"Smoke-house ?" "It's a jail," snapped Tom.

"To put you into if you don't watch your dodgers.

What 'n thunder you want to carry on like you did last night, for?
And then go and sober up just when we've got a jail built to put you into! That ain't no way for a man to do--I'll leave it to Bill if it is! I've a darned good mind to swear out a warrant, anyway, Ford, and pinch you for disturbin' the peace! That's what I ought to do, all right." Tom beat his hands about his body and glared at Ford with his ultra-official scowl.
"All right, if you want to do it." Ford's tone embellished the reply with a you-take-the-consequences sort of indifference.

"Only, I'd advise you never to turn me loose again if you do lock me up in this coop once." "I know I wouldn't uh worked all night on the thing if I'd knowed you was goin' to sleep it off," Bill complained, with deep reproach in his watery eyes.

"I made sure you was due to keep things agitated around here for a couple uh days, at the very least, or I never woulda drove a nail, by hokey!" "It is a darned shame, to have a nice, new jail and nobody to use it on," sympathized Ford, his eyes half-closed and steely.