A Man in the Zoo

A MAN IN THE ZOO
by DAVID GARNETT Illustrated with wood engravings by R. A. GARNETT
TORONTO THE MACMILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LIMITED 1924 SPECIAL EDITION FOR SALE ONLY IN CANADA PRINTED IN ENGLAND ALL RIGHTS RESERVED TO HENRIETTA BINGHAM AND MINA KIRSTEIN
I HAVE to thank Mr. Arthur Waley for permission to quote from his translation of a poem by Wang Yen-shou, which appears in “The Temple and other Poems,” published by Messrs. Allen & Unwin.
I also wish to say that the Royal Zoological Society has always been the object of my respect and admiration, and that in this story, neither explicitly nor implicitly, is anything intended that could be regarded as derogatory to the Society in any sense.
JOHN CROMARTIE and Josephine Lackett gave up their green tickets at the turnstile, and entered the Zoological Society’s Gardens by the South Gate.
It was a warm day at the end of February, and Sunday morning. In the air there was a smell of spring, mixed with the odours of different animals—yaks, wolves, and musk-oxen, but the two visitors did not notice it. They were lovers, and were having a quarrel.
They came soon to the Wolves and Foxes, and stood still opposite a cage containing an animal very like a dog.
“Other people, other people! You are always considering the feelings of other people,” said Mr. Cromartie. His companion did not answer him, so he went on:
“You say somebody feels this, or that somebody else may feel the other. You never talk to me about anything except what other people are feeling, or may be going to feel. I wish you could forget about other people and talk about yourself, but I suppose you have to talk of other people’s feelings because you haven’t any of your own.”
The beast opposite them was bored. He looked at them for a moment and forgot them at once. He lived in a small space, and had forgotten the outside world where creatures very like himself raced in circles.