Well, break it up!said Templeton. “Meetings bore me.” And the rat began to climb a rope that hung against the wall.
“Look,” said the old sheep, “next time you go to the dump, Templeton, bring back a clipping from a magazine.
Charlotte needs new ideas so she can write messages in her web and save Wilbur's life.”
“Let him die,” said the rat. “I should worry.” “You'll worry all right when next winter comes,” said the sheep.
You'll worry all right on a zero morning next January when Wilbur is dead
and nobody comes down here with a nice pail of warm slops to pour into the trough.
Wilbur's leftover food is your chief source of supply, Templeton. You know that.
Wilbur's food is your food; therefore Wilbur's destiny and your destiny are closely linked.
If Wilbur is killed and his trough stands empty day after day,
you'll grow so thin we can look right through your stomach and see objects on the other side.”
Templeton’s whiskers quivered. “Maybe you’re right,” he said gruffly.
“I’m making a trip to the dump tomorrow afternoon. I’ll bring back a magazine clipping if I can find one.”
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