out. Was he to be balked that way? No, no. 

 He took oyster number two, flopped it into the 

 empty tub, scoured it around on the muddy 

 bottom, looked it over as carefully as he had 

 done stringy number one, and swallowed sandy, 

 muddy number two with just as much relish. 



This was too much. I cuffed him and took 

 away the tub. This I suppose was wrong, for 

 I understand you must never oppose crazy per- 

 sons. "Well, Mux helped himself to oyster num- 

 ber three. There was no water, no tub. But 

 what were oysters for if not to be washed? 

 And who was he but Prdcyon lotor — Procyon 

 "the washer"? Can the leopard change his 

 spots or the racoon his habits? Can he? Shall 

 he? I could almost hear him muttering under 

 his breath, "To be, or not to be : that is the 

 question." Then he darted a triumphantly ma- 

 licious glance at me, retreated to the back of his 

 cage, thrust his oyster out of sight beneath the 

 straw of his bed, and washed it— washed the oys- 

 ter in the straw, washed it into a fistful of sticks 

 and chaff, and gloated as he swallowed it. 



[119] 



