“At last the operation of dressing has been performed. The little artists sit quietly on their stools, not a little proud of their gay costumes. They grin and wink at each other, and munch with great delight nuts and almonds and other delicacies with which they are rewarded. Lottie is particularly vain and proud of her pretty costume. With great complacency she pulls her dress, arranges her coiffure, pushes her hat from one side to the other to see which is most becoming, and keeps on a continual flirtation with the gentlemen of the company. Dainty little Jack, for whom these demonstrations of love are intended, seems to trouble himself very little about his coquetish mistress. He sits quietly in a corner enjoying the draughts from a small bottle of mild beer, of which he is particularly fond, taking very great care that not a drop of the precious liquor is spilled on his snowy white jacket and apron, which as cook is his professional costume. Jack is possessed of a most versatile talent. With equal skill and elegance he appears now as a cook, then as a coachman, or a circus rider and athlete. Besides this, he has assumed for his own pleasure the function of picking up the various articles that lie scattered on the stage after the performance and conveying them swiftly behind the scenes.”
While waiting for the performance to begin, Harry read the following account of a reporter's interview with Mr. Brockmann, the manager of the monkey troupe. The reporter asked about the system of training, and in reply to the question the manager said: “I cannot tell everything, as I have certain methods which I do not want to make generally known. For forty years my father and I have given exhibitions of trained animals, and in that time we have naturally learned much of their habits and dispositions. The great thing, however, is to gain command of an animal's entire attention. Once this is obtained, all the rest is comparatively easy. When a monkey's training begins he is restless, his eyes wander all over the room, and his attention is never for more than a minute concentrated on any one thing. I have to teach him to forget everything else and watch me. He must learn to keep his eyes on mine. If any one in the audience will watch the monkeys when they are doing important acts, he will see that they never take their eyes off me. It is a singular thing that, while dogs and ponies look larger on the stage than they really are, monkeys appear very much smaller when dressed up. I have a little monkey who is an even better tightrope performer than the one now exhibited, but he would look so small that the audience would scarcely be able to see his feats. My animals are very fond of me. The rewards you see me give them on the stage are almonds and raisins.”
The reporter had an opportunity of witnessing a display of the monkeys' affection for Mr. Brockman, when he made his first appearance for the day in their dressing-room. He went the rounds and spoke a word or two to each. Some kissed him, others climbed up and put their arms around his neck, and each exhibited the utmost impatience till his turn for recognition came.
“What monkeys are the easiest to train?” inquired the reporter.
“Mandrills and baboons, though they are perhaps a little more delicate than the other kinds.
Still my father had one for thirty years. The oldest performer in the present troupe is a blue-faced mandrill, whom I have had for twelve years. He is very good-tempered and will not reject any attentions you may feel inclined to show him. As a general rule, when a monkey holds out his hand encouragingly it is safest to give him a wide berth, and one who is chattering to himself is nearly always in a bad temper.”
“How often do you feed them, and what, is their favorite food?”