They do so more with thanksgiving and a certain amount of surprise. The gentleman of whom I speak mentioned getting an animal at seven hundred and fifty yards. By chance I happened to mention this to a native @African.
"Yes," said he, "I remember that; I was there."
This interested me, and I said so.
"He made a long shot," said I.
"A GOOD long shot," replied the man.
"Did you measure the distance?"
He laughed. "No," said he, "the old man was quite delighted. 'Eight hundred yards if it was an inch!' he cried."
"How far was it?"
"About three hundred and fifty. But it was a long shot, all right."
And it was! Three hundred and fifty yards is a very long shot. It is over four city blocks, New @York size. But if you talk often enough and smoothly enough of "four and five hundred yards," it does not sound like much, does it?
The same class of writer always gets all the thrills. He speaks of "white knuckles," of the "thrilling suspense," and so on down the range of the shocking story. His stuff makes good reading, there is no doubt of that. The spellbound public likes it, and to that extent it has fulfilled its mission.
