64 
ALMOST HUMAN 
disappearance. This crow was a great gossip, and he loved to pay- 
flying visits to the various birds to discover the latest news and report 
it to the raven. The two cronies held many a confidential chat together, 
and the way the cunning old raven flattered his friend was something 
wonderful. The first visit for the morning was always to the flamingoes’ 
pond, for the crow knew he would meet with more than gossip there — 
he was sure of a well-filled breakfast dish with appetising biscuit to be 
taken for the asking. He could not only help himself, but he could 
carry some olf in his beak for his impatient friend across the road. 
With this offering he would hop off to say “Good-morning.” He would 
drop the biscuit on the path outside the cage, caw his greetings, and 
then look slyly down sideways at the tempting morsel. The greedy 
bird inside would mingle his croakings with the cawing outside, but all 
his begging would not make the crow give up the food until he had 
had a fair amount of fun through it. He would hop aside to let the 
biscuit be seen more clearly, and as the raven frantically flapped his 
wings and tried to get through the wire netting, his tormentor would 
seem to take pity on him, and hop over and pick up the food. Then 
as the raven held open his beak for it, the crow would tantalisingly 
drop it again. The prisoner would then forget every thought of 
dignity in his desire for the scrap, and would beg pitifully to be given 
it, acting like a creature in the last throes of starvation. When he 
was sufficiently abject to please the crow’s sense of power, the bit would 
be condescendingly dropped inside, and the donor would hop off to watch 
the raven bury the present. It was an understood thing that this 
first present should never be eaten at once, but must always be carefully 
preserved until a fitting occasion presented itself. Therefore the raven 
had to seek for a suitable hole for a cache, and as soon as the morsel was 
decently buried the crow sped off to the monkeys’ cages, where long 
experience had taught him there would be fine gleanings. Here he 
would fill those strange little cheek pouches so many birds and monkeys 
seem to possess, and hop back with much noise and ceremony to the 
raven. This time he had quite a spread to lay out before his friend, 
and lollies, nuts, and scraps of biscuit would be placed alluringly around, 
just too far out for the raven’s beak to reach. Then the crow would 
strut off to the opposite side of the walk in order to better enjoy the 
poor raven’s attempts to batter down his cage as he vainly tried to 
reach the dainties so near and yet so far away. If the crow thought 
there was a possibility of the raven reaching a morsel he would hop over 
and pull it out of harm’s way, fluttering back to his old post with caws 
of satisfaction. This proceeding would nearly drive the raven mad with 
vexation. He would alternately coax and scold and whine. When 
