“One hundred and fourteen feet!”
“Aha!” said Black Duncan, and stepped back apparently well satisfied.
It was again Mack's turn.
“You have the privilege of allowing your first throw to stand,” said Dr. Kane.
“Best let it stand, lad, till it iss beat,” advised Black Duncan kindly. “It iss a noble throw.”
“He can do better, though,” said Cameron.
“Very well, very well!” said Duncan. “Let him try.”
But Mack's success had keyed him up to the highest pitch. Every nerve was tingling, every muscle taut. His first throw he had taken without strain, being mainly anxious, under Cameron's coaching, to get the swing, but under the excitement incident to the contest he had put more strength into the throw than appeared either to himself or to his coach. Now, however, with nerves and muscles taut, he was eager to increase his distance, too eager it seemed, for his second throw measured only eighty-nine feet.
A silence fell upon his friends and Cameron began to chide him.
“You went right back to your old style, Mack. There wasn't the sign of a swing.”