"
"Kind of hog got anything to do with the taste?" asked Mason in
all sincerity. He was learning New York ways--a new lesson each
day, and intended to keep on, but not by keeping his mouth shut.
"Nothing whatever," replied Hodges. "They must never be allowed to
bite them, of course. You can wound a truffle as you can
everything else."
Mason looked off into space and the Colonel bent his ear.
Purviance's diet had been largely drawn from his beloved
Chesapeake, and "dug-up dead things"--as he called the subject
under discussion--didn't interest him. He wanted to laugh--came
near it--then he suddenly remembered how important a man Hodges
might be and how necessary it was to give him air space in which
to float his pet balloons and so keep him well satisfied with
himself.
Mason, the Chicago man, had no such scruples. He had twice as much
money as Hodges, four times his digestion and ten times his
commonsense.
"Send that dish back here, Breen," Mason cried out in a clear
voice--so loud that Parkins, winged by the shot, retraced his
steps.
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