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Updated: May 13, 2025
It was Sam that coined and, with the aid of his sycophantic following never wanting to a bully, fastened to the child the nickname of "Humpy Wicksy," working thereby writhing agony in the lad's highly sensitive soul. But Sam did not stay his hand at the infliction of merely mental anguish.
Sauntering sullenly homeward from his interview with the boss and with his temper rasped to a raw edge by his father's wrathful comments upon his "dommed waggin' tongue," he welcomed with quite unusual eagerness the opportunity for indulging himself in his pastime of baiting Humpy Wicksy whom he overtook on his way home from school during the noon intermission.
Felderson 'ad nothing to do with it?" he gasped. "Truest thing you know, Wicks!" "I fear I'm going to act unseemly, sir. I feel like yelling, 'ip, 'ip, sir." Then he noticed he had me by the arm and hastily murmured apology. "That's all right, Wicksy, old top. Go as far as you like," I cried. "I'm so happy and relieved I could kiss the Kaiser." "You surely wouldn't do that, sir," Wicks reproved.
"Who'd you expect to see, Wicks, a policeman?" I asked. "No, sir. One of those blarsted reporters, sir." "Poor old Wicksy," I sympathized. "Well, it'll soon be over now. I want to use the telephone." I ran down the hall to the table where I knew the telephone to be, and called up Simpson. He promised he would come right up.
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