. By midnight the sky had cleared and the freezing point was passed. This gave assurances that the slide could be used, for it faced the north and was so steep that the noonday sun in February could not reach it, and should twenty degrees be reached with an iced snow and no wind, ideal conditions would prevail for both skiers and spectators.

Early Thursday the slide was again. raked and word sent around that the hill was in fine condition. By noon the mercury had again reached forty degrees and the bright sun had wrought such havoc with the city snow that sleighs had difficulty in making the hill and thousands of people gave up going. Nevertheless there were five thousand of the faithful on hand and over sixty of the riders who had entered. Though the going was sloppy, the slide was found to be in good condition and bound to become faster as the sun dropped. A half hour's delay in starting was therefore unnoticed, for the spectators were all comfortable in the warm sunshine and enjoying social visits and the sight of the beautiful birches on the snow-clad hills.

No

All who wished were given a trial jump to accustom themselves to the hill. measurements were taken, but it could easily be seen that the track was fast and that good jumps were being made. One thousand and fifty dollars had been offered in twenty cash prizes of from $5 to $100 each, any one of which would mean considerable to these farmers and tradesmen who were accustomed to labor at $1 to $4 per day. Yet the spirit of true sport was strongly in evidence, and many, no matter how much in need of money, preferred trophies to cash and rather looked down upon special stunts in the way of daring tricks. After a trial jump each rider had three for the best general average, counting one for every foot from where the feet of the skier

breeze and pump his speed along until he settled for the mighty leap as if from a precipice. To jump too soon would mean distance lost and too late would mean a terrific header. In midair the skies must be held to offer the least resistance and tend to elevate rather than lower the rider, while the arms are used to correct one's balance and sometimes as wings in an effort to climb higher. Fortunately the Duluth jump is so sheltered by the trees and hills that the danger of sudden gusts and strong head winds is eliminated, whereas on Red Wing's model hill and on all open valley slides one's skies at times become absolutely unmanageable in mid-air and seem to threaten the very life of the rider on landing. People unaccustomed to the sport can not understand how it is possible for any man to be hurled through space for one hundred feet and more and land unharmed. They do not stop to consider that their return to earth is on a steep incline almost paralleling their own course, and that in case of a spill one's bumps are distributed over one hundred feet or more and are

never of any real consequence. I have seen small boys on the Red Wing hill fall nineteen out of twenty times without a scratch, and through four tournaments and numerous practice runs I have yet to see a single man injured.

During the fourth round for distance regardless of form, jumps of over one hundred feet were common, but no one seemed to do more than equal the 110 made by Ole Mangseth, and the Red Wing men found some satisfaction in the prospect of their hill record of 114, made in 1907 by the same Ole Mangseth, holding over for another season. Not satisfied to let the score stand at 110 the Duluth Club then offered a special prize to the rider who would beat it, and the increasing speed of the slide, despite the waning light, induced several to return to the top for a last final supreme effort. Among them was John Evenson, who had carried off the honors at Coleraine four days before. With his best speed and a welltimed jump he landed some distance below the grand stand and rode gracefully on to the end. There was no question but