And so saying, he suddenly grabbed Barney by the nape of his neck and the slack of his pants, and rushed him into the yard.
Away they scudded across the garden toward the shops, the Irishman unable to stop himself, and Pomp grinning and chuckling over the advantage he had gained.
“Whoop!” yelled Barney, as his legs flew along. “Begorry, I’ll have yer scalp fer this, ye puckered-up hyaena!”
“Cl’ar de track!” roared the delighted coon. “Heah come de cyclone! Golly, what a roast, Barney!”
Propelling the Celt before him, he reached the half-closed door of the shop, slammed Barney against it with a bang, causing it to fly open, and barked his nose on the panel.
“Murdher!” raved the Celt. “Faix, me bugle is bushted!”
“Put on de brakes!” howled the coon.
Then he hauled off with his big foot and gave a Barney a boost that landed him on his ear in the middle of the big room.
Unluckily for the dusky practical joker he tripped over a plank and landed on top of the Irishman with a thud.
The next moment Barney had him by the leg, dragged him over to a tackle hanging from the wall, secured the hook around the coon’s ankle and hoisted him up by the rope.