or amused comments of the watchers beside him.

But Fudge proved something of a revelation. Awkward with the shot he undoubtedly was, and it was much of a question whether he would ever learn to handle that object successfully, but when it came to throwing the hammer Fudge was another fellow. His sturdy body turned with the swinging weight, his arms outstretched, his feet twinkling marvelously above the trampled ground. Then he stopped quickly, the whirling hammer dipped, rose and, released, arched off like a shot from a mortar, and Fudge, recovering, pulled up with a foot against the wooden rim.

"Bully!" commended Partridge warmly. "That was all right, Fudge! And you see what I mean about not pulling back on the release, don't you? That was mighty good form! Mighty good! Get your sweater on and keep moving. All right, George. Now see if you handle your feet better."

Perhaps Falkland was so busy trying to manage his feet correctly that he forgot the flying weight. At all events, at the completion of the second turn the ball of the hammer struck the ground, plowed up a foot of the soft turf and sent Falkland head over heels before he could let go the handle! Fortunately, he picked himself up unhurt, and the laughter of the audience brought only a sheepish