PAGE 4
The Ethics Of Pig
by
FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD
The above amount will be paid, and no questions asked, for the return, alive and uninjured, of Beppo, the famous European educated pig, that strayed or was stolen from the side-show tents of Binkley Bros.’ circus last night.
Geo. B. Tapley,
Business Manager.
At the circus grounds.
“I folded up the paper flat, put it into my inside pocket, and went to Rufe’s room. He was nearly dressed, and was feeding the pig the rest of the milk and some apple-peelings.
“‘Well, well, well, good morning all,’ I says, hearty and amiable. ‘So we are up? And piggy is having his breakfast. What had you intended doing with that pig, Rufe?’
“‘I’m going to crate him up,’ says Rufe, ‘and express him to ma in Mount Nebo. He’ll be company for her while I am away.’
“‘He’s a mighty fine pig,’ says I, scratching him on the back.
“‘You called him a lot of names last night,’ says Rufe.
“‘Oh, well,’ says I, ‘he looks better to me this morning. I was raised on a farm, and I’m very fond of pigs. I used to go to bed at sundown, so I never saw one by lamplight before. Tell you what I’ll do, Rufe,’ I says. ‘I’ll give you ten dollars for that pig.’
“‘I reckon I wouldn’t sell this shoat,’ says he. ‘If it was any other one I might.’
“‘Why not this one?’ I asked, fearful that he might know something.
“‘Why, because,’ says he, ‘it was the grandest achievement of my life. There ain’t airy other man that could have done it. If I ever have a fireside and children, I’ll sit beside it and tell ’em how their daddy toted off a shoat from a whole circus full of people. And maybe my grandchildren, too. They’ll certainly be proud a whole passel. Why,’ says he, ‘there was two tents, one openin’ into the other. This shoat was on a platform, tied with a little chain. I seen a giant and a lady with a fine chance of bushy white hair in the other tent. I got the shoat and crawled out from under the canvas again without him squeakin’ as loud as a mouse. I put him under my coat, and I must have passed a hundred folks before I got out where the streets was dark. I reckon I wouldn’t sell that shoat, Jeff. I’d want ma to keep it, so there’d be a witness to what I done.’
“‘The pig won’t live long enough,’ I says, ‘to use as an exhibit in your senile fireside mendacity. Your grandchildren will have to take your word for it. I’ll give you one hundred dollars for the animal.’
“Rufe looked at me astonished.
“‘The shoat can’t be worth anything like that to you,’ he says. ‘What do you want him for?’
“‘Viewing me casuistically,’ says I, with a rare smile, ‘you wouldn’t think that I’ve got an artistic side to my temper. But I have. I’m a collector of pigs. I’ve scoured the world for unusual pigs. Over in the Wabash Valley I’ve got a hog ranch with most every specimen on it, from a Merino to a Poland China. This looks like a blooded pig to me, Rufe,’ says I. ‘I believe it’s a genuine Berkshire. That’s why I’d like to have it.’
“‘I’d shore like to accommodate you,’ says he, ‘but I’ve got the artistic tenement, too. I don’t see why it ain’t art when you can steal a shoat better than anybody else can. Shoats is a kind of inspiration and genius with me. Specially this one. I wouldn’t take two hundred and fifty for that animal.’
“‘Now, listen,’ says I, wiping off my forehead. ‘It’s not so much a matter of business with me as it is art; and not so much art as it is philanthropy. Being a connoisseur and disseminator of pigs, I wouldn’t feel like I’d done my duty to the world unless I added that Berkshire to my collection. Not intrinsically, but according to the ethics of pigs as friends and coadjutors of mankind, I offer you five hundred dollars for the animal.’