Ruth Hazlitt nodded, shy, took my hand in introduction.

“Darrie, oh, Dar-rie!” called Baxter ... “a Southern society girl, but a mighty good radical already,” he explained to me, sotto voce, as we heard sounds of her approach.

Mary Darfield Malcolm came in, in a flimsy dressing gown of yellow, with blue ribbons in it, her hair wet and still done up in a towel.  Superbly she trusted to her big eyes of limpid brown, and to the marble-like pallour of her complexion, the twin laughing dimples in her cheeks ... she added her welcome to the others ... easily, with a Southern way of speech that caught each recalcitrant word by the tail and caressed its back as it came out....

* * * * *

That afternoon, at Baxter’s suggestion, he and I launched forth on a walk together....

“There is some beautiful country for walking about here.”

* * * * *

“Darrie, will you and Ruth have the veal steak cooked by six o’clock?”

I noticed that he did not include his wife.  Also, I looked at him in amazement ... a look the significance of which he instantly caught ...  Steak?  Meat?

“I’ve done a lot of experimenting in dietetics,” he explained, “and I have finally been brought to face the fact, after years of vegetarianism, that there’s nothing like a good steak for a brain-worker.  It’s easily digested and affords ready nourishment ... vegetables, yes ... but it takes up so much vital energy to digest them ... the meat-eating races are the dominant races of the world ... but,” he flashed quickly, “I always try to be logical and consistent.  If I eat meat, I must be willing to kill the animal I eat.  I must not stand off in dainty horror over the butcher’s trade, while I live by it.”

“Surely you don’t mean that you do your own butchering?”

“No ... not that ... but I’ve proven to myself that I can kill ... we had a dog, a mongrel, that attached itself to us ... tore up everything in my study ... tore the sheets and pillow slips on the beds ...  I took it out into the woods,” he ended gravely, “and killed ... shot it ... of course I had to summon up all my resolution ... but I did it.”

While admitting the almost childlike exactness of my friend’s logic, I could not help smiling to myself at his grotesque sincerity....

We walked far ... through green fields ... over flashing brooks ... through lovely woodland vistas ... we paused on the top of a hill, with vistas all about us ... just as we had done on Azure Mound in Kansas....

“I asked you to take this walk with me in order to tell you something....  Johnnie, you’re my friend, and that is why I don’t want you to stay at my house with us.  I want you to put up at the Community Inn, at my expense ... eat your meals with us, of course.”

I was surprised.  He did not want me in the house because I was his friend!... in silence I waited his further explanation....