A man who was
sitting on a salt barrel, whittling a shingle, and who had one trousers
leg tucked in his boot, and a red sash around him, said if it could be
proved that Wheeler was a drinking man it would be a hard blow at
religion, but he didn't know as he cared a blank anyway. The elder went in
the express office and the crowd fell back to give the chief mourner a
chance to look at the late lamented. There was a different expression on
every face. Some looked as though they were glad he had been caught in the
act, while others wore a mournful expression, as though they had been
suddenly bereaved. He was pale, yet determined, and as he read the
inscription he said, so help him John Rogers, he had never ordered any
whisky, and never drank any, and didn't know anything about this jug.
Turning to those present he said: "This is some horrid nightmare." The
expressman said it was no nightmare, it was whisky. Wheeler said if the
charges were paid he would take it, and taking the jug out doors he raised
it high in the air and dashed it upon the pavement, amid the applause of
his friends. At this point Hon. Wm. T. Price come along, and was told what
had happened. He looked at the amber liquid oozing down between the stones
on the pavement, put his finger in some of it, smelled of it,
touched it to his tongue, and turning to the yet pale and excited
Reverend, he said:
"Wheeler, you have maintained a noble principle, but you have destroyed
four gallons of the d--dest finest maple syrup that was ever brewed in
Clark county.
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