“If I do let him grip my hand,” he said to himself, “and he tries to drag it between the bars, I have only to plant a foot against the bars and hold back. He can’t get at me to bite unless I let him drag my hand right through, and I’m not going to be such a coward as to shrink. I’ve been kind to the little brute, and fed him. All animals are ready to be friends with those who feed them, so here goes.”
But here did not go, for another thought struck the lad, and he gave utterance to it.
“What nonsense!” he said. “I’d better think of making my escape instead of trying experiments with monkeys. I might give him a little more to eat, though. Perhaps that’s what he wants after all.”
Stan stood blinking his eyes at the monkey, and the monkey blinked its eyes at him.
“Hungry?” he said aloud.
“Tchack!” was the reply.
“Not much of a conversationalist for a fellow-prisoner,” said Stan, laughing; and stooping quickly, he caught up the two chopsticks, dug a portion of the rice from the pot, and held it out. “Here you are,” he said.
The twitching of the animal’s face was wonderfully quick, and its eyes twinkled as it stared at its new companion, but for a few minutes it made no offer to take the rice.
“Aren’t you hungry?” cried Stan.
“Tchack!” was the reply, as the hand moved delicately, a couple of fingers pinching off a few grains, which were raised to the animal’s nostrils, snuffed at, and then crumbled so that they fell to the floor, while the hand remained outstretched.