“It hopes to defend itself by the horrid odor of its sweat and by its intolerably bitter taste; but this sweat is put to no further use. The animal would be truly dangerous if it could inject its sweat into our blood as the viper injects its venom through its fangs into the wound already made by them. I will now relate a few experiments made by the scientists I just referred to. “A drop of the toad’s milky fluid is introduced with a pointed steel instrument into the flesh of a little bird. In a few minutes the bird staggers as if intoxicated, shuts its eyes, gasps, and falls dead.” “Really and truly dead?” asked Emile. “Really and truly dead,” his uncle replied. “A dog is treated in the same manner, but with a stronger dose. In less than an hour the animal dies in a frightful frenzy.” “Then this white sweat of the toad must be a perfectly horrible venom,” Jules remarked. “Travelers tell us that certain South American Indian tribes poison the tips of their arrows with this venom. First they impale alive on a long stick a number of these animals, and then put them near the fire to make their warts sweat. The fluid that oozes out is collected in a large leaf, and into this fluid the savages dip their arrow-heads, a wound from which is then likely to prove fatal.” “Isn’t it the truth, then,” asked Jules, “that toads are venomous?” “Yes and no. Applied in any way but by injection, the toad’s sweat is harmless; to act as venom it must mix with the blood through a wound. But I will not repeat what I have already told you about the viper’s venom. The toad is powerless to make the slightest wound in our flesh, and therefore it is absolutely impossible for it to harm us. It possesses a poison without being able to make any use of it except to bedew its own body by perspiring, thus repelling its enemies by the horrid smell and taste of this sweat. You can handle a toad without any sort of risk if you wish to; wash your hands immediately afterward if they have become moistened by the contact, and there will be no further trouble. Unless the foolish fancy should seize you to collect a little of the venomous liquid on the point of a penknife and then prick yourself with the knife till you drew blood, I can assure you positively that the toad would cause you no injury whatever.” “That is plain enough,” Jules admitted, “for the toad has no means of making a wound to receive the venom from its warts; but they tell of other kinds of venom such as urine thrown to a distance and drivel running from the mouth.” “No drivel runs from the toad’s mouth, nor is there any truth in the animal’s poisoning fruit and grass with its saliva. That is pure calumny invented to blacken the detested animal.” “And the urine?”