"They look very thin and
sad," he thought, "I should not like to be a prisoner myself far from my
country, in the midst of a hostile population, without a woman or a dog
to throw me a wag of the tail. Poor men! For though it is necessary to
hate the Germans, it seems impossible to forget that we are all human
beings. This is weakness," he added to himself, "which no editor would
tolerate for a moment. I must fight against it if I am to fulfil my duty
of rousing the population to the task of starving them. How hungry they
look already--their checks are hollow! I must be firm. Perhaps they have
wives and families at home, thinking of them at this moment. But, after
all, they are Huns. What did the great writer say? 'Vermin--creatures
no more worthy of pity than the tiger or the rat.' How true! And
yet--Blink!" For his dog, seated on her haunches, was looking at him
with that peculiarly steady gaze which betokened in her the desire for
food. "Yes," mused Mr. Lavender, "pity is the mark of the weak man. It
is a vice which was at one time rampant in this country; the war has
made one beneficial change at least--we are moving more and more towards
the manly and unforgiving vigour of the tiger and the rat.
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