“Millington,” I said, “I forgive you! Men will make mistakes—slip of the tongue—Well, good night!”
“See here,” said Millington, “I know you feel some resentment.”
“No I don't! Good night!” I said angrily.
“Yes you do!” said Millington. “And I'll tell you why. You remember you mentioned, some time ago, that you thought you would keep a pig? Personally I would be delighted to have you keep a pig or even a lot of pigs. You could make an infernal stock yard of your place if you wanted to. I love pigs. If I could have my way I would have a pig pen immediately under my window, so that when I awakened in the morning I could glance down at the happy, contented creatures. Nothing starts the day so well as to see contented creatures, and there is nothing so contented as a pig. If I could have my own way I would beg you to build your pig pen immediately under my window. But I am not a selfish man.”
“I know you are not, Millington,” I said; “but I am not considering the purchase of a pig. Good night!”
“Of course you are not,” said Rolfs, “and I only want to say that if you do keep a pig you can gratify Millington, for every law of pig culture demands that you build your pig house against the western fence, and not against my fence. The pig is a delicate creature, and his pen should be where the invigorating rays of the morning sun can strike him. Now my fence is the eastern fence—”
“And this man Rolfs pretends to be your friend!” exclaimed Millington sneeringly.
“Why every one knows that unless a pig has sweet dreams he becomes moody and listless, and loses interest in life. A pig's place of residence should always be where the last rays of the sun can strike him—against the eastern fence. You want to put that pen against Rolf's fence.”
At this Mr. Rolfs became greatly agitated. He glared at Mr. Millington, and shook his fist at me.
“You'll put no pig pen on my side of your yard!” he said threateningly.