ense. By his first throw of one hundred and
twenty-one feet two, Mack remained still the winner. But McGee had
only four feet to gain and Black Duncan less than two to equal him.
The little secretary went skipping about aglow with satisfaction
and delight. The day was already famous in the history of Canadian
athletics.

Again McGee took place for his throw, his third and last. The crowd
gathered in as near as they dared. But McGee had done his best for that
day, and his final throw measured only one hundred and five feet.

There remained yet but a single chance to wrest from Mack Murray the
prize for that day, but that chance lay in the hands of Duncan Ross, the
cool and experienced champion of many a hard-fought fight. Again Black
Duncan took the hammer. It was his last throw. He had still fifteen feet
to go to reach his own record, and he had often beaten the throw that
challenged him to-day, but, on the other hand, he had passed through
many a contest where his throw had fallen short of the one he must now
beat to win. A hush fell upon the people as Black Duncan took his place.
Once--twice--and, with ever increasing speed, thrice he swung the great
hammer, then high and far it hurtled through the air.

"Jerusalem!" cried Mack. "What a fling!"

"Too high," muttered Black Duncan. "You have got it, lad, you have got
it, and you well deserve it."

"Tut-tut, nonsense!" said Mack impatiently. "Wait you a minute."

Silent and expectant the crowd awaited the result. Twice over the judges
measured the throw, then announced "One hundred and twenty-one feet."
Mack had won by two inches.

A great roar rose from the crowd, round Mack they surged like a flood,
eager to grip his hands and eager to carry him off shoulder high. But
he threw them off as a rock throws back the incoming tide and made
for Duncan Ross, who stood, calm and pale, and with hand outstretched,
waiting him. It was a new experience for Black Duncan, and a bitter, to
be second in a contest. Only once in many years had he been forced to
lower his colours, and to be beaten by a raw and unknown youth added
to the humiliation of his defeat. But Duncan Ross had in his veins the
blood of a long line of Highland gentlemen who knew how to take defeat
with a smile.

"I congratulate you, Mack Murray," he said in a firm, clear voice. "Your
fame will be through Canada tomorrow, and well you deserve it."

But Mack caught the outstretched hand in both of his and, le