“What Bonaparte Done To The Monkey!”
Archie B. seized it and spat on it derisively: “Oh, well, that's the way of the worl',” he said. “God makes one wise man to see befo', an' a million fools to see afterwards.”
The depths of life's mysteries have never yet been sounded, and one of the wonders of it all is that one small voice praying for flowers in a wilderness of thorns may live to see them blossom at his feet.
“I've seed stranger things than that,” remarked Uncle Billy thoughtfully. “The boy mout be right.”
And now Jud and Billy were seen coming out of the store, with their hands full of gold.
“Eet's robbery—eet's stealin'”—winked Billy at the crowd—“eet's like takin' it from a babe—”
With one accord the crowd surged toward the back lot, where Bonaparte, disgusted with the long delay, had lain down on a pile of newly-blown leaves and slept. Around the lot was a solid plank fence, with one gate open, and here in the lot, sound asleep in the sunshine, lay the champion.
The Italian brought along the monkey in his arms. Archie B. calmly and confidently acting as his bodyguard. Jud walked behind to see that the monkey did not get away, and behind him came Ozzie B. sobbing in his hiccoughy way:
“Don't let him kill the po' little thing!”
He could go no farther than the gate. There he stood weeping and looking at the merciless crowd.