"An empty whisky-hogshead. This rain put me in mind of doing what my wife has been teasing me to do for the last six months—get her a rain-barrel. I tried to get an old oil-cask, but couldn't find one. They make the best rain-barrels. Just burn them out with a flash of good dry shavings, and they are clear from all oily impurities, and tight as a drum."
"Indeed! I never thought of that. I must look out for one, for our old rain-hogshead is about tumbling to pieces."
From rain-barrels the conversation turned upon business, and at length Gooding brought up the old story, and urged the settlement of his claim as a matter of charity.
"You don't know how much I need it," he said. "Necessity alone compels me to press the claim upon your attention."
"It is hard, I know, and I am very sorry for you," Jenkins replied. "Next week, I will certainly pay you fifty dollars."
"I shall be very thankful. How soon after do you think you will be able to let me have the balance of the three hundred due me. Say as early as possible."
"Within three months, at least, I hope," replied Jenkins.
"Harry! Do you hear that?" said Gooding, turning his head toward the back part of the wagon, and speaking in a quick, elated manner.
"Oh, ay!" came ringing from the bunghole of the whisky-hogshead.
"Who the dickens is that?" exclaimed Jenkins, turning quickly round.