He just lets out another grunt, and tries one more match with his face up against the side of the shanty. And then, all in a jump, my bean got into gear.
"You might have better luck inside," says I, swingin' open the door invitin'.
He don't even say thank you. He ain't one of that kind. For a second or so I thought he wasn't goin' to take any notice; but after one more failure he steps around, inspects the inside of the shanty, and then squeezes himself through the door. At that, he wasn't all the way in, but by the time he had a match goin' I'd got my nerve back.
"Ah, take the limit, Cap'n," says I.
With that I plants one foot impulsive right where he was widest, gives a quick shove, slams the door shut behind him, and snaps the big padlock through the hasp.
"Hey!" he sings out startled. "What the——"
"Now, don't get messy, Cap'n," says I. "You're in, ain't you? Smoke up and be happy."
"You—you loafer!" he gurgles throaty. "What do you mean?"
"Just a playful little prank, Cap," says I. "Don't get excited. You're perfectly safe."
Maybe he was. But some folks don't appreciate little attentions like that. The Cap'n starts in bumpin' and thrashin' violent in there, like a pup that's crawled into a drainpipe and got himself stuck. He hammers on the walls with his fists, throws his weight against the door, and tries to kick his way out.