“Ah Fifi, you rascal!” he said. “Did I scare you again? That’s too bad. Come here.”
A small long-tailed monkey, clad in a little red jacket, came slowly from below the table and advanced timidly toward Needham, who spoke coaxingly to it, and finally made a kind of rippling noise with his tongue that seemed to reassure it, for it jumped on the arm of his chair and sat quietly blinking at the visitors. Needham tickled its head with his large forefinger.
“I bought Fifi from an Italian,” he said, noting his guests’ look of astonishment. “She is good company—catches flies, switches the lights on and off, and does other useful things—eh, Fifi?”
The little animal looked up at him intelligently, and with a sudden movement Needham wound his great fingers about its throat. With a plaintive cry, the little creature made futile efforts to tear away the strong hand about its neck, plucking frantically with its small paws.
“Don’t!” said Norton in a sharp voice. “I can’t bear to see animals tormented.”
“I’m not hurting her,” said Needham, removing his hand. “She’s a nervous little thing and must be taught not to be so frightened. I think the Italian must have ill-used her. But she is clever, for all that,” continued Needham, laughing. “She is learning to play the piano.”
Lifting the little monkey, he crossed the room with long strides to the corner, where a small cottage piano stood, and seated himself on the stool. “Now play, Fifi,” he said.
The intelligent creature leant forward and commenced striking sharply here and there among the notes, producing a curious kind of tinkling resemblance to certain bars from “Old Black Joe”. Meldrum was conscious of a strange prickling sensation—he did not quite know why.
After a few moments, Needham rose again and, putting the monkey in a box in the corner of the room, returned again to his chair.