“Burley!” called the field judge, and Pete drew his sweater off and stepped into the ring. There were three competitors remaining, and each was allowed three tries, the best of which was to count. Pete picked up the shot, took up his position at the rear of the circle, placed the weight in his broad right hand, threw his left arm out to balance him, raised his left foot from the ground, and then, with a motion that was neither hop nor glide, reached the front of the circle, brought his right shoulder smartly round and sent the weight flying. The measurer started to lay the end of the tape where the shot had struck, but stopped at judge’s announcement.
“Foul,” said the latter. “You overstepped, Burley.”
Pete nodded carelessly and donned his sweater again. Kernahan, who had approached during the try, beckoned to him, and they stepped aside.
“That won’t do, Pete,” said Billy. “Keep that elbow in to the body; you had it spread way out that time. And mind the stop. Take all the time you want, you know; there’s no hurry.”
Pete grinned.
“That’s all right,” he said. “Don’t worry about me, Billy. I’ll get it away all right next time.”
Monroe followed with a put of 43 feet 6 inches, and Tiernan bettered this by half a foot. Again Pete peeled his sweater off and took up the shot. As he stood there, balancing himself, he looked, with a careless, good-natured smile on his face, like a giant who, for his amusement, had entered the sports of pigmies. He was taller than Tiernan and bigger everywhere than Monroe; the judge came barely to his shoulder. The muscles of his arms were like great ropes under the clear skin. Once more he crossed the ring, and once more the leaden ball was hurled forward. From the stands came a chorus of applause. Tommy’s face lighted, and even Billy gave an appreciative nod. The Robinson trainer, standing across the circle, shot a quick glance at Pete as he stepped out and took his sweater from the turf.
“Forty-four feet seven inches,” announced the judge, as he held the tape to the edge of the stop-board. Tommy clapped Pete on the shoulder and whispered his delight. Pete smiled good-humoredly.
“All out for the 880!” cried a voice across the oval. “Hurry up, half-milers!”
Monroe made his second try, and the tape said 44 feet 1 inch. He turned away in disgust. Pete smiled. Robinson’s champion took plenty of time at his next try, and made a splendid put. He had exceeded Pete’s best attempt and there was a breathless silence around the ring as the tape was adjusted. Then,