“And what about the hen’s soul?” began again the man who had just broken off his conversation with the poultry-farmer.
“Hens have souls too.... It was a hen’s soul that brought me to my senses.... You see my hamper of chickens over there?”
The hamper was probably standing somewhere on the platform, though it could not be seen in the darkness.
“Well, what about it?”
“Very well, then; I thought I’d take our women in once more with a steam-chicken; but they were too sharp for me. I thought I’d trick them, you see, and pay them for their eggs with a steam-chicken, but I had tried it once too often—they would not take it.”
“WELL, I LOOKED, AND I THOUGHT TO MYSELF, ‘HOW DID ALL THAT FIRE GET INTO THAT LITTLE GLASS GLOBE.’”
“Why?”
“Because the steam-chicken has no soul! He has no soul at all, and so he doesn’t breed. That’s just the whole thing. I work on a steam-chicken farm. Well, you see, at one time we used to exchange steam-chickens for eggs. We’d give a woman a cock and hen—for that matter, it was quite worth our while to give a cock and two hens for a dozen or a dozen and a half eggs.... We could always raise ten or fifteen out of two or three dozen; so we made our profit. At first the women took them and it was all right—and of course it was better for us than paying in money. But after a bit we couldn’t get anybody to take them; all the women came and made a row about it: ‘Your machine-hens won’t lay!’ And there you are! It’s no use, whatever you do; they won’t lay! And it’s just the same with fish. All those machine-raised fish—you know, you can rear them artificially now—but they won’t breed.... Now, just you think of that—the wisdom of it! The temperature’s there—’cause, you know, it’s done with hot water and steam—but there’s no soul!”
“But it can run about, your machine-chicken—can’t it? and eat?”