Beautiful Joe [43]
heard," she faltered. "It must
be terrible."
"Terrible it's awful," said the gentleman. "Think of the cattle on the western
plains. Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and frozen in winter. Dehorned
and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded and suffering on
voyages. Many of them dying and being thrown into the sea. Others landed sick
and frightened. Some of them slaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from
dropping dead in their tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It's
rank poison. Three of my family have died of cancer. I am a vegetarian."
The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up and down
the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated to hear of cruelty
of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on my brown coat.
The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room had listened to
what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He
looked as if he was annoyed that the older man should have made Miss Laura cry.
"Don't you think, sir," he said, as the old gentleman passed near him in walking
up and down the floor, "that there is a great deal of mock sentiment about this
business of taking care of the dumb creation? They were made for us. They've got
to suffer and be killed to supply our wants. The cattle and sheep, and other
animals would over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them."
"Granted," said the old man, stopping right in front of him. "Granted, young
man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle,
and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as we are. We can kill them,
but we've no right to make them suffer."
"But we can't help it, sir."
"Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possible thing to raise healthy stock, treat
it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do that I, for one,
will cease to be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. You haven't traveled as I
have. I've been from one end of this country to the other. Up north, down south,
and out west, I've seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell you the Lord
will punish this great American nation if it doesn't change its treatment of the
dumb animals committed to its care."
The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A very sweet-faced old lady
sitting near him answered the old gentleman. I don't think I have ever seen such
a fine-looking old lady as she was. Her hair was snowy white, and her face was
deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and stately, and her expression was as
pleasing as my dear Miss Laura's.
"I do not think we are a wicked nation," she said, softly. "We are a younger
nation than many of the nations of the earth, and I think that many of our sins
arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness."
"Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery old gentleman, staring hard at her.
"I agree with you there."
She smiled very pleasantly at him and went on. "I, too, have been a traveler,
and I have talked to a great many wise and good people on the subject of the
cruel treatment of animals, and I find that many of them have never thought
about it. They, themselves, never knowingly ill-treat a dumb creature, and when
they are told stories of inhuman conduct, they say in surprise, 'Why, these
things surely can't exist!' You see they have never been brought in contact with
them. As soon as they learn about them, they begin to agitate and say, 'We must
have this thing stopped. Where is the remedy?'"
"And what is it, what is it, madame, in your opinion?" said the old gentleman,
pawing the floor with impatience.
"Just the remedy that I would propose for the great evil of intemperance," said
the old lady, smiling at him. "Legislation and education. Legislation for the
old and hardened, and education for the young and tender. I would tell the
schoolboys and schoolgirls that alcohol will destroy the framework of their
beautiful bodies, and that cruelty to any of
be terrible."
"Terrible it's awful," said the gentleman. "Think of the cattle on the western
plains. Choked with thirst in summer, and starved and frozen in winter. Dehorned
and goaded on to trains and steamers. Tossed about and wounded and suffering on
voyages. Many of them dying and being thrown into the sea. Others landed sick
and frightened. Some of them slaughtered on docks and wharves to keep them from
dropping dead in their tracks. What kind of food does their flesh make? It's
rank poison. Three of my family have died of cancer. I am a vegetarian."
The strange old gentleman darted from his seat, and began to pace up and down
the room. I was very glad he had gone, for Miss Laura hated to hear of cruelty
of any kind, and her tears were dropping thick and fast on my brown coat.
The gentleman had spoken very loudly, and every one in the room had listened to
what he said. Among them, was a very young man, with a cold, handsome face. He
looked as if he was annoyed that the older man should have made Miss Laura cry.
"Don't you think, sir," he said, as the old gentleman passed near him in walking
up and down the floor, "that there is a great deal of mock sentiment about this
business of taking care of the dumb creation? They were made for us. They've got
to suffer and be killed to supply our wants. The cattle and sheep, and other
animals would over-run the earth, if we didn't kill them."
"Granted," said the old man, stopping right in front of him. "Granted, young
man, if you take out that word suffer. The Lord made the sheep, and the cattle,
and the pigs. They are his creatures just as much as we are. We can kill them,
but we've no right to make them suffer."
"But we can't help it, sir."
"Yes, we can, my young man. It's a possible thing to raise healthy stock, treat
it kindly, kill it mercifully, eat it decently. When men do that I, for one,
will cease to be a vegetarian. You're only a boy. You haven't traveled as I
have. I've been from one end of this country to the other. Up north, down south,
and out west, I've seen sights that made me shudder, and I tell you the Lord
will punish this great American nation if it doesn't change its treatment of the
dumb animals committed to its care."
The young man looked thoughtful, and did not reply. A very sweet-faced old lady
sitting near him answered the old gentleman. I don't think I have ever seen such
a fine-looking old lady as she was. Her hair was snowy white, and her face was
deeply wrinkled, yet she was tall and stately, and her expression was as
pleasing as my dear Miss Laura's.
"I do not think we are a wicked nation," she said, softly. "We are a younger
nation than many of the nations of the earth, and I think that many of our sins
arise from ignorance and thoughtlessness."
"Yes, madame, yes, madame," said the fiery old gentleman, staring hard at her.
"I agree with you there."
She smiled very pleasantly at him and went on. "I, too, have been a traveler,
and I have talked to a great many wise and good people on the subject of the
cruel treatment of animals, and I find that many of them have never thought
about it. They, themselves, never knowingly ill-treat a dumb creature, and when
they are told stories of inhuman conduct, they say in surprise, 'Why, these
things surely can't exist!' You see they have never been brought in contact with
them. As soon as they learn about them, they begin to agitate and say, 'We must
have this thing stopped. Where is the remedy?'"
"And what is it, what is it, madame, in your opinion?" said the old gentleman,
pawing the floor with impatience.
"Just the remedy that I would propose for the great evil of intemperance," said
the old lady, smiling at him. "Legislation and education. Legislation for the
old and hardened, and education for the young and tender. I would tell the
schoolboys and schoolgirls that alcohol will destroy the framework of their
beautiful bodies, and that cruelty to any of