They are always being persecuted,
and harassed, and picked at. Whereas the pork-fed man, it seems to
me, sort of hankers to be picked at. It gives him a good chance
to slap somebody slonchways. He feels better after he has seen
his persecutors go away with a cut lip, and fingering of their
teeth to see if they're all there.
You'll just have to take me gently but firmly by the sleeve and
lead me past the next exhibit, the noisy one, where there's so
much cackling and crowing. I give you fair warning that if you
get me started talking about chickens, the County Fair will have
to wait till some other time. I don't know much about ducks, and
geese, and guinea-hens, and pea-fowl, and turkeys, but chickens -
Why, say. We had a hen once (Plymouth Rock she was; we called her
Henrietta), and honestly, that hen knew more than some folks. One
time she - all right. I'll hush. Let's go in here.
I don't remember whether the pies, and cakes, and canned fruit,
and such are in Pomona Hall or the Fine Arts Hall. Fine Arts Hall
I think. They ought to be. I speak to be one of the judges that
give out the premiums in this department. I'd be generous and let
somebody else do the judging of the cakes, because I don't care
much for cake. Oh, I can manage to choke it down, but I haven't
the expert knowledge, practical and scientific, that I have in the
matter of pie.
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