They all agreed, however, that Injun Bill’s story was amusing, and after a while Mink said:
“I speck Marse John dar mought match dat tale ef he wuz ter try right hard.”
Mr. Pruitt turned his pocket inside out to get some tobacco-crumbs for his pipe.
“Buddy,” he remarked, turning to Joe Maxwell, “did you ever hear tell how the fox gits rid er fleas?”
Joe had never heard.
“Weil,” said Mr. Pruitt, “it’s this away. When the fox, speshually ef it’s one er these here big reds, gits full er fleas, which they er bleedze ter do in hot weather, he puts out an’ goes tell he finds a flock er sheep. Then he runs in amongst ’em, an’ runs along by the side er one tell he gits a chance ter pull a mouffle er wool out. Then he makes a break fer the creek an’ finds him a wash-hole an’ wades in.
“He don’t, ez you may say, splunge in. He jest wades in, a little bit at a time. Fust he gits in up ter his knees, an’ then he goes in deeper an’ deeper. But he hain’t in no hurry. When the water strikes the fleas, nachally they start fer high-water mark. The fox feels ’em crawl up, an’ then he goes in a little deeper. When they crawl up ez high ez his back he goes in furder, an’ then they-crawl to’rds his head. He gits a little deeper, an’ they crawl out on his nose. Then he gits deeper, tell they hain’t nothin’ out er the water but the pint er his nose.
“Now all this time he’s got that chunk er wool in his mouf, an’ when the fleas hain’t got nowheres else ter go they make fer that. Then when the fleas is all in the wool, the fox drops it in the water, comes out, shakes hisse’f, an’ trots off ter do some other devilment.”
“Dat cert’ny is one way fer ter git red er fleas,” exclaimed Mink, laughing heartily. Then he turned to Injun Bill.
“Bill, what tale is dat I been hear you tell ’bout ole Brer Rabbit an’ de overcoat? Dat ain’t no nigger tale.”