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“Good gracious!” exclaims the old gent.

“Fact, by gravy! Sech squealin’, kickin’ and goin’ on; sech cussin’ and hollerin’, by the fellers pokin’ ’em in at one eend of the lot and punchin’ on ’em aout at t’other! Sech a smell of hogs and fat, brissels and hot water, I swan teu pucker, I never did cal’late on, afore!

“Wall, as fast as they driv’ ’em in by droves, the fellers kept a craowdin’ ’em daown towards the Pork-haouse; there two fellers kept a shootin’ on ’em daown, and a hull gang of the all-firedest dirty, greasy-looking fellers aout –stuck ’em, hauled ’em daown, and afore yeou could say Sam Patch! them hogs were yanked aout of the lot–killed–scalded and scraped.”

“Mighty quick work, I guess,” says the old gent.

“Quick work? Yeou ought to see ’em. Haow many hogs deu yeou cal’late them fellers killed and scraped a day?”

“Couldn’t possibly say–hundreds, I expect.”

“Hundreds! Grea-a-at King! Why, I see ’em kill thirteen hundred in teu hours;–did, by golly!”

“Yeou don’t say so?”

“Yes, sir. And a feller with grease enough abaout him to make a barrel of saft soap, said that when they hurried ’em up some they killed, scalded and scraped ten thousand hogs in a day; and when they put on the steam, twenty thousand porkers were killed off and cut up in a single day!”

“I want to know!”

“Yes, sir. Wall, we went into the haouse, where they scalded the critters fast as they brought ’em in. By gravy, it was amazin’ how the brissels flew! Afore a hog knew what it was all abaout, he was bare as a punkin–a hook and tackle in his snaout, and up they snaked him on to the next floor. I vow they kept a slidin’ and snakin’ ’em in and up through the scuttles–jest in one stream!

“‘Let’s go up and see ’em cut the hogs,’ says the feller.

“Up we goes. Abaout a hundred greasy fellers were a hacken on ’em up. By golly, it was deth to particular people the way the fat and grease flew! Two whacks –fore and aft, as Uncle Jeems used to say–split the hog; one whack, by a greasy feller with an everlasting chunk of sharpened iron, and the hog was quartered–grabbed and carried off to another block, and then a set of savagerous-lookin’ chaps layed to and cut and skirted around;–hams and shoulders were going one way, sides and middlins another way; wall, I’m screwed if the hull room didn’t ‘pear to be full of flying pork–in hams, sides, scraps and greasy fellers–rippin’ and a tearin’! Daown in another place they were saltin’ and packin’ away, like sin! Daown in the other place they were frying aout the lard–fillin’ barrels, from a regular river of fat, coming aout of the everlastin’ biggest bilers yeou ever did see, I vow! Now, I asked the feller if sich hurryin’ a hog through a course of spraouts helped the pork any, and he said it didn’t make any difference, he s’pected. He said they were not hurryin’ then, but if I would come in, some day, when ‘steam was up,’ he’d show me quick work in the pork business–knock daown, drag aout, scrape, cut up, and have the hog in the barrel before he got through squealin’!

“Hello! Say!–‘Squire, gone?”

The old gent was– gone; the last brick hit him!