The red thing being quiescent, Cleopatra and Clarence had ceased their snorting and were approaching cautiously, with occasional coy side-prancings, yet with a curiosity in their eyes that was not unmixed with vindictiveness. Mrs. Cowslip and Gustavius grazed near by, with one eye open to developments. William surveyed the red thing speculatively, evidently wondering whether it offered a profitable opportunity for butting, while Reginald, the pig, less imaginative than the others, rubbed one of his fat sides tentatively against a rubber tire.
“Not so bad,” grunted Reginald. “A bit too smooth, that’s all; don’t seem to take hold like the Professor’s finger-nails—”
“Look at that fool pig,” whinnied Clarence to his mother. “Reginald has no dignity. I wouldn’t demean myself by such condescension to an enemy with such a vile-smelling breath.”
“That proves that the thing is really alive,” commented Cleopatra. “It’s eaten something that don’t agree with it.”
“It’s breath smells just like Gabe’s lantern when he’s late with his work in the barn,” said Mrs. Cowslip, coming up, with Gustavius by her side, shaking his sharp sprouts of horns truculently.
The pig braced himself against a corner of the metal framework in front, and grunted with more unction:—
“Ah! this is better.”
“Why don’t the thing show signs of life?” complained Cleopatra. “Then I’d know where to plant my heels. It was lively enough a little while ago.”
Gustavius, with calf-like bellows of provocation, was exercising his sharp little horns on one of the rubber tires.
“Why should you be so incensed against such a lumbering old thing?” asked Mrs. Cowslip, with a placid glance at the mare. “Seems to me you ought to be grateful to any sort of wagon that would leave you free to enjoy yourself.”