Jinny. The Taming of a Bad Monkey 
from a safe place outside, a keeper pulled open the 
coop door. 
Some animals would have dashed out at once, 
but Jinny did not. She crouched back, glaring 
defiantly from under her bushy moving brows, 
and seemed less inclined to come out now than 
when the coop was tightly nailed up. 
Bonamy left her alone. He knew that it didn’t 
do to hurry her. You can’t be polite in a hurry, 
Lord Chesterfield says, and you must be polite to 
win your animals. Moreover, the story that the 
keeper read in her wounds showed that the human 
species had a black past to live down in Jinny’s 
estimation. 
She did not leave the coop all day. But that 
evening after sundown Bonamy peeped in, and 
saw her in the big cage washing her face and hands 
at the trough. Probably it was her first chance 
to be clean since she had left India. No doubt 
she had drunk what she needed, and now she 
glanced nervously about the place. The food 
supply she sniffed at, but did not touch; she walked 
gingerly around the ironwork, rubbed her finger 
on some fresh tar just outside the bars, smelt her 
finger, came back and drank more water, caught a 
flea on her thigh, then resumed her inspection 
of the bars. But she did not touch the food. Like 
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