Now who stole the
sucking-pig?
Clearly not Madame Piper, for she was too fat and heavy to have any
light-fingered proclivities.
Clearly not the Piper himself, for he was playing his bagpipe and could
prove an alibi.
There was no one left but TOM. Circumstances pointed him out: he loved
good eating and hated work, and had been noticed gazing upon the charms
of the missing family pet. It was settled, then. TOM was the thief, and
the offender must be punished. But how? Law was too uncertain and
expensive, TOM was too poor to pay for the pig, so it was resolved to
take the worth of it out of him by beating. The poet tells us
"TOM was beat."
Undoubtedly TOM was glad when they got through, and although he
"Went roaring down the street,"
it was a matter of rejoicing with him that he had saved his bacon. It
was impossible to get that out through his hide, and they had no stomach
pumps in those days.
* * * * *
Scene.--A. City Restaurant.
_Waiter, (to customer, who is winding up his repast_.) "Anything more,
sir?"
_Customer_.
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