"We've done them brown," was Jack's opinion. Bending forward, he yelled through the keyhole: "Cripples ahoy! This is our dirty r-revenge!"
Cummles had realized as much when he found the room void of its supposed inmates.
"Let us out, you scugs!" he spluttered, half-choking with the abominable odours of which the room now fairly reeked.
"Nice and comfy in there?" demanded Jack. "Air a little close, perhaps!"
"Wait till next time, you Hottentot!" was the ungentlemanly retort.
The Crees had gathered round, and were enjoying the joke immensely. "Do you like snuff?" inquired Jack pleasantly.
"You—you—" choked Cummles, horrified. He knew that large bags of snuff were fixed in the rafters, and that a twitch cord that led outside would tip them up. He was unaware how Jack had come to know of the existence of the snuff, but it was evident that Jack did know—and, what was more, intended to use it.
"Easy on, Symonds!"
"Snuff said!" joked Jack in reply, and gave a pull to the cord that retained the snuff in position.
"I say, this is—arrh! atchoo! This is—hum-hum-atchoo! atchoo!—a bit thick—at-choo! at-choo!"