After a quarter of an hour's solid thinking, Dick went out into the stable yard and dragged forth an old dog-kennel, which for a long time had lain disused in the wood-shed. He rubbed it up a bit, plentifully littered it with fresh straw, and then set it down right in the middle of the yard. To the big chain he attached an old rusted iron kettle, which he pushed back into the kennel among the straw as far as his arms could reach. These preparations completed, Dick thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and set off down the main street, whistling a tune.
At a little distance he met his most intimate chum, Billy Green, the wheelwright's son.
"Say, Billy," said Dick, "heard the noos?"
"What noos?"
"Grizzly Jim's bin an' trapped a badger."
"Wal, that don't count for much. Ain't anythink very 'xtrord'n'ry in his trappin' a badger, is there? Comes reg'lar in his day's work, I reckon. Now, if it'd bin an elephant or a gi-raffe"—the speaker paused to give full effect to his grin of sarcasm.
"Oh! bother yer elephants and yer gi-raffes," interrupted Dick, with impatience; "I tell ye it's a real live badger."
"A live one?" asked Billy, his interest slightly stimulated.
"Yes, a live one. I see'd it shaken out of a bag. And it's up now this very minute at father's."