And now they were drawing for place.
"Aha! Mack is going to throw first!" said the Reverend Alexander Munro.
"That is a pity."
"It's a shame!" cried Isa, with flashing eyes. "Why don't they put one
of those older--ah--?"
"Stagers?" suggested the M.P.P.
"Duffers," concluded Isa.
"The lot determines the place, Miss Isa," said Mr. Freeman, with a smile
at her. "But the best man will win."
"Oh, I am not so sure of that!" cried the girl in a distressed voice.
"Mack might get nervous."
"Nervous?" laughed the M.P.P. "That giant?"
"Yes, indeed, I have seen him that nervous--" said Isa, and stopped
abruptly.
"Ah! That is quite possible," replied the M.P.P. with a quizzical smile.
"And there is young Cameron yonder. He is not going to throw, is he?"
enquired Mr. Munro.
"He is coaching Mack," explained Isa, "and fine he is at it. Oh, there!
He is going to throw! Oh, if he only gets the swing! Oh! Oh! Oh! He has
got it fine!"
A storm of cheers followed Mack's throw, then a deep silence while the
judges took the measurement.
"One hundred and twenty-one feet!"
"One hundred and twenty-one!" echoed a hundred voices in amazement.
"One hundred and twenty-one! It is a lie!" cried McGee with an oath,
striding out to personally supervise the measuring.
"One hundred and twenty-one!" said Duncan Ross, shaking his head
doubtfully, but he was too much of a gentleman to do other than wait for
the judges' decision.
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