the fools in the street and myself. They try to give me nothing but

farthings. I try to give them nothing but drugs. Well, to-day I've made

nothing. Not an idiot on the highway, not a penny in the till. Eat away,

hell-born boy! Tear and crunch! We have fallen on times when nothing can

equal the cynicism of spongers. Fatten at my expense, parasite! This

wretched boy is more than hungry; he is mad. It is not appetite, it is

ferocity. He is carried away by a rabid virus. Perhaps he has the

plague. Have you the plague, you thief? Suppose he were to give it to

Homo! No, never! Let the populace die, but not my wolf. But by-the-bye I

am hungry myself. I declare that this is all very disagreeable. I have

worked far into the night. There are seasons in a man's life when he is

hard pressed. I was to-night, by hunger. I was alone. I made a fire. I

had but one potato, one crust of bread, a mouthful of bacon, and a drop

of milk, and I put it to warm. I said to myself, 'Good.' I think I am

going to eat, and bang! this crocodile falls upon me at the very moment.

He installs himself clean between my food and myself. Behold, how my

larder is devastated! Eat, pike, eat! You shark! how many teeth have you

in your jaws? Guzzle, wolf-cub; no, I withdraw that word. I respect

wolves. Swallow up my food, boa. I have worked all day, and far into the

night, on an empty stomach; my throat is sore, my pancreas in distress,

my entrails torn; and my reward is to see another eat. 'Tis all one,

though! We will divide. He shall have the bread, the potato, and the

bacon; but I will have the milk."

Just then a wail, touching and prolonged, arose in the hut. The man

listened.

251

The Man Who Laughs