Beautiful Joe [47]
his hand and helped her. "He's not suffered much, miss," he
said; "don't you distress yourself. Now if you'd been a brakeman on a Chicago
train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in for the stock
yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to hold a certain number of
pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twice as many, and half of 'em
thrown out choked and smothered to death. I've seen a man running up and down,
raging and swearing because the railway people hadn't let him get in to tend to
his pigs on the road."
Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. "Is it like that
now?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, hastily. "It's better now. They've got new regulations about
taking care of the stock; but mind you, miss, the cruelty to animals isn't all
done on the railways. There's a great lot of dumb creatures suffering all round
everywhere, and if they could speak 'twould be a hard showing for some other
people besides the railway men."
He lifted his cap and hurried down the platform, and Miss Laura, her face very
much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and wood scattered about
the platform, and went into the waiting room of the little station.
She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, and gave it to
me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned my head against her knees, and she
stroked my throat gently.
There were some people sitting about the room, and, from their talk, I found out
what had taken place. There had been a freight train on a side track at this
station, waiting for us to get by. The switchman had carelessly left the switch
open after this train went by, and when we came along afterward, our train,
instead of running in by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If
we had been going fast, great damage might have been done. As it was, our engine
was smashed so badly that it could not take us on; the passengers were
frightened; and we were having a tedious time waiting for another engine to come
and take us to Riverdale.
After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could get no one
to release me.
While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring at us. He was such a
queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had bright brown eyes,
and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that he shook every few minutes.
He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his cane, and he scarcely took his
eyes from Miss Laura's face. Suddenly he jumped up and came and sat down beside
her.
"An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me.
Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only looked amused.
"He seems beautiful to me," she said, gently.
"H'm, because he's your dog," said the old man, darting a sharp look at me.
"What's the matter with him?"
"This is his first journey by rail, and he's a little frightened."
"No wonder. The Lord only knows the suffering of animals in transportation,"
said the old gentleman. "My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen,
you'd never eat another bit of meat all the days of your life."
Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. "I know I have 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
said; "don't you distress yourself. Now if you'd been a brakeman on a Chicago
train, as I was a few years ago, and seen the animals run in for the stock
yards, you might talk about cruelty. Cars that ought to hold a certain number of
pigs, or sheep, or cattle, jammed full with twice as many, and half of 'em
thrown out choked and smothered to death. I've seen a man running up and down,
raging and swearing because the railway people hadn't let him get in to tend to
his pigs on the road."
Miss Laura turned and looked at the man with a very white face. "Is it like that
now?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, hastily. "It's better now. They've got new regulations about
taking care of the stock; but mind you, miss, the cruelty to animals isn't all
done on the railways. There's a great lot of dumb creatures suffering all round
everywhere, and if they could speak 'twould be a hard showing for some other
people besides the railway men."
He lifted his cap and hurried down the platform, and Miss Laura, her face very
much troubled, picked her way among the bits of coal and wood scattered about
the platform, and went into the waiting room of the little station.
She took me up to the filter and let some water run in her hand, and gave it to
me to lap. Then she sat down and I leaned my head against her knees, and she
stroked my throat gently.
There were some people sitting about the room, and, from their talk, I found out
what had taken place. There had been a freight train on a side track at this
station, waiting for us to get by. The switchman had carelessly left the switch
open after this train went by, and when we came along afterward, our train,
instead of running in by the platform, went crashing into the freight train. If
we had been going fast, great damage might have been done. As it was, our engine
was smashed so badly that it could not take us on; the passengers were
frightened; and we were having a tedious time waiting for another engine to come
and take us to Riverdale.
After the accident, the trainmen were so busy that Miss Laura could get no one
to release me.
While I sat by her, I noticed an old gentleman staring at us. He was such a
queer-looking old gentleman. He looked like a poodle. He had bright brown eyes,
and a pointed face, and a shock of white hair that he shook every few minutes.
He sat with his hands clasped on the top of his cane, and he scarcely took his
eyes from Miss Laura's face. Suddenly he jumped up and came and sat down beside
her.
"An ugly dog, that," he said, pointing to me.
Most young ladies would have resented this, but Miss Laura only looked amused.
"He seems beautiful to me," she said, gently.
"H'm, because he's your dog," said the old man, darting a sharp look at me.
"What's the matter with him?"
"This is his first journey by rail, and he's a little frightened."
"No wonder. The Lord only knows the suffering of animals in transportation,"
said the old gentleman. "My dear young lady, if you could see what I have seen,
you'd never eat another bit of meat all the days of your life."
Miss Laura wrinkled her forehead. "I know I have 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