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Updated: May 18, 2025
"Say that, and say it loud, or we'll give old Hecly the wickin' and blow you out of that tree." And after ineffectual oaths the Colonel said it said it twice, and the second time much the louder. "Then," bellowed the triumphant Hiram, "the record of old Hecly Number One still stands, and the championship banner travels back to Smyrna with us to-night, jest as it travelled down this mornin'."
"I'm only givin' P.T. Barnum his leg-exercise," said Hiram, recovering the rooster and sticking him under one arm while he shook hands with his caller. "I don't expect to ever match him again in this God-forsaken country, but there's some comfort in keepin' him in trainin'. Pinch them thighs, Cap'n! Ain't they the wickin'?"
Now now now! For the last ounce of wickin' that's in ye! Give her hell!" It was the crucial effort. Men flung themselves at the beams. Legs flapped like garments on a clothes-line in a crazy gale. And when Uncle Trufant clashed the bell they staggered away, one by one, and fell upon the grass of the square.
If there's some one come along that can put the wickin' to him in good shape, I swow if this town don't owe him a vote of thanks." "There's a movement on already to ask Cap'n Sproul to take the office of first s'lec'man at the March meetin'," said one of the loafers. "I sha'n't begretch him one mite of his popularity," vowed the storekeeper.
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