a giant with red eyelids whose every action is an unpredictable outrage.
Towards spring Midmore filled his house with a few friends of the Immoderate Left. It happened to be the day when, all things and Rhoda working together, a cartload of bricks, another of sand, and some bags of lime had been despatched to build Sidney his almost daily-demanded pig-pound. Midmore took his friends across the flat fields with some idea of showing them Sidney as a type of 'the peasantry.' They hit the minute when Sidney, hoarse with rage, was ordering brick-layer, mate, carts and all off his premises. The visitors disposed themselves to listen.
'You never give me no notice about changin' the pig,' Sidney shouted. The pig—at least eighteen inches long—reared on end in the old sty and smiled at the company.
'But, my good man' Midmore opened.
'I ain't! For aught you know I be a dam' sight worse than you be. You can't come and be'ave arbit'ry with me. You are be'avin' arbit'ry! All you men go clean away an' don't set foot on my land till I bid ye.'
'But you asked'—Midmore felt his voice jump up—'to have the pig-pound built.'
''Spose I did. That's no reason you shouldn't send me notice to change the pig. 'Comin' down on me like this 'thout warnin'! That pig's got to be got into the cowshed an' all.'
'Then open the door and let him run in,' said Midmore.
'Don't you be'ave arbit'ry with me! Take
