“I wouldn’t either,” Jules agreed, “for fear of their venom.”
“Ah, the venom! That is the serious side of the question, and not the creature’s ugliness, which is open to discussion. The toad has the beauty appropriate to it, the beauty of a toad, and it cannot have any other without ceasing to be what it is.
“On being molested toads perspire through the warts that cover their skin a thick and viscous fluid that looks somewhat like milk. This secretion has a nauseous, burning taste and is unbearably bitter.”
“Some one, then, has tasted the milky sweat that oozes from the toad’s warts?” asked Jules.
“Yes, scientists have tasted it in order to tell us the truth about it, just as others have done with the viper’s venom. We must respect highly these courageous investigators, who are willing to make any sacrifice if only they may add to our knowledge and relieve our sufferings.”
“The toad sweats this milky liquid when tormented; is that the way it defends itself?” Jules further inquired.
“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 [[283]]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.”