"I don't think the brute will worry you again," I whispered. "It'll probably be miles away by to-morrow morning. But you'd better keep the windows shut to-night. They're such inquisitive little beasts."
Molly and I withdrew to the dining-room, Gran'pa shuffling and mumbling after us.
He was clearly upset at the sudden failure of his plans, and I could not help sympathizing with him. That previous day's search in the East End for a gentleman with a monkey for sale must have been a strenuous enough undertaking at his age, but the skylarking in the kitchen must have been a still greater strain. Nothing but Gran'pa's intense enthusiasm for the cause could possibly have supplied such tremendous motive power to a man of ninety-five. His endurance, his persistence, and his unswerving faith and optimism had been extraordinary from the very moment he had read that article. For the first time since his arrival in England, he seemed to have waked up. It was, indeed, more than a little sad to think that such industry had ended in failure.
"D'you intend offering a reward for the monkey's recovery?" I asked.
"Certainly!"
"Isn't it unwise? You'll only have people talking."
"What about? There's no reason why a man can't keep a monkey if he wants to. Nothing very startling in that."
"Perhaps not. But you must know that this theory of the interstitial glands is in all the papers. Everyone is talking about it. They'd immediately associate your extreme age with . . ."
"George!" he interrupted.
"Yes?"