Page:The White Peacock, Lawrence, 1911.djvu/311

Rh poor wretch, almost wept with relief as he sucked and swallowed in sobs, casting his little eyes apprehensively upwards, though he did not lift his nose from the trough, as he heard the vindictive shrieks of ten little fiends kept at bay by George. The solitary feeder, shivering with apprehension, rubbed the wood bare with his snout, then, turning up to heaven his eyes of gratitude, he reluctantly left the trough. I expected to see the ten fall upon him and devour him, but they did not; they rushed upon the empty trough, and rubbed the wood still drier, shrieking with misery.

“How like life,” I laughed.

“Fine litter,” said George; “there were fourteen, only that damned she-devil, Circe, went and ate three of ’em before we got at her.”

The great ugly sow came leering up as he spoke.

“Why don’t you fatten her up, and devour her, the old gargoyle? She’s an offence to the universe.”

“Nay—she’s a fine sow.”

I snorted, and he laughed, and the old sow grunted with contempt, and her little eyes twisted towards us with a demoniac leer as she rolled past.

“What are you going to do to-night!” I asked. “Going out?”

“I’m going courting,” he replied, grinning.

“Oh!—wish I were!”

“You can come if you like—and tell me where I make mistakes, since you’re an expert on such matters.”

“Don’t you get on very well then?” I asked.

“Oh, all right—it’s easy enough when you don’t care a damn. Besides, you can always have a