Arms and The Man.

The chief trouble with Homo is that he is obliged to get along with only two arms and two legs; and his teeth have grown quite useless for gnawing his way through a crowd, biting the tops off bottles, or supporting himself on the picture rail when the ladder slips. In any case, his teeth have usually become detachable long before he has lost the will to use them in self-defence, or for the purpose of putting the wind up his creditors by baring them through the parlour window. The modern creditor would, excusably, presume that their owner either was demonstrating his joy at having paid the last instalment on them, or was desirous of disposing of them as a going concern.

It is all rather pathetic. There is the tiger with a set of tearers which would make the owner of a steam laundry feel like a massage expert, and yet apart from natural satisfaction in a job well-chewed—the tiger confines any swelling to parts below the head. But Man, knowing his dental deficiencies, continues to hurl himself upon beef steaks and suchlike tooth-proof products of the family butcher.

And that is where Man puts it across the whole animal kingdom; it is his indomitable spirit that has put him where he is—wherever that may be. It is this spirit which laughs at lock-jaw, vanquishes revulcanised chops, and tears the armour-plating off threepenny pies. His spirit enables him to overcome the advantages of progress and survive the blessings of civilisation.