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Pigs is Pigs
Pigs is Pigs
Pigs is Pigs
Ebook36 pages22 minutes

Pigs is Pigs

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LanguageEnglish
Release dateJan 1, 1907
Author

Ellis Parker Butler

Ellis Parker Butler (1869–1937) was an American author of more than thirty books and two thousand stories and essays. His career spanned more than forty years, and his stories, poems, and articles were published in more than 225 magazines. Despite the enormous volume of his work, Butler was, for most of his life, only a part-time author. He worked full-time as a banker and was very active in his local community. A founding member of both the Dutch Treat Club and the Authors League of America, Butler was an always-present force in the New York City literary scene. He died in Williamsville, Massachusetts.

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  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Delicious humor - loved it ! A
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
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    A wonderful funny story for all ages.

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Pigs is Pigs - Ellis Parker Butler

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Pigs is Pigs, by Ellis Parker Butler

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Title: Pigs is Pigs

Author: Ellis Parker Butler

Release Date: October 30, 2008 [EBook #2004]

Last Updated: January 9, 2013

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PIGS IS PIGS ***

Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

PIGS IS PIGS

By Ellis Parker Butler


Mike Flannery, the Westcote agent of the Interurban Express Company, leaned over the counter of the express office and shook his fist. Mr. Morehouse, angry and red, stood on the other side of the counter, trembling with rage. The argument had been long and heated, and at last Mr. Morehouse had talked himself speechless. The cause of the trouble stood on the counter between the two men. It was a soap box across the top of which were nailed a number of strips, forming a rough but serviceable cage. In it two spotted guinea-pigs were greedily eating lettuce leaves.

Do as you loike, then! shouted Flannery, pay for thim an' take thim, or don't pay for thim and leave thim be. Rules is rules, Misther Morehouse, an' Mike Flannery's not goin' to be called down fer breakin' of thim.

But, you everlastingly stupid idiot! shouted Mr. Morehouse, madly shaking a flimsy printed book beneath the agent's nose, can't you read it here-in your own plain printed rates? 'Pets, domestic, Franklin to Westcote, if properly boxed, twenty-five cents each.' He threw the book on the counter in disgust. What more do you want? Aren't they pets? Aren't they domestic? Aren't they properly boxed? What?

He turned and walked back and forth rapidly; frowning ferociously.

Suddenly he turned to Flannery,

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