Amen!"
"Amen! Amen!" On every hand and up the hillsides rises the fervent
solemn attestation.
"Rise, Mr. Murray!" says the minister in a loud and solemn voice, giving
Mack his hand. "God has been gracious to you this day. See that you do
not forget."
"He has that! He has that!" sobs Mack. "And God forgive me if I ever
forget." And, suddenly pushing from him the many hands stretched out
towards him, he stumbles his way through the crowd, led off by his two
friends towards the tent.
"Hold on there a minute! Let us get this measurement first." It was the
matter-of-fact, cheery voice of Fatty Freeman. "If I am not mistaken we
have a great throw to measure."
"Quite right, Mr. Freeman," said the minister. "Let us get the
measurement and let not the day be spoiled."
"Here, you people, don't stand there gawking like a lot of dotty
chumps!" cried the secretary, striving to whip them out of the mood of
horror into which they had fallen. "Get a move on! Give the judges a
chance! What is it, doctor?"
The judges were consulting. At length the decision was announced.
"One hundred and twenty-nine seven."
"Hooray!" yelled Fatty, flinging his straw hat high. "One hundred and
twenty-nine seven! It is a world throw! Why don't you yell, you people?
Don't you know that you have a world-beater among you? Yell! Yell!"
"Three cheers for Mack Murray!" called out the Reverend Harper Freeman
from the platform, swinging his great black beaver hat over his head.
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