'There's a man in that barrel,' answered Jim.
'Well, I'm likely to know all about that, ain't I? Drop that axe and mooch along after your own business.'
'I don't know,' said Done, 'but it seems to me that this is almost any man's business. You're not at liberty to keep a fellow-creature cooped in a barrel at your own pleasure, even on Jim Crow.'
'That's just so, but the man in there's my father, which makes a dif'rence, perhaps.'
'Your father? Are you keeping the old man in pickle?'
'No; we're keeping him outer mischief, an' that ought to be enough for you.'
'Of course, I don't want to interfere with your family arrangements, but this is a bit out of the ordinary, and you'll admit my action was only natural.' Jim picked up his billy and crossed to his own tent, the man in the barrel breaking into fresh clamour, and calling down Heaven's vengeance on his son's head through the bunghole.
'Shut up, you infernal ole idiot!' cried the dutiful son. While Done was busy over the fire, Peetree junior drove the bung into the barrel, and then rejoined our hero.
'Naturally, you wouldn't understan',' he said, jerking his thumb towards the barrel, 'but the ole man's such a dashed nuisance when he's on we gotter do somethin' with him.' The tone was apologetic.
'I dare say you are quite justified,' Jim answered. 'A man doesn't keep his father in a barrel for mere amusement.'