“If you want to say anything ugly, say it quick,” he said, “for I'm in a rush to catch a train, and if I just catch it, I can just catch the ferry, to catch a train for Chicago. I can't stop now—”
“Get in the buggy,” I said heartily, “we will drive you to the station. Isobel and I are going on a little picnic. Put your suit case in the back, with ours. We always carry our lunch in a suit case when we go picnicing. Hop in!”
“Well, it is kind of you,” said Rolfs rather sheepishly. “I hope you did not feel hurt by what I said last night about pigs. I feel rather strongly about pigs.”
“Rolfs,” I said as I gathered up the reins, “I am not a man to nurse hard feelings, but I must say—”
“Look here!” said Rolfs, “I did not get into this buggy to listen to—”
“You can get out again,” I said inhospitably, “any time you do not like straight, honest talk. I mean nothing unneighbourly but when a man accuses—”
Without another word Rolfs jumped out, and grabbing his suit case, walked haughtily away. I could not forbear giving him a little dig.
“Bon voyage, Rolfs,” I called. “Don't get pigs on the brain to-night again!” and Isobel and I laughed as we drove away.
When the farmer saw us drive into his yard he seemed surprised, but he was nice about it. He said he was willing to pay us back half what we had paid him for Chesterfield Whiting, but we would not hear of it.
“No,” I said firmly, “we have had our money's worth of pig!”