languages fer to discover be they Chinese or Tipperary by birth an'
nativity."

Mr. Morehouse hesitated. He bit his lip and then flung out his arms
wildly.

"Very well!" he shouted, "you shall hear of this! Your president shall
hear of this! It is an outrage! I have offered you fifty cents. You refuse
it! Keep the pigs until you are ready to take the fifty cents, but, by
George, sir, if one hair of those pigs' heads is harmed I will have the
law on you!"

He turned and stalked out, slamming the door. Flannery carefully lifted
the soap box from the counter and placed it in a corner. He was not
worried. He felt the peace that comes to a faithful servant who has done
his duty and done it well.

Mr. Morehouse went home raging. His boy, who had been awaiting the
guinea-pigs, knew better than to ask him for them. He was a normal boy and
therefore always had a guilty conscience when his father was angry. So the
boy slipped quietly around the house. There is nothing so soothing to a
guilty conscience as to be out of the path of the avenger. Mr. Morehouse
stormed into the house. "Where's the ink?" he shouted at his wife as soon
as his foot was across the doorsill.

Mrs. Morehouse jumped, guiltily. She never used ink. She had not seen the
ink., nor moved the ink, nor thought of the ink, but her husband's tone
convicted her of the guilt of having borne and reared a boy, and she knew
that whenever her husband wanted anything in a loud voice the boy had been
at it.