Some Buried Caesar

"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?"