“I say, if there’s money in the log, it belongs to me, the same as this belongs to me.” And the squire, impressed by the importance of having some accurate knowledge on that point, vigorously thrust in his cane.
“Your stick can’t give ye much information,” said Jack. “You’ll have to go in yourself.”
“I’m going in myself!” exclaimed the squire, sharply. “Move out of my way here.”
Jack readily made room for him, tickled to the heart’s core at the thought of the stiff-jointed old man’s going into the log.
“Grin, will ye?” said Peternot. “I s’pose you think the minute I’m in there you’ll start to run with your basket. But you can’t run fur with that weight to carry; I shall ketch ye!”
He leaned his cane by the log, laid his hat beside it, and put his head and one arm into the cavity. Then he put in his shoulders and both arms. “I can hear ye, if ye stir to move!” he cried from the hollow depths, which muffled his voice; and in his body went, leaving only the long Peternot legs sticking out.
Jack was convulsed with laughter. But all at once the idea occurred to him that practical advantage might be taken of the squire’s ludicrous situation. Up he jumped, and seizing the largest of the sticks with which he had previously stopped the mouth of the log, began to thrust them in after the squire.
“Here! oh! oh! murder!” cried the voice, now more muffled than ever, while the old man struggled violently to get out. “Oh! oh!”
“Good by!” screamed Jack, holding him, and thrusting in more sticks. “You may have what’s in the log, and I’ll take the basket.”
