It wasn’t you, Mr. Cullen, who offered me $9000. As I
remember it, your offer was $7500.”
Cullen shrugged. “I didn’t need him. Anyway, as it stands
now, you’ll be getting $33,000, or rather keeping that out of
what Pratt paid you. Under the circumstances, McMillan, you
may consider yourself damned lucky. What I’m doing is in
effect philanthropy. I’ve had my superintendent on the phone,
and I’m not even sure I want Caesar’s line in my herd. There
have been better bulls than Caesar before now, and there will
be-”
“No bull of yours, damn you!” McMillan’s voice shook
with rage. “You damn lousy amateur!” Abruptly he stopped
himself, looked around at the faces, and slowly drew the back
of his hand across his mouth. Then he leaned toward Cullen
and said quietly but pointedly, “How do you like that? Who
are you to make side remarks about any bull or any cow
either? Let alone Hickory Caesar Grindon! Caesar was the
finest bull, bar none, that ever got on the register!”
He passed his hand across his mouth again. “Yes, I say
‘was’, because he’s not mine any more … and he’s not yours
yet, Mr. Cullen. He was a double grandson of Burleigh’s
Audacious. He had 51 A R daughters and 9 A R sons. I was up
all night the day he was dropped — he sucked these fingers
when he was six hours old.” The fingers trembled as he held
them out. “He took nine grands, the last one being at India-
napolis, the National, last year. At five shows he has taken
get of sire. Twelve of his daughters have topped 13,000 pounds
of milk and 700 pounds of butterfat. And you say you’re not
even sure you want his line in your herd! Well, damn you,
I hope you won’t get it! At least I won’t help you pay for it!”
He turned to the secretary of the National Guernsey League,
Bennett, and said with his chin stiff, “I’ll keep my $12,000,
Lew. Count me out of your little deal.”
What he got for that was an uproar. Bennett and Darth
and Cullen all went for him. It was hard to get details out of
all the confusion, but the gist of it seemed to be that McMillan
was going back on his word and he couldn’t do that, and
the honor of the National Guernsey League and of all American
stockmen was at stake, and it would put a crimp in the
prestige of the North Atlantic Exposition if such a thing
happened right next door to it, and McMillan would be
keeping $33,000 which was enough anyhow, and so forth
and so on. McMfflan sat, looking sad and sore but stubborn,
without trying to reply to them.
They were shocked into silence by an unexpected bomb
tossed into the fray by Pratt.
“Let him alone!” Pratt yelled. “He’s out of it anyhow.
I don’t want my money back from him or Mr. Cullen or
anyone else. What I want is the bull, and I’ve got him,
and a bill of sale. That’s final.”
They glared at him. Bennett sputtered, “You don’t mean
that. You can’t mean iti Look here, I’ve told you—”
“I do mean it.” Pratt’s wide jaw was set. “I’ve paid a good
price and I’m satisfied. I’ve made my arrangements and I’m
going to stick to them. I’ve invited a hundred people—”
“But good God, after what I’ve …” Bennett jumped
up, waving his arms, and it began to look as if I might have
to reach into the holster after all. He raved. “I tell you, you
can’t do iti By God, you won’t do it! You’re crazy if you think
you can get away with it, and I’ll see that you don’t! There’s
a dozen members of the league at Crowfield waiting for me to
get back, and when they hear what I have to say, there’ll be
some action taken, don’t think there won’t!”
The others were on their feet too. Daniel Cullen rumbled,
“You’re a goddam maniac, Pratt.”
Cullen grunted, and wheeled. “Come on, Bennett. Come
on, Darth. I’ve got to catch a train.” He strode off. The other
two followed at his heels. They disappeared around the
comer of the house.
After a silence Pratt’s jaw relaxed a little and he looked
across at the one who was left.
