“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, “Forty-five feet two inches,” said the judge. The Robinson trainer, who had looked anxious a moment since, smiled demurely. Over on the starting line the half-milers were being placed. Along the length of the stands the spectators were leaving their seats here and there. Pete stepped into the seven-foot circle for his last try. Tommy, a few feet away, watched him eagerly. With the shot in his right hand, Pete looked across and dropped his left eyelid in a portentous wink. Tommy’s heart sank. If Pete would only stop his fooling for a minute, he thought, and really put his heart into it! And while the thought came to him, Pete was hopping across the ring and poising himself for an instant at the front edge. Then his body swung around, his right arm shot out like a steel spring, and the shot went arching over the ground. Tommy’s heart leaped into his throat and then thumped wildly. From the stands whose occupants were near enough to be able to follow the shot-putting came a great roar of applause. Tommy, with his eyes fixed intently on the tape, felt a hand seize his arm and pull him around. “Come along,” said Pete, “and find Nast.” “Wait! Wait till we find out----” “Find out nothing,” said Pete. “Monroe can’t touch that put!”