And the stock I'm raisin'. You see I have to feed corn. And believe
me, Carley, those cornfields represent some job."
"I can well believe that," replied Carley. "You--you looked it."
"Oh, the hard work is over. All I have to do now it to plant and keep the
weeds out."
"Glenn, do sheep eat corn?"
"I plant corn to feed my hogs."
"Hogs?" she echoed, vaguely.
"Yes, hogs," he said, with quiet gravity. "The first day you visited my
cabin I told you I raised hogs, and I fried my own ham for your dinner."
"Is that what you--put your money in?"
"Yes. And Hutter says I've done well."
"Hogs!" ejaculated Carley, aghast.
"My dear, are you growin' dull of comprehension?" retorted Glenn.
"H-o-g-s." He spelled the word out. "I'm in the hog-raising business, and
pretty blamed well pleased over my success so far."
Carley caught herself in time to quell outwardly a shock of amaze and
revulsion. She laughed, and exclaimed against her stupidity. The look of
Glenn was no less astounding than the content of his words. He was actually
proud of his work. Moreover, he showed not the least sign that he had any
idea such information might be startlingly obnoxious to his fiancee.
"Glenn! It's so--so queer," she ejaculated.
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