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Updated: June 17, 2025
"What did I tell you about our brains?" he cried, enthusiastically. He had been on the point of suggesting that plan of operations when Laramie took the words out of his mouth. "I'd never thought of that, Laramie," he lied, his face beaming. "Why, we've got 'em licked to a finish right now!" "This is a hummer of a game," laughed Slivers. "But how about the Bar-20 crowd?"
I've been fooled on them hard-shells too often; but this here one was a hummer. I ain't no tenderfoot when it comes to a book, but this one was sure the corkin'est I ever met up with. I had allus thought 'at "Seventeen Buckets o' Blood; or the Mormon Widder's Revenge" was about the extreme limit in books, but this here one lays over even that.
She drew in her breath quickly, and looked up at Bannon with a nervous little gesture. "I like it," she finally said, after a long silence, during which they had watched a big stick go up on one of the small hoists, to be swung into place and driven home on the dowel pins by Peterson's sledge. "Isn't Pete a hummer?" said Max. "I never yet saw him take hold of a thing that was too much for him."
He thinks he's the whole works, and that he never can get in wrong." The spell was broken, never to be renewed. The story hurried to its close, but the great climax failed of its proper effect. "He's a hummer, ain't he?" exclaimed young Pickles to his friend, Pat McCann. "Some hummer, and then some!" replied Pat. "I'm goin' in," said Pickles. "Aw, what for?
The day before, a warbler had sat on the same branch which the yellow-throat now invaded, and the hummer not only did not offer to molest him, but flew away himself. These inconsistencies made it hard to draw any inference from his behavior. During my whole stay he did not once go to the apple-tree, although, for want of anything better to do, I again scrutinized its branches.
Not a very auspicious start, to be sure; but the boy will pick up. Just jack him up in pretty good shape, Bates; it will do him good." I jacked him up all right to the queen's taste but it was like pouring water on a duck's back. The second night was not much of an improvement, and I made a big kick to Mr. Antwerp the following morning, but it did no good. The third night was a hummer.
One morning, attracted by the shimmering floor of jewel which Lake Champlain presented under the morning sun, I sat looking out over my neighbor's cornfield, where goldfinch babies were filling the air with their quaint little two-note cries, absorbed in the lovely view, when suddenly I heard a whir of wings and looked up to see a hummer flying about near the nest where madam was sitting.
"Fortunately not," laughed the judge. He placed a finger on a column in the Kicker. "This article about the Cattlemen's Association is a hummer if I may be allowed the phrase. A straight, manly citation of the facts. It ought to win friends for you."
The second degree, it was whispered about among the girls, was bound to be a "hummer." "They say it's a test of your character," said Bobby, with a shiver. "Somehow, Betty, my character oozes out of my shoes when it knows it should be prancing up to the firing line." "I guess you imagine that," smiled Betty. "Speak sternly to it, Bobby, and explain that funking is out of the question."
A moment later Peter heard a humming noise just over his head and looked up to see Hummer himself alight on a twig, where he squeaked excitedly for a few minutes, for his voice is nothing but a little squeak.
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