"Why, shore I will, as Flo says," replied Carley, extending her ungloved
hands. "Come here, piggy. I christen you Pinky." And hiding an almost
insupportable squeamishness from Glenn, she took the pig in her hands and
fondled it.
"By George!" exclaimed Glenn, in huge delight. "I wouldn't have believed
it. Carley, I hope you tell your fastidious and immaculate Morrison that
you held one of my pigs in your beautiful hands."
"Wouldn't it please you more to tell him yourself?" asked Carley.
"Yes, it would," declared Glenn, grimly.
This incident inspired Glenn to a Homeric narration of his hog-raising
experience. In spite of herself the content of his talk interested her. And
as for the effect upon her of his singular enthusiasm, it was deep and
compelling. The little-boned Berkshire razorback hogs grew so large and fat
and heavy that their bones broke under their weight. The Duroc jerseys were
the best breed in that latitude, owing to their larger and stronger bones,
that enabled them to stand up under the greatest accumulation of fat.
Glenn told of his droves of pigs running wild in the canyon below. In
summertime they fed upon vegetation, and at other seasons on acorns, roots,
bugs, and grubs.
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