It was what the people wanted. Again, and again, and yet again the crowd
exhausted its pent-up emotions in frantic cheers. The clouds of gloom
were rolled back, the sun was shining bright again, and with fresh zest
the people turned to the enjoyment of the rest of the programme.
"Thank you, Sir!" said Fatty amid the uproar, gripping the hand of Mr.
Munro. "You have saved the day for us. We were all going to smash, but
you pulled us out."
Meantime in the tent Duncan Ross was discoursing to his friends.
"Man, Mack! Yon's a mighty throw! Do you know it iss within five feet
of my own record and within ten of Big Rory's? Then," he said solemnly,
"you are in the world's first class to-day, my boy, and you are just
beginning."
"I have just quit!" said Mack.
"Whist, lad! Thiss iss not the day for saying anything about it. We
will wait a wee and to-day we will just be thankful." And with that they
turned to other things.
They were still in the dressing tent when the secretary thrust his
cheery face under the flap.
"I say, boys! Are you ready? Cameron, we want you on the pipes."
"Harp!" said Mack. "I am going home. I am quite useless."
"And me, too," said Cameron. "I shall go with you, Mack."
"What?" cried Fatty in consternation. "Look here, boys! Is this a square
deal? God knows I am nearly all in myself.
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