and never pull each others' tails, being quite ignorant of the usages of politeness.
Some amusements, however, of a pleasing and elevating character, we have. One of the most fashionable is tormenting the pig-faced baboon. He is a low, unprincipled ruffian, and I owe him one for himself, as I think I observed before. He is bigger than most of us, but as he is chained up the amusement is safe as well as genteel—if you are careful about it. The usual course is, after a select party has been made up, first to fix exactly the utmost radius of reach which the chain will allow the pig-faced baboon. Then a semicircle is formed just outside the radius, and one of the party is told off to drop hot ashes out of a pipe upon the enemy's head—in his eye if possible. A pipe can almost always be snatched when required from the breast pocket of some handy human, who puts it there in deference to the printed notice against smoking in our presence, but leaves the bowl sticking out for fear of catching fire. The hot ashes having found their billet, the rest of the procedure is obvious. The pipe having been hurled after the ashes, every other available missile is hurled after the pipe, and the pig-faced gentleman's bad language and frantic attempts at universal assault are received with cheerful sarcasm and pleasant grimace by the assembled company, who keep our friend well in exercise the meantime by such pokes, pinches, and twitches of the tail from unforeseen directions as may seem judicious. This pursuit, beside affording cheap and innocent amusement and instruction for young and old of all classes, is healthy for the pig-faced baboon, preventing his liver from stagnating, and stimulating his digestion.
"A low, unprincipled ruffian."
I have mentioned that I owe this fellow one for himself. This is why. Soon after I came, and had seen the entertainment just described once or twice, I made up my mind to devote some time to a little private practice myself. So, producing the necessary inflamed condition on the chained savage with the point of a pocket pen (which a human boy had offered me under the delusion that he could pull it back before I could snatch it), I awaited developments just beyond reach of his teeth and fingers. I enjoyed the game, and after a little refreshing diversion, went so far as to spread my fingers out and plant my thumb against my nose. I had seen a human boy do this, and it struck me as rather a smart invention for such a creature. Old Piggy tugged and strained at his chain until he reached me within half an inch; then he suddenly turned tail-fore- most and—well, I only remember two or three summersaults and an awful pain in the stomach. The fact was, the old scoundrel had let out with his hind legs, and so poached another foot of reach, just when I didn't expect it. It's an old trick of his. I've seen him do it since to another new monkey, and it looks very neat viewed in that way. Personally, I was very much upset, and, having caught the little brown capuchin again, I administered toko. Notwithstanding which, I still owe the pig-faced baboon one for himself.
There is another to whom I owe a bite or two. He tries to monopolise one of our amusements himself. That is eating. He can't climb or run. He staggers about the place with both pouches hanging like immense whiskers from his cheeks, but solid and heavy. No matter what the humans outside may offer through the wires, he is always handy and grabs it. I flatter myself that very few of the others have a chance at biscuits or nuts if I am anywhere handy, but this unholy thief gets ahead even of me. I hate such greediness.
