His wide
shoulders spread, his broad chest expanded, his
breath whistled as he drew it in. One fleeting
instant his transfigured face shone with a glorious
light. Then, as he threw back his head and
opened his lips, his face turned purple, the muscles
of his cheeks and jaw rippled and strung, the veins
on his forehead swelled into bulging ridges. Even
the back of his neck grew red.
``Well!--Well!--Well!!!''
Ear-splitting stentorian blast! For a moment
I was deafened. But I heard the echo ringing
from the cliff, a pealing clarion call, beautiful and
wonderful, winding away in hollow reverberation,
then breaking out anew from building to
building in clear concatenation.
A sea of faces whirled in the direction of that
long unheard yell. Burt had stopped statue-like
as if stricken in his tracks; then he came running,
darting among the spectators who had leaped the
fence.
Old Well-Well stood a moment with slow glance
lingering on the tumult of emptying bleachers, on
the moving mingling colors in the grand stand,
across the green field to the gray-clad players.
He staggered forward and fell.
Before I could move, a noisy crowd swarmed
about him, some solicitous, many facetious.
Young Burt leaped the fence and forced his way
into the circle. Then they were carrying the old
man down to the field and toward the clubhouse.
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