hed the bell they staggered away, one by one, and
fell upon the grass of the square.

"A hundred and seventeen feet, eight inches and one-half!" came the
yell down the line, and at the word Vienna rose on her elbows and
bawled hoarse cheers.

The cheer was echoed tumultuously, for every man in the crowd of
spectators knew that this was full twenty feet better than the record
score of all musters--made by Smyrna two years before, with wind and
all conditions favoring.

"That's what old times and old-fashioned cussin' can do for ye,"
declared Uncle Trufant.

A man--a short, squat man in a blue coat--came pelting down the street
from the direction of the judges. It was Cap'n Aaron Sproul. People
got out of his way when they got a glimpse of the fury on his face.
He tore into the press of Smyrna fire-fighters, who were massed about
Hecla, their faces downcast at announcement of this astonishing
squirt.

"A hunderd and seventeen northin'! A hunderd and seventeen
northin'!" Cap'n Sproul gasped over and over. "I knowed he was in
to do us! I see him do it! It wa'n't no hunderd and seventeen! It's
a fraud!"

"You're a liar!" cried Uncle Trufant, promptly. But the Cap'n refused
to be diverted into argument.

"I went up there to watch Gid Ward, and I watched him," he informed
the Ancients. "The rest of 'em was watchin' the squirt, but I was
watchin' that land-pirut. I see him spit on that paper twenty feet
further'n the furthest drop of water, and then he measured from that
spit. That's the kind of a man that's refereein' this thing. He's
here to do us! He's paying off his old town-meetin' grudge!"

"Oh, I can't think that of my brother!" cried the Cap'n's wife.

"Remember, Hiram, that you've agreed--" began the cautious spouse
of the foreman, noting with alarm the rigid lines beginning to crease
her husband's face.

"There ain't no mistake about his measurin' to that spit?" demanded
Hiram of the Cap'n, in the level tones of one already convinced but
willing to give the accused one a last chance.

"He done it--I swear he done it."

"I'd thought," pursued the foreman of the Ancients, "that a firemen's
muster could be made genteel, and would make a pleasant little trip
for the ladies. I was mistaken." At the look in his eyes his wife
began eager appeal, but he simply picked her up and placed her in
the van from which the lunch-baskets had been taken. "There's Mis'
Look," he said to the Cap'n. "She'll be glad to have