“Pig?” I said. “What do you mean by pig, Millington.”
“Did I say pig?” said Millington in great confusion. “I meant to say: 'take a little spin.'”
“John will think you think he is thinking of keeping a pig,” said Rolfs accusingly to Millington. “He will think you are doubting his sanity. John would no more keep a pig on this place—”
“Certainly not!” I cried. “The idea! Keep a pig!”
“Well, you know,” said Millington, and then stopped. “What is that squeak?” he asked.
I knew only too well what that squeak was. It was Chesterfield.
“That?” I said carelessly. “Oh, that is nothing. My carriage springs need oiling. Mr. Prawley, don't forget to oil the carriage springs to-morrow.”
“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Prawley, “but if I might suggest feeding the—”
“Ahem!” I said loudly. “Oil the springs, Prawley. To-morrow.”
“When I said 'take a little pig,'” said Millington, “I meant—”