just filled, from my lips, placed the stem of it in the monster’s jaws. It was exactly what it wanted, Master Charles, and what, I suppose, it least expected. If it didn’t actually grin, it gave an unmistakable grunt of joy, and put out at once for home. But it hadn’t gone far before an idea seemed to strike it all of a heap, for it paddled back and again waited. By a happy thought I chucked it a box of matches. It was the very thing it needed, and, grunting its thanks, it made tracks, puf- fing like a penny steamer, and leaving a long trail of smoke in its wake. The behaviour of the creature was that ridiculous that me and the skipper laughed fit to split.”
“Oh, Ben, that was awfully clever of the hippopotamus,” said Charlie; “isn’t it wonderful what creatures can do, don’t you think?”
“Right you are, Master Charles. And yet,” added the old sailor reflectively, “there’s them as don’t give brute beasts credit for possess- ing reason! I give you my word, a man’s only got to travel a spell with his eyes wide open for to see the wonders of Nature. Now,” continued Ben, removing the pipe from his lips with an argumentative flourish, “look at monkeys; ain’t they up to snuff, I should like to know? You'll have seen them yourself, Master Charles, in the Zoo, or leastways read about their little games in some of your ma’s books. But did you ever hear of a monkey in the picture line—a regular artist, so tosay? No? Well, it comes into this here yarn, and takes the cake for cleverness.
“Now, you must know, Master Charles, that the most powerful po-ten-tate in them parts was the King of Cuffeecocoland, and one day the skipper says to me in confidence, says he, ‘Ben, my lad, I wish I wasn’t glued to the Ring-tailed. I wants to get this here king under British protection, likewise to open up a trade through his country, and I’ve been a-wondering if you’d undertake this little job for me. I won’t conceal from you the dangers that lie in your way: there’s forests, and deserts, and scarcity of rations, likewise they do say as how the Cuffeecocoites are cannibals, every mother’s son. It may be death or glory, my lad, and so what say you?’
“Well, I hadn’t my old woman to think of in those days, and, being anxious to oblige, I answers him: ‘A man can die but once,’ says I, ‘and so I won’t deceive you; I’m willing for to do the best I can with this here po-ten-tate, or perish in the attempt.’
“Having taken in hand this little job, I had to study how I was a-going to carry it out. I chose me a couple of friendly niggers, like-
