“Talk to me about your persistent youngsters, ain’t he all to the good, though? What is this jim-dandy plan of yours, Bluff? Suppose you give us a look-in, so we can cheer you on, or condemn it as altogether too ridiculous?” suggested Jerry.
“Smoke!”
“You mean, make it so uncomfortable for the hoboes that they’ll be glad to come out and hold up their little hands for us—is that the programme?”
“Well, don’t you think it would work, Jerry?” demanded the originator.
“Who’s going to do the smoking act? Tell me that.”
“That’s easy. Count on me, if you don’t mind holding my gun while I chase around and gather some stuff that will smolder and not blaze up. Some green weeds make a bitter smoke that smarts the eyes dreadfully. I’ll try that on. Those tramps may be able to stand for a good deal, but if they stay in that place long they’ll feel like a couple of smoked hams,” declared the energetic Bluff.
“Oh, so far as that goes, I’m only too willing to grab a good old gun again. I reckon you let Will have mine,” observed Jerry as he relieved the other of the repeating shotgun.
“And you won’t feel disgraced because it happens to be one of those pump-guns?” Bluff took occasion to remark, maliciously.
“Circumstances alter cases. This is one. I’ve no doubt that a gun like this can be very useful at times. Anyhow, I’m open to a trial. Just let those hoboes show up and try to attack us, and if I don’t fill their miserable bodies full of bird shot, then it’s twenty-three for mine. Now, watch him begin his new job, Frank.”
“You saw what happened to those other boys when they started to rush the door with that log battering-ram, didn’t you, Bluff? Perhaps they’ve got more hot water handy. Look out for it, my son,” warned Frank.