JUNGLE NIGHT 277 



unthinkable in a jungle, and the strain of a 

 wood pewee on a sunny hillside would be like 

 an organ playing dance music. This is even 

 more pronounced in the tropics, where, quite 

 aside from any mental association on my part, 

 the voices and calls of tHe jungle reflect the 

 qualities of that twilight world. The poor-me- 

 one proves too much. He is the very essence of 

 night, his wings edged with velvet silence, his 

 plumage the mingled concentration of moss and 

 lichens and dead wood. 



I was about to rise and lead Nupee farther 

 into the gloom when the jungle showed another 

 mood — a silent whimsy, the humor of which I 

 could not share with the little red man. Close 

 to my face, so near that it startled me for a 

 moment, over the curved length of a long nar- 

 row caladium leaf, there came suddenly two 

 brilliant lights. Steadily they moved onward, 

 coming up into view for all the world like two 

 tiny headhghts of a motor-car. They passed, 

 and the broadside view of this great elater was 

 still absurdly like the profile of a miniature 

 tonneau with the top down. I laughingly 

 thought to myself how perfect the illusion would 

 be if a red tail-light should be shown, when 



