"Well, old chap?" said Gran'pa, affably.
No answer.
"Poor little fellow! I expect he's pretty homesick, George!"
No doubt Gran'pa's intentions were of the best. He merely wanted to be friendly and, at the same time, to examine our little captive more closely. So, after carefully satisfying himself that there was no risk of being bitten, Gran'pa approached still nearer, stooped, and made further remarks signifying comradeship.
Little Willie ignored him for about half a minute. Then he turned his head slightly, as though measuring the distance which separated him from this new and talkative specimen of humanity.
The next moment a hairy foot shot out; there was a gorilla scream of revengeful glee, a human yell of alarm and pain, a sound of scuffling and tearing—and Little Willie quickly retreated, holding a piece of trouser-leg in his left foot.
Unsatisfied with Gran'pa's curses and this tangible emblem of victory (which was now in Little Willie's mouth), the sprightly gorilla-child next dashed across to an amused native, severely bit him in the leg, and then described a large circle round the stake to which his chain was fastened.
Apparently, he wanted to make a clean sweep of all spectators. He accomplished his desire quite easily. The natives ran for their lives. Gran'pa and I hurriedly withdrew; and Stringer, who had been coming in our direction, suddenly stopped—and thought better of it.
"Cunning little beast!" grunted Gran'pa, exploring his bruised shin through the hole in his trouser leg.
"I told you he was dangerous!" I said.