“You bet!”
“What is your game?”
“Oh, ye’re anxious ter know! You’ll find out soon enough. Is ther tar hot, Joe?”
“Well, I reckon it’s hot enough for our requirements.”
“Then we’d better prepare the gent for his new suit o’ clothes. Bring in ther feathers.”
Now Frank understood the foul purpose of the gang, and his rage knew no bounds. However, he realized it would be useless to give vent to his anger, and he held himself in check.
“Tar and feathers, eh?” he said, apparently quite cool, for all of the seething fury in his heart.
“Ye’ve struck it,” chuckled Sam Hooker, as Joe hurriedly left the room. “You’ve made me ther laughin’-stock o’ ther town, an’ now I’m goin’ ter disgrace you.”
Joe returned with an old pillow, which he quickly ripped open, crying:
“There are yer feathers, Sam.”