His
face is just the same as the face of the pig in the
picture-book. The willowy lady, in the same shimmering
clothes and with the same pretty expression of eagerness,
is beside him.
"Oh, Mr. Grunt," she is saying, "how interesting it must
be to be in your place and feel such tremendous power.
Our hostess was just telling me that you own practically
all the shoemaking machinery factories--it IS shoe-making
machinery, isn't it?--east of Pennsylvania."
"Honk!" says Mr. Grunt.
"Shoe-making machinery," goes on the willowy lady (she
really knows nothing and cares less about it) "must be
absolutely fascinating, is it not?"
"Honk!" says Mr. Grunt.
"But still you must find it sometimes a dreadful strain,
do you not? I mean, so much brain work, and that sort of
thing."
"Honk!" says Mr. Grunt.
"I should love so much to see one of your factories. They
must be so interesting."
"Honk!" says Mr. Grunt. Then he turns and moves away
sideways. Into his little piggy eyes has come a fear that
the lady is going to ask him to subscribe to something,
or wants a block of his common stock, or his name on a
board of directors. So he leaves her. Yet if he had known
it she is probably as rich as he is, or richer, and hasn't
the faintest interest in his factories, and never intends
to go near one.
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