Tom, staring, understood well enough now, and he peered into the bushes about him in amazement as he heard Roscoe say,
"Arsenic, the sneaky beasts."
"See what he was going to do?" he added, startling Tom out of his silent wondering. "There's half a dozen or more of these hogsheads in those bushes. As fast as this one empties it fills up again from another that stands higher. There's a whole nest of them here. See how the pipe from this one leads into the stream?"
"What's the wire for?" said Tom.
"Oh, that's so's they can open this little cock here, see? Start the thing going. Don't pull away the camouflage. There may be another chap up here in a little while, to see what's the matter. Tommy'll take care of them all right, won't you, Tommy?"
"Do you mean me?" Tom asked.
"I mean your namesake here," Roscoe said, slapping his rifle. "I named it after you, you old glum head. Remember how you told me a feller couldn't aim straight, kind of" (he mimicked Tom's tone). "You said a feller couldn't aim straight, kind of, if he smoked cigarettes."
"I got to admit I was wrong," said Tom.
"You bet you have! Jingoes, it's good to hear you talk!" Roscoe laughed. "How in the world did you get here, anyway?"
"I'll tell you all about it," said Tom, "only first tell me, are you the feller they call the Jersey Snipe?"