"I kin allus think better an' work better," he had often said, "when I've had a cup of coffee. It's as stimulatin' to me as the yell of an en-gine is to Jerry."
He next visited the trap he had set the previous evening, and a smile overspread his face when he saw three large rats securely captured, and vainly trying to escape.
"Good mornin', me beauties," he accosted. "How de yez like ye'r new quarters? Rather cramped, I admit, but yez'll be a darn sight more cramped than that before I'm through with yez. But if yez behave ye'rselves as decent rats should, mebbe yez'll have fine new quarters fer ye'r pranks, but not as wholesome, perhaps, as this hog-house."
He then went into his little workshop adjoining the woodhouse, and set earnestly to work. The sun creeping in through the dust-covered window found him giving the finishing touches to a stout tin-lined box.
"There, I guess that'll hold 'em," was his comment, as he stood and viewed his handiwork. "Them holes ought to let in enough air to keep 'em alive an' in good fightin' condition. Now fer some fun."
Jess came downstairs early, and hearing a peculiar noise in the workshop, went out to ascertain what was the matter. She was surprised to see her father tieing a thick cord about a strong wooden box. He was panting heavily, and the perspiration was streaming down his face. One of his fingers was bleeding, and he was muttering a strange conglomeration of words.
"For pity sakes! What are you doing?" Jess exclaimed. "And what have you in that box?"
"Divils; that's what I've got."
"Devils!"
"Yep. Divils bottled up in rats. Three of 'em, an' they're straight from hell."