“And when we want to fatten pigs, we shut ’em up in pens so they can’t run round much, and we feed ’em full, don’t we?”
“Yes! But what of that?”
“Well, them innicent fowls and quadruples are our kinfolks in the flesh, if they ain’t in the spirit anyways, and what’s law to them is law to us.”
“You’re too deep for me, ole ’oman!”
“Well, then, to come to the p’int——”
“Yes, down to hard pan.”
“If you want to get fatter and fatter, till you can’t pass through ne’er a door in this house, you keep eating as much as you can, and sitting into rocking-chairs as long as possible!”
“Oh, Lord!”
“And you’ll keep on a-getting fatter and fatter, until—until you’d do to go round the country in a show.”
“Oh, Lord! Next time I see young Dr. Ingle I’ll ask him wot sort o’ vittels produces fat and wot’ll make only skin and bone and muscle,” said the widow, in dismay.