“Oh, so much!” she cried.
“Come up here, then!” and, giving her a hand, he lifted her, smiling and blushing, to a place on the platform whence she with absorbing interest followed the movements of big Mack, and incidentally of the others in as far as they might bear any relation to those of her hero.
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?”