“What a mean fellow you are!” said the lion. “You’re giving evidence against your own relations.”
“Very distant,” replied the orang-outang. “Exceedingly remote. I will remind you that I expressly refused to take any responsibility for these Two-Legs, who only bring disgrace upon the family. Well, I was sitting in the tree and saw him come running up, fling himself on the sheep and strangle her. Then he dragged the poor beast to the tree in which he is living. I crept up behind him and saw him skin her. The woman helped him and then they climbed up the tree and feasted.”
“Is that all?” asked the lion. “I’ve eaten plenty of sheep in my time, though I prefer deer on the whole. Why shouldn’t Two-Legs help himself to a bit of meat if he likes?”
“If I may speak, I should like to remind you of what I said when we last met,” said the ox. “It’s easy for you to talk like that, for Two-Legs can’t do you any harm. It’s we others that he eats. Still, you had better look out. He may become a dangerous competitor. Suppose he gets a large family of children and they all take to eating mutton?”
“Then there’s always beef left!” said the lion, laughing and showing his terrible teeth.
“Just so,” said the ox and cautiously took a step backwards. “The oxen will get their turn, now that he has tasted blood. He looks awfully greedy. And I feel as if he had eaten me before.”
“Humph!” said the lion. “There may be something in that. I don’t like beating about the bush as a rule. Let us go and have a word with the fellow.”
5
He moved on; and the orang-outang skipped along eagerly in front of him: