He seemed to run them over in his memory. “Not one!” he answered slowly. “Not a single one! I am sure it never even occurred to them—why should it? They were there to enjoy themselves.” We walked in silence till I said: “I can’t help feeling that your little white-coated man was acting good-heartedly according to his lights.” “Quite! And after all what are the sufferings of a racoon compared with the enlargement of the human mind?” “Don’t be extravagant! You know he didn’t mean to be cruel.” “Does a man ever mean to be cruel? He merely makes or keeps his living; but to make or keep his living he will do anything that does not absolutely prick to his heart through the skin of his indolence or his obtuseness.” “I think,” I said, “that you might have expressed that less cynically, even if it’s true.” “Nothing that’s true is cynical, and nothing that is cynical is true. Indifference to the suffering of beasts always comes from over-absorption in our own comfort.” “Absorption, not over-absorption, perhaps.” “Ha! Let us see that! Very soon after seeing the racoon I was staying at the most celebrated health resort of that country, and, walking in its grounds, I came on an aviary. In the upper cages were canaries, and in the lower cage a splendid hawk. It was as large as our buzzard hawk, brown-backed and winged, light underneath, and with the finest dark-brown eyes of any bird I ever saw. The cage was quite ten feet each way—a noble allowance for the very soul of freedom! The bird had every luxury. There was water, and a large piece of raw meat that hadn’t been touched. Yet it was never still for a moment, flying from perch to perch, and dropping to the ground again and again so lightly, to run, literally run, up to the bars to see if perhaps—they were not there. Its face was as intelligent as any dog’s——” My friend muttered something I couldn’t catch, and then went on: “That afternoon I took the drive for which one visits that hotel, and it occurred to me to ask my chauffeur what kind of hawk it was. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘I ain’t just too sure what it is they’ve got caged up now; they changes ’em so often.’ “‘Do you mean,’ I said, ‘that they die in captivity?’ “‘Yes,’ he answered, ‘them big birds soon gits moulty and go off.’ Well, when I paid my bill I went up to the semblance of proprietor—it was one of those establishments where the only creature responsible is ‘Co.’—and I said: “‘I see you keep a hawk out there?’ “‘Yes. Fine bird. Quite an attraction!’ “‘People like to look at it?’ “‘Just so. They’re uncommon—that sort.’ “‘Well,’ I said, ‘I call it cruel to keep a hawk shut up like that.’ “‘Cruel? Why? What’s a hawk, anyway—cruel devils enough!’ “‘My dear sir,’ I said, ‘they earn their living just like men, without caring for other creatures’ sufferings. You are not shut up, apparently, for doing that. Good-bye.’” As he said this, my friend looked at me, and added: