Ellis nodded. "I can do that all right," he answered confidently. "Just wait a minute, till I get my breath."
A few moments later he had taken his position in the seven-foot ring, and was preparing to throw. Dick looked with interest at the leaden ball, with the slender wire handle, and the stirrup-shaped grips at the end. "Is that what you call a hammer?" he asked.
Allen nodded. "Sure, that's a hammer," he answered. "It is a kind of misfit name, though, when you come to think of it, isn't it? They really did use a sledge hammer, I believe, once on a time, but they've changed it so much, you wouldn't think the kind they use to-day belonged to the same family. Just watch Dave throw it, though."
Ellis crouched slightly, extending his arms straight out from his body. He swung the hammer around his head, once, twice, three times, constantly increasing its speed; and then, at the third revolution, spun sharply around on his heel and made his throw. It was a splendid try. The hammer went sailing out, high and far, landing with a thud in the soft grass half-way down the field. Dick's eyes kindled. "Oh, say, Allen, but that was pretty," he cried. "That's the best event of all of them. I wonder if he did a hundred and forty."
There was a little delay over the measuring. Then Putnam put his hand to his lips and shouted in across the field, "One hundred and forty-two eleven."
Ellis picked up his sweater. "I'm not going to take my other throws, sir," he said to Mr. Fenton. "I don't think I could better that one much; and as long as I've beaten Johnson's total, I don't care. I think, when I get a good warm-day next spring, I can do twenty points better, too."
Mr. Fenton nodded. "I think you can," he answered. "It's too cold to-day to do your best work. Everything considered, your performance was excellent. If we can increase that high jump a little, you'll be the next Pentathlon winner, unless Johnson shows great improvement over last year. And I hardly think he will. His lack of weight is against him for all-around work."
Ellis, visibly elated, jogged back toward the dressing-room. Mr. Fenton and the doctor started to leave the field. The boys who had been looking on walked after Ellis, in a little group, discussing his performance. Dick turned to Allen. "Any harm in my trying that shot?" he asked.
"No, indeed," Allen answered. "You've got just as much right as any one else. Go ahead!"
Dick, a little shamefaced, picked up the iron ball; stood, as nearly as he could remember, in the same position he had seen Ellis assume; made a cautious hop, and a slow and awkward put. Yet Allen, watching where the shot struck, turned and looked curiously at his friend. "Golly, Randall," he observed, "you must have some muscle somewhere. There wasn't a thing about that put that was right, but it went just the same." He paced back toward the circle. "Close to thirty feet," he said. "That's awfully good for a fellow just beginning. Try another."