"Not at all! You've just the build and . . . becoming appearance. . . ."
"Now you're getting merely rude, George. . . . Give me a hand with papa!"
We lifted the roaring mass of bone and muscle on to the stretcher, tucked him in, so to speak, and then turned our attention to Little Willie.
It was terrible to see such rage in one so young. He must have been repeating every oath in the gorilla vocabulary. He also showed us every tooth in his head, tore savagely at his chain, and even flung handfuls of turf at us. But we knew how to deal with these childish tantrums. A novice might have tried smacking him—and so might one of his own people. Our method was much safer. A straight six-foot branch, forked at the one end, is the best device I know for leading baby gorillas quietly home.
After about five minutes' active manoeuvring, Gran'pa managed to place the fork against Little Willie's neck, the chain being held just slack enough to permit of sufficient room for breathing purposes.
"Now!" said Gran'pa, kindly but firmly.
His captive made what was no doubt a fitting reply, caught hold of the branch in both hands, tried to bite it, found the feat a gymnastic impossibility, and ignominiously gave in. Sitting down, he awaited developments.
"Come along!" requested Gran'pa, tugging at the chain and stick.
Little Willie was wise. He followed Gran'pa much in the same playful and affectionate way that a monkey follows an organ grinder.
When they were twenty yards or so away I loosened the old lady gorilla's bonds sufficiently to allow her to escape—after a little necessary ingenuity—and hurried after Gran'pa.