“I vote for one against such a thing,” declared Herb. “That nasty little box has too suggestive a rattle to please me. If I was going through the saw palmetto scrub, and he happened to amuse himself with it, I just know I’d jump ten feet. It would make life miserable for me right along.”
“Jimmy, what do you say?” demanded Jack.
“Me too!” piped up the Irish lad. “Sure it do be giving me the crapes just to listen to that thing go whirring around.”
“You hear the verdict, Nick?” said Jack, pretending to assume the air of a judge addressing the prisoner in the dock.
“Oh! I ain’t saying a word,” Nick replied, with a shrug of his fat shoulders. “I c’n see myself that it would be a mean trick to play. Never thought much about it that way. Give her a toss, Jack. And Josh, I hope you won’t hold it against me too hard. You know, you’re top-notch yet in that bully contest of ours.”
In this way did the contrite joker attempt to buy peace in the camp; and that he was fairly successful might be judged from the grin that slowly began to spread over the thin face of the cook.
“That’s all right, Nick; so long as it don’t happen again I ain’t goin’ to think too much about it. Fact is, it’s goin’ to give me a cold shiver every time I hear anything like that rattle. And now I’ll be getting back to my work.”
“Then you don’t want anybody to suck the poison out?” asked Nick.
“Let up on that, now, will you? I guess I’m able to hobble around yet,” and bending down, Josh gathered some of the dry trash that he wanted, to hurry the fire on with.
Jack had tossed the little rattle-box contrivance into the fire, where it was soon entirely consumed.