Jinny. The Taming of a Bad Monkey 
came near enough to seem reachable. A scraper 
put in to clean up a little was at once seized in her 
paws, and mangled with her teeth. Keefe of the 
monkey house felt called on to take charge of things, 
and was peering in when suddenly a long, thin, 
hairy arm shot out and snatched off the goggles he 
was wearing, scratching his face at the same time, 
and putting him in an awful temper, which the 
merriment of the other men did nothing to allay. 
The head-keeper had gone elsewhere, after giving 
instructions, but the noise and fuss brought him 
back. His trained ear detected signs of a familiar 
happening. 
“You’ve got to remember they’re human,” he 
said, as he sent all the other keepers away and “‘sat 
down beside that crazy Monkey, to talk to her.” 
“Jinny,” said he, giving her the first she-name 
that came handy, ‘‘now, Jinny, you and I have to 
be friends, and we will be as soon as we get better 
acquainted.”” So he kept on talking soothingly, 
not moving hand or foot, but softly cooing to her. 
She was very ugly at first, but, responding to the 
potent mystery called personality, she gradually 
calmed down. She ceased snorting, and sat 
crouching in the filth at the back of the box, glower- 
ing with restrained ferocity, nervously clasping one 
skinny paw with the other. Bonamy did not mean 
226 
