That afternoon, at Baxter's suggestion, he and I launched forth on a walk together....
"There is some beautiful country for walking about here."
"Darrie, will you and Ruth have the veal steak cooked by six o'clock?"
I noticed that he did not include his wife. Also, I looked at him in amazement ... a look the significance of which he instantly caught ... Steak? Meat?
"I've done a lot of experimenting in dietetics," he explained, "and I have finally been brought to face the fact, after years of vegetarianism, that there's nothing like a good steak for a brain-worker. It's easily digested and affords ready nourishment ... vegetables, yes ... but it takes up so much vital energy to digest them ... the meat-eating races are the dominant races of the world ... but," he flashed quickly, "I always try to be logical and consistent. If I eat meat, I must be willing to kill the animal I eat. I must not stand off in dainty horror over the butcher's trade, while I live by it."
"Surely you don't mean that you do your own butchering?"
"No ... not that ... but I've proven to myself that I can kill ... we had a dog, a mongrel, that attached itself to us ... tore up everything in my study ... tore the sheets and pillow slips on the beds ... I took it out into the woods," he ended gravely, "and killed ... shot it ... of course I had to summon up all my resolution ... but I did it."
While admitting the almost childlike exactness of my friend's logic, I could not help smiling to myself at his grotesque sincerity....