Years ago, there was nobody quite so fine as the donkey. He was a great swell in those times. No one could express an opinion of anything without the donkey showing where he was in it. No one could mention the name of an important personage without the donkey declaring how well he knew him.
The donkey was, above all things, a proud and aristocratic beast.
One day a party of animals were discussing one thing and another, until finally the conversation drifted around to mythology.
"I have always admired that giant, Atlas," observed the ox in the course of the conversation. "It was amazing how he could carry things."
"Oh, yes, Atlas," said the donkey, "I knew him very well. I once met a man and we got talking of Atlas. I expressed my admiration for the giant and my desire to meet him some day, if possible. Whereupon the man said there was nothing quite so easy. He was sure that his dear friend, Atlas, would be happy to meet so charming a donkey. Was I at leisure next Monday? Well, then, could I dine with him upon that date? So, you see, it was all arranged. I found Atlas to be a very pleasant fellow."
"It has always been a wonder to me how he could have carried the earth on his back," said the horse.
"Oh, my dear sir, nothing is more simple," cried the donkey. "One has only to make up one's mind to it, and then—do it. That is all. I am quite sure that if I wished I could carry a range of mountains upon my back."
All the others said, "Oh, my!"
"Yes, I could," asserted the donkey, stoutly. "It is merely a question of making up one's mind. I will bet."
"I will wager also," said the horse. "I will wager my ears that you can't carry a range of mountains upon your back."