Jope staggered back a
pace, and leaned against the stone door-jamb for support.
"Here!" sounded the voice of Bill, very faint in the darkness.
"Here! fetch along the light, quick!"
"Wot's it?"
"Casks."
"Casks?"
"Kegs, then. I ought to know," responded Bill plaintively, "seeing
as I pretty near broke my leg on one!"
Mr. Jope peered forward, holding the light high. In the middle of
the cellar stood the quarter-puncheon and around it a whole regiment
of small barrels. Half doubting his eyesight, he stooped to examine
them. Around each keg was bound a sling of rope.
"Rope?" muttered Mr. Jope, stooping. "Foreign rope--left-handed
rope--" And with that of a sudden he sat down on the nearest keg and
began to laugh. "The old varmint! the darned old sinful methodeerin'
varmint!"
"Oh, stow it, Ben! 'Tisn' manly." But still the unnatural laughter
continued. "What in thunder--"
Bill Adams came groping between the kegs.
"Step an' bar the outer door, ye nincom! _Can't you see?_ There's
been a run o' goods; an' while that Coyne sat stuffin' us up with his
ghosts, his boys were down below here loadin' us up with neat furrin
sperrits--_loadin' us up_, mark you.
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