“Not hungry? What does it mean, then—a trap?”
There was no reply, and after pitching back the chopsticks into the pot, Stan looked the animal full in the eyes, stood well on the alert, quite ready to plant his right foot against one of the bamboo bars, and then very slowly let his hand go down till it lay in the long, narrow, outstretched palm.
It was the crucial moment then, and hard work to keep from snatching it away, for the long, thin fingers closed over it gently but tightly. But that was all. The animal breathed heavily—it sounded like a sigh—but there was no sharp flashing of the keen brown eyes, only a softened look as they blinked gently; and the fierce little beast just held on as if it enjoyed having company and being talked to, for, perhaps oddly enough, the satisfied feeling began to be mutual, and in what followed the English lad seemed as if he were taking his fellow-prisoner into his confidence in an apologetic way.
“Seems stupid to make friends with a savage monkey,” he said slowly; and as he spoke he began to softly manipulate the long, thin fingers. “I don’t see why. A fellow would not be long in taking up with a strange dog if he were locked up alone as I am. He’d be precious glad of the chance, and you seem ever so much more intelligent than a dog. Like that?”
“That” was a gentle pressure of the hand; but there was no reply, so Stan went on talking gently:
“I wish you were a dog, old chap—our dog, so that I could write a note, tie it to your collar, and send you off with it to the hong. As a monkey, you must have more gumption than a dog; but if I did tear a leaf out of my pocket-book, write a message on it, and then tie it to your neck, do you know what you’d do?—No, you don’t.—Well, I’ll tell you. You’d take it and pick it all into little pieces, and perhaps chew them up. That’s about what you’d do; but I dare say I could teach you in time.
“Well,” continued Stan after a short pause, “I don’t believe you mean to bite. Let’s see if I can’t make you feel that you can trust me.”
It was venturesome, and Stan half-expected to see the hand snatched away, for he did see the eyes open more widely and begin to flash; but he went on with what he purposed doing, slowly and quietly raising his left hand, noticing that he was carefully watched, till it was just beneath the one he held. Then he supported it with his left hand, and began to stroke it gently with his right, smoothing the long, hairy fingers; and as this went on there was another soft, long-drawn sigh, and the animal’s eyes nearly closed.
“There!” said Stan suddenly; “that’s lesson the first. Now I’m going to see if there is a way out of this horrible dog-hole.”
He released the hand, and walked quickly away along the front bars, peering through into the yard, but seeing nothing but blank wall, and then crossed to the door, to stand listening.