The Tale of Major Monkey Part 1

The Tale of Major Monkey.

by Arthur Scott Bailey.

I

Strange Whispers

The wild folk in Pleasant Valley were whispering strange stories to one another. If the stories were true, they were most amazing. And if they were merely made up to cause talk, certainly they succeeded.

Perhaps if somebody less tricky than Peter Mink and Tommy Fox had started these odd tales, the rest of the wild folk might have been quicker to believe them.

Anyhow, the news offered the best of excuses for gossip. And many of the field- and forest-people repeated it so often that they almost began to believe it themselves.

All but old Mr. Crow. He declared stoutly that the whole thing was nothing but a hoax.

"You can't fool me!" he told people. But when they said that they had no intention of trying to, he had to change his statement. "I mean"--he explained--"I mean that neither Tommy Fox nor Peter Mink can fool me.

They can't make me believe that they've seen anybody hanging by his tail in a tree-top."

"Why not?" asked Mr. Crow's cousin, Jasper Jay.

"_Becaws_----" said Mr. Crow. And then he corrected himself once more.

"Because," he replied, "no 'possum ever came so far North as this.

I've spent a good many winters in the South, and I ought to know. And besides," he added, "although a 'possum can hang by his tail, there never was one that could throw a stick or a stone. And I ought to know, for I've spent a good many winters in the South, where the 'possums live."

Everybody had to admit that old Mr. Crow must know what he was talking about. And people began to feel rather foolish when they realized how near they had been to letting those two rascals--Peter Mink and Tommy Fox--deceive them.

As for old Mr. Crow, having persuaded his neighbors to his way of thinking, he began to be more pleased with himself than ever. And he spent a good deal of time sitting in a tall tree near the cornfield, with his head on one side, hoping that his friends would notice how wise he looked.

He was engaged in that agreeable pastime one afternoon when--_thump!_--something struck the limb on which he was perched.

Mr. Crow gave a squawk and a jump. And then he glanced quickly toward the ground.

There was no one anywhere in sight. So Mr. Crow looked somewhat silly.

For a moment he had thought that Johnnie Green had thrown something at him. But he saw at once that he was mistaken. Of course it could have been nothing more than a dead branch falling.

He settled himself again, trying to appear as if he hadn't been startled, when--_plump!_--something gave him a smart blow on his back.

Old Mr. Crow flopped hastily into a neighboring tree. And this time he looked up instead of down.

At first he could see nothing unusual. And he had almost made up his mind that something had fallen out of the sky, when a head showed itself from behind a limb and a queer, wrinkled face peered at him.

Mr. Crow did not recognize the face. It was an odd one. In fact, he thought he had never seen an odder. But if he thought the face a queer one, it was not half as peculiar as the stranger's actions.

For, as Mr. Crow watched him, the stranger slipped into full view, hanging by his tail and one hand from a limb, while with the other hand he waved a red cap.

Old Mr. Crow's mouth fell open. For a time he said never a word.

And for him, that was quite out of the ordinary.

II

No 'Possum

At first old Mr. Crow could scarcely believe his eyes. He stared and stared. Certainly it was no 'possum that he saw. And yet the stranger was hanging by his tail.

There could be no doubt about that. Even as Mr. Crow watched him he waved both hands at Mr. Crow, and swung by his tail alone.

The old gentleman was terribly upset. During all the summers he had spent in Pleasant Valley he had never seen any such person there before.

For a moment Mr. Crow was worried about himself. He wondered if he was not ill. He knew he had eaten a good deal of corn that day. And he half hoped that that was the trouble--that perhaps he saw something that wasn't really in the tree at all.

Then he remembered the blow on his back. Had the queer person in the tree-top struck him?... Mr. Crow grew angry.

"Did you hit me?" he called.

"I'm not sure," said the stranger. "But I _think_ I did, for I saw you jump."

"Then you threw something at me!" Mr. Crow screamed.

"Oh, no!" the other replied. "I didn't throw anything at you, sir. I merely dropped something on your back."

Mr. Crow choked. Perhaps it was as well that he could not speak just then. He coughed and spluttered and swallowed and swayed back and forth, trying to get his breath. And he had begun, at last to feel better, when--_biff!_--something struck him again and all but knocked him over.

The stranger gave a shrill whistle.

"I _threw_ something that time!" he jeered.

Old Mr. Crow felt that he had been terribly insulted. He looked as dignified as he could. And he would have turned his back on the stranger--had he dared.

While he was wondering whether he had better fly away, or stay and quarrel with the rude person who had pelted him, the boorish stranger leaped from the tall tree into the smaller one where Mr. Crow was sitting. Then, dropping nimbly from limb to limb, with the help of his hands and his feet and his tail, he stopped at last when he had reached Mr. Crow's level.

One thing was certain. The stranger was bold as bra.s.s. He looked Mr.

Crow up and down. And then he said:

"You're a gay old bird! What's your name?"

Now, no doubt some people would have been angry. But Mr. Crow rather liked to be called gay, because he couldn't help looking solemn. And most people knew he was very old. And everybody was aware he was a bird. So he said hoa.r.s.ely:

"My name is Mister Crow--and please don't forget the _Mister_."

The stranger put on his flat-topped red cap and touched the visor smartly with his right hand, in a military manner.

Old Mr. Crow couldn't help admiring the newcomer's clothes. He wore a red coat trimmed with gold braid, and bright blue trousers.