“Faith ye’re all wrong,” spoke up Jimmie. “Sure it’s a monkey he’s huggin’ till his breast, so he be.”
“A monkey!” cried Herb, as he appeared behind the fat boy, holding a fryingpan threateningly in his hand.
“Yes, that’s what!” gasped Nick. “Don’t you see, a tame monkey, and with a little red cap, and a coat on. He was going through my pockets, I tell you, when I woke up—that is when I first felt him. Give us a hand here and help me hold the little scratcher. My! but he’s strong, and he tries to bite my nose every time.”
“Because you’re hurting him,” said Herb. “Wait till I get hold of that bit of rope he’s trailing behind. Now let him loose, Buster, but keep him away from your face. He’d scratch your eyes out.”
The queer little visitor seemed to be willing to submit, once Nick stopped squeezing him; for he immediately took off his red cap, and made quite a bow. Then he snatched up a small tin cup that was attached to a belt he wore, with a tiny chain, and held it out to Herb.
“Give him a penny, Herb,” laughed Jack.
“Yes, he recognizes an old acquaintance; help a poor fellow in distress, Herb!” Josh hastened to add.
“Where under the sun d’ye suppose he came from?” asked George, suspiciously.
“Must belong to some Italian organgrinder, I should say, judging from the uniform, and the piece of broken rope. Perhaps he’s run away, and wanted to become a stowaway on board Herb’s boat,” Jack went on.
“All right,” the other remarked, promptly, “anyhow, he knew a good boat when he saw one. Give him credit for that. But did you hear what Buster said about him feeling in his pockets? Now, I’ve heard it said that often these monkeys are taught to steal, going up into second-story windows, and grabbing things. Perhaps he was sent aboard right now to pick up anything he could find.”