"
"From what I hear tell o' the Colonel," Dan observed sagely, "the
least he ever wants is a hundred and fifty per cent. the best of it."
"Yes," old Zeb observed gravely, "an' so fur as I can see, he ain't
none too perticular how he gets it." He helped himself to a
toothpick, and followed by the head sawyer, abruptly left the room--
after the fashion of sawmill men and woodsmen, who eat as much as
they can as quickly as they can and eventually die of old age rather
than indigestion. Bryce ate his noonday meal in more leisurely
fashion and at its conclusion stepped into the kitchen.
"Where do you live, cook?" he demanded of that functionary; and upon
being informed, he retired to the office and called up the Sequoia
meat-market.
"Bryce Cardigan speaking," he informed the butcher. "Do you ever buy
any pigs from our mill cook?"
"Not any more," the butcher answered. "He stung me once with a dozen
fine shoats. They looked great, but after I had slaughtered them and
had them dressed, they turned out to be swill-fed hogs--swill and
alfalfa."
"Thank you." Bryce hung up. "I knew that cook was wasteful," he
declared, turning to his father's old manager, one Thomas Sinclair.
"He wastes food in order to take the swill home to his hogs--and
nobody watches him.
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