“What do you want?” growled Napoleon, somewhat mollified in spite of himself by the pig’s flattery.
“I’ve nothing to conceal from you, Napoleon. I never have. I’ve come to get that lovely red-headed girl to scratch my back.”
“You’ll have to wait; she’s inside.”
“I’ll go right in,” grunted Reginald complacently; “no trouble at all, I assure you. Just step one side, Napoleon, and I won’t disturb you in the least.”
“You’ll come right in?” Napoleon was boiling with indignation. “Who ever heard of a pig in the parlor? You’ll get right out of here before I make you.”
Reginald assumed a look of injured amazement as he replied: “Is it possible, Napoleon, that you really mean to do me this injustice? Have you forgotten that we are all on terms of equality here?”
“Not in the parlor,” growled Napoleon. “No pig gets into our parlor, not if I know it.”
“But you go into the parlor whenever you please,” grumbled Reginald.
“It’s part of my business to go all over the house and see that there’s no trespassing. That’s what’s been expected of us dogs ever since the world began. Amanda raised an awful row that time the colt got in the kitchen. But I wasn’t to blame, being away from home with Gabe and Cleopatra.”
The pig, with all the stubbornness of his race, refused to be convinced.