‘Now, Chauncey, you leave pore Amélie’s whiskers alone. That piece was meant for her.... Go slow, Marie! and you, William J. Bryan, get up off Talmage, unless you’ve a yearn for the far-end of my teacher’s help.’
When the meal was over the American took out some sewing—some old clothes of his own, that he was patching up for the Colonel—while the Colonel ate the scraps that remained, and cleared the things away. This done, the Colonel came and sat down once more by the man.
‘Whar’s your Word-makin’ and Word-takin’ gotten to, Colonel?’ said the American, looking up from his sewing. ‘Hev you bin hidin’ it up that teak tree agen?’
The Colonel looked uncomfortably about him, blinked once or twice, and scratched his thigh.
‘Burn my fingers,’ said the man, ‘but I think you’re as like a human b’y as any ape can get. Slip off yer boots. Mosey up and fetch ’em back right now, you young hellion, and spell me out “Home, sweet home,” afore I get to the end of this seam.’
‘So I’m a scientific discoverer, am I?’ mused the American, left alone. ‘And I’ve foun’ the Missin’ Link at last, hev I? There’ll be a pile o’ money in that, I shouldn’t wonder. The Colonel’ll be mighty pleased when he hears he ain’t an or’nary ape; he’ll be as proud as a Bishop among the angels.’
The Colonel meanwhile came climbing with swift and solemn accuracy down the teak tree, the box of letters in his mouth. The chimpanzee growled and chattered with aimless fury as she roamed to and fro.
‘See here, Colonel, I’ve hed a letter from the Boss. I fotch it in along with that passel on last Toosday.... Squit that I-talian music, you dun-coloured Dago’—this to the chimpanzee—‘you unlicensed traveller in otto o’ roses; shet yer head, I say, and don’t show yer lunch-hooks at me.... I’ll hev to get rid o’ that dosh-burned critter; she’ll niver be a credit to the Show.... Whar was I? Why, letter from the Boss; that’s so. Wahl, thar was noos in that letter fur you an’ me, Colonel, big noos.’
The Colonel turned his melancholy eyes on his master: their expression never varied, but his breath came quick and fast with an unspoken interrogation.
‘I’d bin expeckin’ it fur a lawng time; but I begin to feel sorter queer now it’s nigh on comin’ true.’