"I can't tell you how I am looking forward to seeing you do it!" The Baron started and looked at the programme in her hand.

He had been too excited to study it carefully before, and now for the first time he saw the announcement (in large type)-- "7.

Lord Tulliwuddle throws the 85-lb.

hammer." The sixth event was nearly through, and there--there evidently was the hammer in question being carried into the ring by no fewer than three stalwart Highlanders! The Baron had learned enough of the pastimes of his adopted country to be aware that this gigantic weapon was something like four times as heavy as any hammer hitherto thrown by the hardiest Caledonian.
"Teufel! Bonker vill make a fool of me," he muttered, and hastily bursting from the circle of spectators, hurried towards the Count, who appeared to be busied in keeping the curious away from the Chieftain's hammer.
"Bonker, vat means zis ?" he demanded.
"Your hammer," smiled the Count.
"A hammer zat takes tree men----" "Hush!" whispered the Count.

"They are only holding it down!" The Baron laid his hand upon the round enormous head, and started.
"It is not iron!" he gasped.