wagon to hire; and we tied the pig in a sack and drove down to the circus grounds.
“I found George B. Tapley in a little tent with a window flap open. He was a fattish man with an immediate eye, in a black skull-cap, with a four-ounce diamond screwed into the bosom of his red sweater.
“‘Are you George B. Tapley?’ I asks.
“‘I swear it,’ says he.
“‘Well, I’ve got it,’ says I.
“‘Designate,’ says he. ‘Are you the guinea pigs for the Asiatic python or the alfalfa for the sacred buffalo?’
“‘Neither,’ says I. ‘I’ve got Beppo, the educated hog, in a sack in that wagon. I found him rooting up the flowers in my front yard this morning. I’ll take the five thousand dollars in large bills, if it’s handy.’
“George B. hustles out of his tent, and asks me to follow. We went into one of the side-shows. In there was a jet black pig with a pink ribbon around his neck lying on some hay and eating carrots that a man was feeding to him.
“‘Hey, Mac,’ calls G. B. ‘Nothing wrong with the world-wide this morning, is there?’
“‘Him? No,’ says the man. ‘He’s got an appetite like a chorus girl at 1 a. m.’
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