“HE’S MAD AT BEIN’ A DONKEY,” SAID WILLIAM, “AN’ HE
DOESN’T KNOW HOW TO TURN HIMSELF BACK.”
They were approaching the front door, meaning to ring and ask to see Mr. Simpkins in the normal fashion of callers. But to reach the front door they had to pass the window of the lab. and it proved far too thrilling to be passed. The Outlaws, neatly hidden behind the screen, were invisible. Maria stood in the middle of the room, her head drooping in an utterly deceptive attitude of patient meekness. All around was wreckage. The visitors stood and gazed at the scene open-mouthed. Tacitly they abandoned their intention of knocking at the front door and being admitted as callers. Led by the Vicar’s wife, they entered by the French windows.
“A donkey!” said Mrs. Hopkins, Treasurer of the Anti-vivisection Society (that is to say, she collected their sixpences and bought the cakes for tea). “I thought they used monkeys or rabbits.”
“They use different animals for different experiments,” said the Vicar’s wife with an air of deep knowledge. “I expect that a donkey is the most suitable animal for some experiments.”
“How terrible!” said Mrs. Gerald Fitzgerald, covering her face with her hands. “How truly terrible.... Poor, patient, suffering, dumb beast.”
Maria laid back her ears and rolled her wicked eyes at them.
Mrs. Hopkins and the Vicar’s wife began to wander about the room.
They stopped simultaneously before the row of bottled frogs.
“Poor creatures!” said Mrs. Hopkins unsteadily. “Poor, patient, suffering creatures—once so beautiful and lovable and free.”