Ants. 175 



grains from germinating when they can get at them. 

 The sprouting seed softens and splits. The starch 

 ferments and turns sweet. The ant licks up the goody. 

 So far as known, no ant has taken the next step after 

 malting, the brewing of beer. They chew tobacco, at 

 least, the leaf-cutting ants do, but they don't indulge in 

 any intoxicating beverages. 



I often think that the grasshopper La Fontaine tells 

 about in his celebrated work, " First Steps in French," 

 must have sauced back after he got the offensively 

 virtuous answer to his polite request for a cold bite or at 

 least a cup of coffee. He was an actor out of work, 

 singing at the summer resorts, and now that the season 

 had closed " You sung all summer ; go dance all winter," 

 said the ant, and slammed the door in his face. There 

 are others," bawled the grasshopper, going out of the 

 front gate, and that is true, too, for almost no ants make 

 provision for the winter months. They simply go to 

 sleep and wait for the spring trade to open up. But if in 

 colder climates they do not engage in agricultural pur- 

 suits, there is a kindred industry in which they are quite 

 successful. I mean the dairy business. 



Like the rest of us, they have a sweet tooth. Now, 

 honey is produced by very many plants in their blossoms, 

 but not for ants. Flowers advertise quite extensively, 

 but only for flying customers. They hang out bright 

 colors and bunch themselves together so that any bee or 

 butterfly that is not totally blind may find them. In the 

 case of the rhododendron they even go so far as to point 

 out, This way to the bar." For the evening trade 

 they dress in white and are strongly perfumed. But 

 when an ant comes around all the honey-bearing flowers 

 shake their heads and say: ' Nothing for you. Not to- 

 day. No, no! Go on away. Get out, now, or I'll set 



