"You spit on the paper and measured in twenty extry feet jest as Cap'n Aaron Sproul said you did," insisted Hiram. "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'." "Hain't you goin' to squirt?" asked some one posted safely behind a distant tree. "If you'd been payin' 'tention as you ought to be you'd have jest seen us squirtin'," replied the foreman of the Ancients with quiet satire. "And when we squirt, we squirt to win." Cap'n Aaron Sproul turned away from a rapt and lengthy survey of Colonel Ward in the tree. "Did you ever ride on an elephant, Cap'n Sproul?" inquired Hiram. "Never tried it," said the seaman. "Well, I want you to come up here with me. Imogene will h'ist you. I was thinkin', as it's gettin' rather dull here in the village just now"--Hiram yawned obtrusively--"we'd go out and join the ladies. I reckon the company'd like to go along and set on the grass, and pee-ruse nature for a little while, and eat up what's left in them lunch-baskets." Ten minutes later the Smyrna Ancients and Honorables took their departure down the street bordered by the elms. Hiram Look and Cap'n Aaron Sproul swayed comfortably on Imogene's broad back. The fife-and-drum corps followed, and behind marched the champions, dragging Hecla Number One on its ruckling trucks. Then, with the bass drums punctuating and accenting, they sang: "Rip-te-hoo! And a hip, hip, holler! We'll lick hell for a half a dollar!" And it wasn't till then that some bystander tore his attention away long enough to stick a ladder up the elm-tree and let Colonel Gideon Ward scrape his way despondently down. XV Probably Constable Zeburee Nute could not have picked out a moment more inauspicious for tackling First Selectman Aaron Sproul on business not immediately connected with the matter then in hand. First Selectman Sproul was standing beside a granite post, pounding his fist on it with little regard to barked knuckles and uttering some perfectly awful profanity. A man stood on the other side of the post, swearing with just as much gusto; the burden of his remarks being that he wasn't afraid of any by-joosly old split codfish that ever came ashore--insulting reference to Cap'n Sproul's seafaring life. Behind Cap'n Sproul were men with pickaxes, shovels, and hoes--listening. Behind the decrier of mariners were men with other shovels, hoes, and pickaxes--listening. The granite post marked the town line between Smyrna and Vienna.