“If you had some peanuts he’d come down for those,” suggested Ted, searching through his pockets, hoping to find a stray “goober.”
“Mickey lika da peanut, but Mickey lika da banan mooch better,” said the Italian. “If I hada da banan, down queek he come.”
“I have a banana,” said Mrs. Martin. “I bought some after we left the moving picture place, and the children didn’t eat all of them. Here’s a banana for Mickey,” she added, handing to the Italian organ grinder one of the yellow fruits.
“T’ank you,” murmured the man. Then, peeling the banana, he bit off a little end of it and held the remainder out so the monkey could see it. “I no fool you,” the man murmured to his pet. “Dese banana, he good! See, I eat some of heem!”
Again he took a nibble as if to prove to the watching monkey that the fruit was real and good. And, seeing this, the monkey gave another chatter and then began to climb down the tree. Once he had made up his mind to descend, he lost little time, and he was soon perched on the organ eating the banana while his master fastened to the collar the little animal wore, the end of the string from which Mickey had broken loose.
“Now you be da good monk and come weeth papa!” said the organ grinder, at which the Curlytops laughed again, the Italian joining in.
“Mother, isn’t it funny for him to call himself the monkey’s papa?” whispered Jan.
“Rather funny, yes,” admitted her mother. “But the Italians are like that.”
“I t’ank you for catcha da monk,” said the Italian, taking off his hat and bowing to Mrs. Martin, as Mickey finished the banana. “Mebby I never no get heem if so dat he not smell da banana.”
“I’m glad I had one to tempt him down with,” replied the mother of the Curlytops, with a smile.