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Show could propound. Ted enjoyec us, and we the pigs. Dum the war in Yewrope. If those empty headed know-nothings over there were not busy running' a slaughter house of their own, wheat would be within reach to feed and the price of pigs where it should be; then what scads of plunkies Ted would rake in on those 297 pigs! We enjoyed the hospitality of our host and hostess and will be back with warm weather to cut the breezes on the lake in Ted's motor boat. VISITED AT SN0WCRESTI i (By Frank Beck with J Now I know why hogs is pigs and pigs is hogs. You all know why "pigs is pigs." And some of them are on four feet, but not all. This most sapient knowledge filtered into my think tank after visiting Snowcrest farm and seeing see-ing 297 pigs, hogs, greedy porkers, pork-ers, shove squeal, grunt, crowd, push, and gobble at the troughs. My, how Cleo did enjoy that sight; at one time the bunch of rooters had four 'littler' fellows punched up in the air, as a stronger pig shoved his snout under the little fellow and rooted him on high. And pigishness did not please the little girl, for she ran about time after time shooing away some over-greedy grabber, who was getting more than his share at the expense of the weak. It was Sunday, so we must moralize on it, like a sermon in little: "Because the good old rule Sufficeth them, the simple plan, That they should get who have the power, And they should Keep who can." And our text is, "AH pigs are not four footers." The deacon will please pass round the plate and apply in on the editor's back subscriptions, thus counting to ' the credit of the heathens. The edifor, his far dearer half, their little chick, and yours truly, stuck their feet under Ted Moore's table last Sunday at dinner, stuffed, gabbed, inspected inspect-ed the farm, watched the pigs, looked over the horses, envied the big tank because it would hold more, and at a higher pressure pres-sure than our tanks, inwardly digested all we saw, and bidding the hostess and her liege lord and spouse a thankful farewell, meandered over the frozen reservoir reser-voir home discussing Snowcrest. To George A. Snow is due the achievements of seeing in his mind's eye this farm, then to build up to that picture. Ted is : Snow's right arm, left arm, chest ; and shoulders; Snow keeps the : head and purse in Salt Lake City and draws on both frequently. Some of us poor devils of farmers though have to draw on brawn and poverty. Ted has a turnpike leading to the house: you pass the house by ; to go to the chicken coup; chick- ens always come home to roost like bad reputations, but here it's different: Mrs. Moore said, "Ted hadn't you better house the chickens now?" "Naw, , they'll come home." "Come home nothing," she said; they . might go home." And following . that hunch they disposed of the ( fowls while yet they had 'em. , But three old roosters and one ' one (what the devil's the j word? no, no, not pullet, the opposite) there we have it! '. cockerel, three olds ones and one ( young one made that chicken , coop theirs last Sunday. Why , is a chicken a pig? because it , takes a peck at each mouthful. We pass on. There's the pump , house; a gasoline engine doing ', duty, one of the Fairbank-Morse kind that use either gasoline or coal oil; the tank one of those air pressure , affairs underground; pipes running to every feed lot about the place and to the house, with running water; and a machinery shed! Say man! more doggoned machinery! Ted has a failing for wheels and there we saw the cutest little dewfun-nies dewfun-nies this and dewfunnies that, even salad spoons to turn over wee sods; and a chafing dish for the pigs, one on wheels so that the thing can be lugged right up to Mrs. Ma pig, and mush and buttered toast served right to her in bed, while the nurse ((that's Ted) tucks the coverlets 'over the little squeals; they themselves will tuck a stopper in their mouths give them a chance. Then the mansion for his porcine por-cine highness! 100 feet long by 16 wide, interchangeable partitions, parti-tions, maximum capacity 50 pens, well lighted and well ventilated; push buttons for all needs and splendid service: -As Busenbark and I stood there, tingle-tingle went a bell from maternity ward, and Ted scowled black as a fog in Pittsburg "That old girl always wants something; the pest of the place: I'll " but duty carried his voice the other way and we lost the threat. Then ting-a-ling came another call from the foundlings: "Well, 1 well, what do you runts want now?" I looked for a pig incubator incu-bator and Busenbark for a nurse maid in cap and apron, always! at his old tricks. And then we j wandered outside; gloated and feasted our eyes on breakfast bacon in the making: admired hams (yes, shocking old married direlects, ain't we?), and asked all the fool questions that a pair of unsophistacated innocents |