The head of the department looked at the papers again.
"Huh! guinea-pigs!" he said. "Probably starved to death by this time! Add
this to that letter: 'Give condition of consignment at present.'"
He tossed the papers on to the stenographer's desk, took his feet from his
own desk and went out to lunch.
When Mike Flannery received the letter he scratched his head.
"Give prisint condition," he repeated thoughtfully. "Now what do thim
clerks be wantin' to know, I wonder! 'Prisint condition, 'is ut? Thim
pigs, praise St. Patrick, do be in good health, so far as I know, but I
niver was no veternairy surgeon to dago pigs. Mebby thim clerks wants me
to call in the pig docther an' have their pulses took. Wan thing I do
know, howiver, which is they've glorious appytites for pigs of their
soize. Ate? They'd ate the brass padlocks off of a barn door I If the
paddy pig, by the same token, ate as hearty as these dago pigs do, there'd
be a famine in Ireland."
To assure himself that his report would be up to date, Flannery went to
the rear of the office and looked into the cage.
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