I believe one of our South American
spider monkeys wouldn't hesitate . . . By Jove, it might be worth
trying, if--"
This was a crisper voice than the first. A third, higher-pitched,
and full of pleasant affectations, broke in.
"Oh, practical men, there is no ape here. Why do you waste one of
God's own days on unprofitable discussion? Give me a match!"
"I've a good mind to make you demonstrate in your own person.
Come on, Bubbles! We'll make Jimmy climb!"
There was a sound of scuffling, broken by squeaks from Jimmy of
the high voice. I turned back and drew Penfentenyou into the side
of the flanking hedge. I remembered to have read in a society
paper that Lord Lundie's lesser name was "Bubbles."
"What are they doing?" Penfentenyou said sharply. "Drunk?"
"Just playing! Superabundant vitality of the Race, you know.
We'll watch 'em," I answered. The noise ceased.
"My deliver," Jimmy gasped. "The ram caught in the thicket,
and--I'm the only one who can talk Neapolitan! Leggo my collar!"
He cried aloud in a foreign tongue, and was answered from the
gate.
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