This proved too much for Ozzie B.—
“Don't—d-o-n-'t—let him kill the monkey,” he cried.
There was an electric flash of red as Archie B. ran around the tree and kicked the sobs back into his brother.
“Just wait, Ozzie B., you fool.”
“For—what?” sobbed Ozzie.
“For what the monkey does to Bonaparte,” he shouted triumphantly.
The crowd yelled derisively: “What the monkey does to Bonaparte—that's too good?”
“Boy,” said Uncle Billy kindly—“don't you know it's ag'in nachur—why, the dorg'll eat him up!”
“That's rot,” said Archie B. disdainfully. Then hotly: “Yes, it wus ag'in nachur when David killed Goliath—when Sampson slew the lion, and when we licked the British. Oh, it wus ag'in nachur then, but it looks mighty nach'ul now, don't it? Jes' you wait an' see what the monkey does to Bonaparte. I tell you, Uncle Billy, the Lord's on the monkey's side—can't you see it?”
Uncle Billy smiled and shook his head. He was interrupted by low laughter and cheers. A villager had drawn a crude picture on a white paste-board and was showing it around. A huge dog was shaking a lifeless monkey and under it was written: