“Come on with your critter, whatever it be,” responded the Smithites, “and Jay Bird will knock the filling out of him!”
At this time the entire hillside was covered with a surging, wild-eyed human mass, each person seeking to get where he or she could see. Above the tumult and the shouting, the shrill cry of Jay Bird could be heard, asserting, “I can whip any cock in the land.”
Roark was literally mobbed by his friends, who asked: “Paddy, have you brought your rooster?”
“What kind of a beast is he?”
“Can he do Jay Bird?”
“We’re betting on him.”
“Fetch him out, the time is most up.”
In the midst of this turmoil and chaos Paddy Roark was cool, calm and deliberate. He smoked his pipe, smiled and told the boys that they might stake all they had on “Jerry.”
His mule tied, Paddy started for the battle-ground with his tow sack on his back; he would not show his bird to any one, but the bulk in one corner of the bag was encouraging. His supporters were cheering and singing, “We’ll hang Jay Bird on a sour apple tree.”