, when the poor amphibian had been soaking in
spring-water ever since it was a tadpole!

No matter. The frog must be washed. And washed it was. It was scoured
first with all his might, then placed in the bottom of the tub, under
water, held down by one fore paw, until the maniac could get in with his
hind feet upon it, and then danced upon; from here it was laid upon the
floor of the cage and kneaded until as limp as a lump of dough; then
lifted daintily, it was shaken round and round in the water, rinsed and
wrung, and minutely inspected, and--swallowed.

I felt justified in keeping this animal caged. He was not fit to run loose
even in the Bear Swamp. Perhaps I have done him wrong in this story of the
frog. Frogs may need washing, after all, despite the fact that they are
never out of the bath-tub long enough to dry off once in their whole
lives. Mux knew more about frogs than I, doubtless. But Mux insisted upon
washing oysters.

Now there are few people clothed in sane minds who do not like raw
oysters. Mark this, however: when you see a person wash raw oysters, keep
out of his way; he has lost either his wits or his morals. The only two
creatures I ever knew to wash raw oysters were Mux and an oyster-dealer in
Cambridge Street, Boston. I saw this dealer take up a two-gallon can that
had just arrived at his store, and dump the dark salty shell-fish into a
great colander, stick the end of a piece of rubber hose in among them,
turn the water on? and stir and soak them. How white they got! How fat
they got! How their ghastly corpses swelled!

Mux did not wash his to see them swell, but simply that he might take no
chances with dirt--or poison, for I used to think sometimes that he
thought I was trying to poison him. He was desperately fond of oysters.
But who could cast his pearls, or, to be scientifically and literally
correct, his mothers of pearls, before such a swine? Mux had just one
plateful of oysters while I was his keeper. They were nice plump fellows,
and when I saw the maniac soak one all stringy and tasteless I poured his
wash-water 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 nev