“You know, McMillan,” he said, “I don’t like the look
of that fellow Bennett. Nor what he said either. He might
even sneak around to that pasture right now, and I’m afraid
the man I’ve got guarding it isn’t much good. I know I wasn’t
supposed to get anything for my $45,000 except the bull, but
I wonder if you’d mind . . .”
“Sure.” McMillan was up, big-boned and lanky. “I’ll go
take a look. I … I wanted to look at him anyway.”
“Could you stick around a while?”
“Sure.”
The stockman lumbered off.
We sat, the nephew and niece looking worried. Lily Rowan
yawning, Pratt frowning. Wolfe heaved a sigh and emptied
his glass.
Pratt muttered, “All the commotion.”
Wolfe nodded. “Astonishing. About a bull. It might be
thought you were going to cook him and eat him.”
Pratt nodded back at him. “I am. That’s what’s causing
all the trouble.”
WELL, AS the Emperor of India would say, that
tore it. The children didn’t appear to be shocked
any, but I goggled at our host, and I could see by the sudden
tilt to Wolfe’s head that he was enjoying one of his real
and rare surprises. He also betrayed it by repeating what
he had already been told, which was equally rare.
“Eat that bull, Mr. Pratt?” he demanded.
Pratt nodded again. “I am. Perhaps you noticed a pit
we have started to dig down by the lane. That’s for a barbecue
which will occur Thursday afternoon. Three days from
now. I have invited a hundred guests, mostly from New York.
My niece and nephew and their friend Miss Rowan have
come for it The bull will be butchered tomorrow. No local
man will undertake it, and I’m getting one from Albany.
“Remarkable.” Wolfe’s head was still tilted. “I suppose
an animal of that size would furnish 7 or 800 pounds of edible
tissue. At $45,000 on the hoof, that would make it around
$60 a pound. Of course you’ll use only the more desirable
cuts and a great deal will be wasted. Another way to calculate:
if you serve a hundred guests the portions will be $450 each.”
“It sounds terrible that way.” Pratt reached for his glass,
saw it was empty, and yelled for Bert. “But consider how
little you can get for $45,000 in newspaper display or any
other form of advertising. The radio would eat it up at a
gulp, and what do you get for it? Nobody knows. But I
know what I’ll get out of this. Do you go in for psychology?”
“I…” Wolfe choked and said firmly, “No.”
“You ought to. Look here. Do you realize what a stir
it will make that the senior grand champion Guernsey bull
of the United States is being barbecued and served in chunks
and slices to a gathering of epicures? And by whom? By
Tom Pratt of the famous pratterias! Let alone the publicity,
do you know what the result will be? For weeks and months
every customer that eats a roast beef sandwich in a pratteria
will have a sneaking unconscious feeling that he’s chewing a
piece of Hickory Caesar Grindon! That’s what I mean when
I say psychology.”
“You spoke of epicures.”
“There’ll be some. Mostly the barbecue guests will be
friends and acquaintances and of course the press, but I’m
going to run in a few epicures.” Pratt jerked up. “By the
way, I’ve heard you’re one. Will you still be in Crowfield?
Maybe you’d like to run out and join us. Thursday at one
o’clock.”
“Thank you, sir. I don’t suppose Caesar’s championship
qualities include succulence, but it would be an experience.”
“Certainly it would. I’ll be phoning my agency in New
York this evening. Can I say you’ll be here? For the press.”
“You may say so, of course. The judging of orchids will
be Wednesday afternoon, and I shall probably have left
for home. But you may say so. By the way, about this bull.
I am only curious: you feel no compunction at slaughtering
a beast of established nobility?”
“Why should I?” Pratt waved a hand. “They say this
Caesar bull has so many A R daughters, that’s the point
they harp on. Do you know what A R means? Advanced
Register. What a cow has to do to get on the Advanced
Register is to produce a daily average of so much milk and
so much butterfat over a period of one year. Well, there are
over 40,000 A R Guernsey cows in this country, and only
51 of them are Caesar’s daughters. Does that sound as if I