"Ye has to tie a piece of cord to his leg, Kid," cautioned Flukey; "'cause he'll get away if ye don't. Ain't he fine?"
"The finest pig in this here world," responded Flea. "Ye ain't got no rag what'll wipe off some of this grease, have ye, Fluke?"
"Nope; but ye can scrape it off with a stick or a rock. Here, ye hold him tight while I dig at him."
For about twenty minutes they busied themselves with cleaning the suckling, laughing at his wriggles and squeaks.
"What'll we call him?" asked Flea.
"Squeaky," said Flukey, "that's what the man called out."
"Aw, that ain't nice enough for me! I'll call him Prince, and ye call him Squeaky--Prince Squeaky," she ended, knotting the cord Flukey had given her about the short hind leg of the animal.
"And we be rich," she declared later, "'most five dollars, a pig, and Snatchet, and yer leg's well. It don't hurt a bit, do it?"
"Nope, not now; but when I were at the top of that pole I got a damn good twist. It's better now."
"Then let's mog along," said Flea, "'cause we can eat all we want, now we got money."