of his own mouth. "You big chump, it wasn't your story, anyhow."

"Don't worry, Kit," said Bud, smiling confidently. "Ben's so
intellectooal thet it hurts him ter pack his knowledge eround in thet
pinhead o' hisn. But he didn't finish ther story none. I knows ez well
ez him thet hawgs can't swim fer ther reasons he give. But these yere
hawgs I am tellin' erbout wuz different."

"How was that?"

"Yer see, thet thar ole boar wuz ez smart ez a copperation lawyer. He'd
fixed them hawgs ter swim. First they got thar hoofs all balled up with
gumbo, er sticky clay, then they worked ther dry grass inter ther clay
and mixed 'em good an' stiff, lettin' 'em dry in ther sun. This made a
hard ball on their toes thet jest slipped off their throats when they
struck."

Ben slipped into his chair with a grunt.

"O' course, I didn't know thet when I was swimmin'," continued Bud, 'an'
I thinks I've run ercross a new web-footed breed o' hawgs. When we come
ter ther other side I waited fer them ter land, then I turns an' swims
back, ther hawgs follerin'. Back ercross I goes erg'in, an' ther pork
keeps right on my trail.

"Purty soon I see they ain't swimmin' so spry, an' I allow they're
gittin' some tired. Ther last time over ter our side o' ther river they
come slow, an' I picks out ther kind o' pork I likes best, an' ez they
land I nails what I want an' slits thar throats, an' I hev my pork. But
when ther rest o' them lands they's full o' fight ez ever, an' I takes