‘Hang your pigs!’ cried Chumney. ‘To my eye a prize pig is the most hideous object in creation. The Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals ought to interfere. They’re down upon a costermonger for over-driving his donkey, but they don’t say a word against a nobleman for making an animal’s existence a slow martyrdom, by gorging it with oil-cake until its legs refuse to carry the weight of its overfed carcass.’
Mr. Piper, elated with the anticipation of a prize at the Christmas Cattle Show, was in no humour to give ear to the voice of humanity on the lips of his old cashier.
‘Come and have a look at the pigs, Chum, and don’t you take to preaching sermons in your old age. It ain’t oil-cake either, old boy. It’s milk and meal, and the pork will eat as tender as a chicken and as mellow as a William pear. Do you suppose the animals are unhappy? Not a bit of it. They’re no more unhappy than an alderman who over-eats himself with turtle and venison. And as to their not being able to stand, why, I’ve seen Porkman and Timperley many a time after dinner when they’ve not been able to stand, and they were as happy as lords.’
They had arrived at the pigsties by this time, and Mr. Chumney was regaled with the sight of various mountains of pinky flesh, out of whose tremulous bulk issued smothered gruntings as a sole indication of life. Here and there something like an ear was to be seen pendent from a hillock of bristly pinkness, but Mr. Chumney looked in vain for an eye. The organs of sight had disappeared under pendulous ridges of fat.
‘You may call that an improving exhibition,’ protested Chumney. ‘I don’t. And now if you will withdraw your mind from your pigs for five or ten minutes, I’ve got something serious to say to you.’
‘Serious?’ exclaimed Mr. Piper. ‘Another failure in the wool trade, I suppose. Well, thank goodness, they can’t touch me. My money is safe.’
‘I’m not going to talk about your money. Where’s Mrs. Piper?’
‘Gone for a ride with Vanessa Porkman.’
‘And Captain Standish, I suppose.’
‘Yes, the captain was with them. He keeps a couple of horses at the “Crown,” so as to be handy for the hunting. They’re going to see the hounds throw off at Milvey Bridge. I think the captain’s sweet upon Vanessa. It would be a very good match for him, and I know the Porkmans would jump at it. But my little woman says no. The Porkmans aren’t good enough for him.’