The Story of Dago | Page 6

was older than Stuart, and one of those restless, inquiring
boys, never satisfied with letting well enough alone. He was always
making experiments. This time he wanted to experiment on me with a
handful of tobacco,--coax me to eat it, you know, and see what effect it
would have. But Stuart objected. He was afraid it might make me sick,
and proposed trying it on Phil's monkey first. So they called Matches,
and the silly little beast was so pleased and flattered by their attention
that she stood up and ate all they gave her. She did not like it, I could
see that, but they praised her and coaxed her, and it turned her head.
Usually I received the most attention.
It did not seem to hurt her any, so Sim offered me some. But I would
not take it. I folded my hands, first over my ears and then over my eyes.
Then I held them over my mouth. Stuart thought it wonderfully smart
of me, and so did Sim, when he found that it was a trick that Stuart's
grandfather had taught me. The old man had an ebony paper-weight on
his library table, which he called "the three wise monkeys of Japan."
They were carved sitting back to back. The first one had its paws
folded over its eyes in token that it must never see more than it ought to
see, the second covered its ears that it might not hear more than it ought
to hear, and the third solemnly held its paws over its mouth, in order
that it might never say more than it ought to say.
Stuart thought that I had forgotten the trick. He told Sim that it was the
only one I knew. I was glad that he had never discovered that I am a
trained monkey. If he had known how many tricks I can perform life
wouldn't have been worth living. It would have been like an endless
circus, with me for the only performer. As it was, I was made to go

through that one trick of the wise monkeys of Japan until I was heartily
disgusted with it, or with anything else, in fact, that suggested the land
of the Mikado.
Stuart was in a hurry to show me off to the other fellows, so he caught
me up under his arm, and started off to the ball-ground, where most of
them were to be found. Matches tried to follow us, but Sim drove her
back, and the last I saw of her she was under the table, whimpering. It
was a soft little complaining cry she had, almost like the chirp of a
sleepy bird, and when she made it her mouth drew up into a pitiful little
pucker.
I slept in the laundry that night, for it was after dark when we got home,
and the boys were not allowed to carry a light up into the attic. Next
day, when Stuart took me back to my room, there lay Matches,
stretched out on the floor as dead as a mummy. The tobacco had
poisoned her. Phil was crying over her as if his heart would break. He
didn't know what had killed her, and the boys did not see fit to tell. As
for me, I remembered my lesson, never to say any more than I ought to
say, and discreetly folded my hands over my mouth whenever the
subject was mentioned.
I have no doubt but that I could have eaten as much tobacco as Matches
did, and escaped with only a short illness, but the sickly little mossback
didn't have the constitution that we ring-tails have. She was a poor
delicate creature that the least thing affected. I couldn't help feeling
sorry for her, and yet I was so glad to be rid of her that I capered
around for sheer joy. When I realised that never again would I be kept
awake by her snoring, never again would I be disturbed by her
disagreeable ways, and that at last I was even with her for spilling me
out of my berth on the sleeping-car, I swung on my turning-pole until I
was dizzy. No one knew what a jubilee I had all alone that night in my
little room under the eaves.
Little did I dream of the humiliation in store for me. The next day I
found that Matches was to have a funeral after school, and that I--I,
who hated her--was to take the part of chief mourner. The boys took off
my spangled jacket and dressed me up in some clothes that belonged to

Elsie's big Paris doll. They left my own little cap on my head, but
covered it and me all over with a long crape