THE MONKEYFOLK OF SOUTH AFRICA 29 



somebody to talk to. You see the humanfolk don't know 

 our language, and only laugh when we try to talk and 

 make signs to them. We huddled up together and talked 

 nearly all night. They told me a terrible tale of how fifty 

 big, bearded men surrounded their tribe one night, and 

 shot down their mothers and fathers, and how they, and 

 a lot more children, were captured. 



I soon noticed that the humanfolk were beginning to 

 neglect me, and that the new arrivals were the favourites. 

 I grew jealous, and my jealousy grew and grew until I 

 began to sulk. One day I flew into a temper and cuffed 

 one of the youngsters soundly and bit him on the arm. 

 He bawled and shrieked and pretended to be dreadfully 

 hurt. The museum man came on the scene, and my heart 

 quailed with fear, for he called to an assistant, who went 

 away and soon returned with a cane. He got inside the 

 cage and gave me a sound thrashing. How that thin cane 

 did sting. I seem to feel it now, for the recollection is 

 so vivid. I made up my mind I wouldn't risk another 

 such caning, so I behaved myself. But really it was too 

 bad. You see, whenever the humanfolk came along with 

 anything nice, I, being the elder, would station myself in 

 front of the cage and thrust away the baboon youngsters. 

 That didn't answer for long, for the boys and girls soon 

 learned how to trick me. One would pretend to give me 

 a nut, whilst others would feed my rivals. The little 

 rascals stuffed all the food into their cheeks, until they 

 were swollen out like stuffed bags. 



I HATCHED OUT A PLOT 



I chmbed sulkily up one of the tree-trunks, and thought 

 as hard as I could. At last when my head was aching 

 with such tremendous mental efforts, a brilliant idea came 

 to me. I pretended to be drowsy, and watched the 



