Inside the trap, likewise on his hands and knees, was a caged man.
The man had fiery red hair, and his broad face was fringed all around with fiery red whiskers.
“Divil take yez!” snorted the man in the trap, with a brogue that was rich and fluent. “A laughin’ matther, is ut? Come insoide a whoile, like mesilf, an’ see av yez can laugh.”
“Sufferin’ varmints!” chuckled the trapper. “Et’s an Irish b’ar, blamed ef et ain’t.”
“Begorry,” came the response, “Oi’m Irish, an’ proud av bein’ from th’ ould sod, but it’s no b’ar Oi am. Rub yer eyes, an’ look ag’in. Did yez iver hear a bear talk? G’wan wid yer funnin’.”
“I’ve seen er b’ar do everythin’ but talk. What’s yer name, my unforchnit friend?”
“Golightly.”
“An’ how did ye come ter git in ther trap?”
“Och, wurra, Oi didn’t come t’ git in. Oi was on me way t’ Phanix, an’ was shtopped on th’ road an’ put in.”
“Whar ye from?”