THE TABLES TURNED. 333 



eyeing the last comer reproachfully. " An old pig- 

 sticker like you ! " 



" How could I ? " repeated the Scotchman, with 

 some faint show of embarrassment. " How could 

 I, said you ? Why, hang it, man ! meat is meat ! " 



This was indisputable ; so Norman made no 

 effort to attack that proposition, but he said, " And 

 couldn't you resist killing a poor little pig, because 

 you have had less than a week's course of tough 

 goat and stringy fowls ? To shoot a pig ! As bad, 

 every bit, as vulpicide in England ! " 



" Ay ! ay ! but we shoot them in the Highlands, 

 where they can't be ridden ; and this is just the 

 same case. We couldn't ride them here in this 

 jungle," observed the porcicide, apologetically. 

 " Besides, we want meat for the camp." 



"The brand of pig-slayer will cleave unto you," 

 said Norman. "And only fancy your setting 

 Hawkes so bad an example ! Really, Mac, I am 

 quite ashamed of you." 



" And who, I should like to know, polished off 

 this fat little chap ? " responded the Scotchman, as 

 he cunningly shifted his tactics. " Come, it's all very 

 fine your pitching into me ; but you went off with 

 fur more alacrity than myself to get the finishing 

 shot." 



" Yes," chimed in Hawkes, who felt himself bound 



