“This little trip of mine from town to the clubhouse,” laughed Burke, “has been full of surprises, pleasant and otherwise. Now, that, I should say, is about as comical as the professor’s troubles with Uncle Sam. Whose pig is it? And what are Ballard and Blunt doing, along with the chink?”
Merry and Clancy explained, and, by the time the explanation was finished, they had reached the procession. Those with the pig came to a halt, and Ballard promptly jerked in the object he was dragging, and held it aloft in his hands. The object proved to be a dirty, half-shelled ear of corn.
What made the situation all the funnier to Merry, Clancy, and Burke were the very serious expressions worn by Ballard, Blunt, and Woo Sing—especially Woo Sing. If there had been a joke about coaxing the pig to town with an ear of corn, it had long since passed out of the consciousness of those with the pig.
“Whoop!” shouted Clancy. “You fellows ought to have a drum corps along. What show do you fellows belong to, anyhow?”
“Chip,” said Ballard sadly, “you handed Blunt and me a hard job when you sent us with Woo Sing to get back that pesky porker. We had to run our legs off in the cañon before we could get hands on the pig; and, even then, he got away from us half a dozen times before we finally landed him.”
“We’ve had a dickens of a time!” grunted Blunt. “Barked our shins on bowlders, scratched our hands and face in the chaparral, say nothing of having the pig knock us down and run all over us. Jumping sand hills! Say, if I had it to do over again, I’d rather let the pig go and pay Pophagan five dollars out of my own pocket.”
“Pig plenty hard to ketchee,” sighed Woo Sing. “Him allee same stleak of lightning, by jim’ Klismus! Now we think we ketchee, now we no ketchee. Velly tough luck. My no likee, by jing! My tellee Pophagan my no likee. Pophagan no likee, him gettee ’nother China boy. Whoosh!”
Burke was almost smothered. “Where did you get the corn?” he asked.
“Sing had it in his pockets all the time,” growled Ballard. “The ground and lofty tumbling he did with the pig shelled the ear a little, but enough corn was left for a coaxer. It was my idea,” and Ballard’s heavy face lightened somewhat. “We’ve been teasing the pig all the way from the cañon, but it’s slow work, and I’m about ready to throw up the job. What’re you chumps laughing about?” he demanded hotly.
“That’s what I want to know,” scowled Blunt, bending over to rub one of his shins. “If you think it’s funny chasing a pig over all outdoors, you’d better try it once.”