THE BUTCHER'S SHOP 65 



persuade them all to eat that morning; probably this 

 distaste was due to the smell clinging to the skins, and 

 I must admit that it was not appetizing. The meat 

 itself, as it lay there cut up, looked well enough, in all 

 conscience; no butcher's shop could have exhibited a 

 finer sight than we showed after flaying and cutting 

 up ten dogs. Great masses of beautiful fresh, red 

 meat, with quantities of the most tempting fat, lay 

 spread over the snow. The dogs went round and sniffed 

 at it. Some helped themselves to a piece; others were 

 digesting. We men had picked out what we thought 

 was the youngest and tenderest one for ourselves. The 

 whole arrangement was left to Wisting, both the selec- 

 tion and the preparation of the cutlets. His choice fell 

 upon Rex, a beautiful little animal — one of his own 

 dogs, by the way. With the skill of an expert, he hacked 

 and cut away what he considered would be sufficient 

 for a meal. I could not take my eyes off his work ; the 

 delicate little cutlets had an absolutely hypnotizing 

 effect as they were spread out one by one over the 

 snow. They recalled memories of old days, when no 

 doubt a dog cutlet would have been less tempting than 

 now — memories of dishes on which the cutlets were 

 elegantly arranged side by side, with paper frills on the 

 bones, and a neat pile of petits pois in the middle. All, 

 my thoughts wandered still farther afield — but that 

 does not concern us now, nor has it anything to do with 

 the South Pole. 



