Pigs is Pigs | Page 3

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"Pigs is Pigs"
by Ellis Parker Butler

Mike Flannery, the Westcote agent of the Interurban Express Company,
leaned over the counter of the express office and shook his fist. Mr.
Morehouse, angry and red, stood on the other side of the counter,
trembling with rage. The argument had been long and heated, and at
last Mr. Morehouse had talked himself speechless. The cause of the
trouble stood on the counter between the two men. It was a soap box
across the top of which were nailed a number of strips, forming a rough
but serviceable cage. In it two spotted guinea-pigs were greedily eating
lettuce leaves.
"Do as you loike, then!" shouted Flannery, "pay for thim an' take thim,
or don't pay for thim and leave thim be. Rules is rules, Misther
Morehouse, an' Mike Flannery's not goin' to be called down fer breakin'
of thim."
"But, you everlastingly stupid idiot!" shouted Mr. Morehouse, madly
shaking a flimsy printed book beneath the agent's nose, "can't you read
it here-in your own plain printed rates? 'Pets, domestic, Franklin to
Westcote, if properly boxed, twenty-five cents each.'" He threw the
book on the counter in disgust. "What more do you want? Aren't they
pets? Aren't they domestic? Aren't they properly boxed? What?"
He turned and walked back and forth rapidly; frowning ferociously.
Suddenly he turned to Flannery, and forcing his voice to an artificial
calmness spoke slowly but with intense sarcasm.
"Pets," he said "P-e-t-s! Twenty-five cents each. There are two of them.
One! Two! Two times twenty-five are fifty! Can you understand that? I
offer you fifty cents."
Flannery reached for the book. He ran his hand through the pages and
stopped at page sixty four.
"An' I don't take fifty cints," he whispered in mockery. "Here's the rule
for ut. 'Whin the agint be in anny doubt regardin' which of two rates
applies to a shipment, he shall charge the larger. The con-sign-ey may
file a claim for the overcharge.' In this case, Misther Morehouse, I be in
doubt. Pets thim animals may be, an' domestic they be, but pigs I'm
blame sure they do be, an' me rules says plain as the nose on yer face,
'Pigs Franklin to Westcote, thirty cints each.' An' Mister Morehouse, by
me arithmetical knowledge two times thurty comes to sixty cints."
Mr. Morehouse shook his head savagely. "Nonsense!" he shouted,
"confounded nonsense, I tell you! Why, you poor ignorant foreigner,

that rule means common pigs, domestic pigs, not guinea pigs!"
Flannery was stubborn.
"Pigs is pigs," he declared firmly. "Guinea-pigs, or dago pigs or Irish
pigs is all the same to the Interurban Express Company an' to Mike
Flannery. Th' nationality of the pig creates no differentiality in the rate,
Misther Morehouse! 'Twould be the same was they Dutch pigs or
Rooshun pigs. Mike Flannery," he added, "is here to tind to the expriss
business and not to hould conversation wid dago pigs in sivinteen
languages fer to discover be