pig. Besides, he is ruining me."

At 10 P.M. we set out _en famille_. It was July. I remember the date
rather particularly because it was just then that they ceased to
ration bacon altogether. At 10.30 the pig was safely lost. At 11 the
front-door closed upon us. At 11.1 little Willy Perkins, the butcher's
son, arrived with the pig and claimed something for restoring lost
property.

A man with a position to keep up simply can't afford to be caught in
the act of feloniously making away with pigs in war-time; besides
DORA was still alive and she might have something to say; so I had to
pretend how pleased I was, and I gave the scamp half-a-crown.

Now I know Perkins and Son well enough to realise that if the animal
had been worth more than half-a-crown they would have allowed me to
lose my pig free of charge. So I made another resolution. It was
pretty drastic, but in a crisis like this severe measures are often
the best. In short, it was murder I contemplated--nothing less.

I went to work carefully. I let four months slip by to allay any
possible suspicion. I paid my weekly cheque without being asked;
without a murmur I parted daily with my swill; in fact I comported
myself as though the unholy plot maturing in my breast was
nonexistent.

At length the night arrived. I took down my long magazine Lee Enfield
and my cartridge (I am not a Volunteer for nothing) and crept to the
Patriot Pig H.Q.