“Ever get hit?” asked Larry, of the cook. “Once or twice, but I’m getting so I can dodge ’em now.” Just then came another crack, and the cook ducked quickly, as a large piece of stone flew over his head. He laughed, and Larry joined him. When the stones were hot enough the men raked away the charred wood and embers, and then piled the stones up in a round heap. They were so hot that the men had to use long-handled rakes and pitchforks. On top of the cobbles was thrown a quantity of wet seaweed, which sent up a cloud of vapor. Then the cook and his helpers began piling on top of the steaming weed bushels of clams, scores of lobsters, whole chickens, crabs, potatoes, corn on the cob, and other things. Then the whole mass was covered with more seaweed, and over all a big canvas was spread. “There, now, it will cook in about an hour,” said the cook, who seemed to have removed considerable anxiety from his mind. “Don’t you build more fire on it?” asked Larry, who had never been at a clam-bake. “Not a bit. The hot stones do all the cooking now,” responded the cook. And so it proved, for in about an hour the canvas was taken off, the weed removed, and there the whole mass of victuals was cooked to a turn. The men gathered around the table, places were found for the reporters, and the feast began. Larry ate so many clams, and so much lobster and chicken, that he feared he would not be able to hold a pencil to take notes, providing anyone was left alive to write about. Everyone seemed to be trying to outdo his neighbor in the amount of food consumed. But it was a healthful way in which to dine, and no ill effects seemed to follow the clam-bake. An hour’s rest in the shade followed, and then it was announced that the games would be started. A sack race was the first on the programme, and the contestants, of whom there were eight, allowed themselves to be tied up in bags, which reached to their necks. At the word they started to waddle toward the goal. There was one very fat man and one thin one who seemed to be doing better than any of the others. They both took little steps inside the bags, and were distancing their competitors. “Go it, Fatty!” called the stout man’s friends. “You’ll win, Skinny!” shouted the advocates of the tall, thin one. The latter began to forge ahead, and, it seemed, would win the race. “Lie down and roll!” shouted someone to the fat man. “Dot’s a good ideaness!” answered the fleshy contestant, who spoke with a strong German accent.