Of course, I could have called the ox Job, for the latter had a great deal of grief during his life but I decided firmly upon Balaam. They say that there is something in a name and I certainly hoped so, as I went out into the yard, where my orange colored ox was standing.
    I found him standing there, with a far away expression in his eyes. He always had that melancholy expression and his nose was always sweating. He occupied less space with his feet than one would imagine from his size. A man would have to see him to believe that statement. He bunched all four feet together and there he would stand in that manner by the hour. Anyone would think that he would fall over.
    Well, things were going from bad to worse as I was running deeper and deeper into debt. The climax came one Sunday. I was figuring on that day of cooking a boiled dinner for myself. I planned on having pork and cabbage and other vegetables. Fortunately, I had a pretty good stock of food to pick from as I had three or four months’ supplies on hand.
    I was just peeling the potatoes for my dinner, when who should walk in, but Bill Watson. My how I hated that man even the first time I met him, and when I met his family, I disliked him still more. He had an extremely fleshy wife and ten children, the latter ranging from one year old up. I suppose as God made them, He matched them.
    Bill was fat and greasy and he always appeared as if he were a stranger to water for cleansing purposes. His face was puffy under the eyes. This morning, he was wearing brown drilling pants, which were held up by a piece of rope which threatened to slip or come untied at any minute. As he entered the door, I saw his wife back of him. She looked like a sack of bran with a string tied around it.