Part 7 (1/2)

Uncle Ferdinand and Aunt Octavia have no children. That is why they are both so terribly fond of pets. Aunt Octavia likes best little white silky poodles that are bathed in luke warm soap-suds, wrapped in a bathing sheet and combed with a fine comb, and that roll across the floor like little white b.a.l.l.s. I really believe she likes such silky poodles better than anything else in the world.

But Uncle Ferdinand likes monkeys best. The pet monkey he had was brought home on one of his s.h.i.+ps. The sailors on board had named it ”Stomach,” because it was such a great eater, and it was called that all the rest of its life.

Uncle Ferdinand certainly was in a sc.r.a.pe that time. At first he didn't dare to tell Aunt Octavia that he thought of bringing a monkey into the house; but the s.h.i.+p that Stomach had come on was to leave, you see, and then Uncle Ferdinand had to tell. I can imagine just how it went for I know how they talk together.

”Wouldn't you like to have a nice new plaything, Octavia? really a charming plaything, my dear?”

”A plaything? What do you mean?”

”A very amusing plaything that jumps about and plays tricks, and could climb up the curtains, for instance, or sit on your shoulder and eat cakes.”

”Sit on my shoulder! The man has gone crazy! Don't come any nearer, Ferdinand, I beg of you. You are ill!”

”Oh no, Octavia my dear, my mind is all right. I mean--I mean--just a monkey, my darling.”

”Good heavens! Is he calling me a monkey? What do you mean?”

”My love, I only mean that there is a monkey on board the s.h.i.+p, that I would so much like to have here at home.”

”And that is what you were beating about the bush so for! Well, well, that is just like you. However, I agree to anything you like, of course; let the creature come--let it come. It will strangle me some fine day, but I am used to that--I mean, I am used to saying yes and yielding to others.”

And that is how Stomach came into the house.

It was the liveliest, most mischievous monkey you can imagine. It stayed most of the time in Uncle Ferdinand's office. Up and down the book-shelves it climbed, just like a squirrel; now and then it threw itself across the room from one bookcase to another. One time it sprang straight onto the big lamp that hung from the ceiling, and made the chimney and shade come down in jingling fragments. Stomach hung from one of the chains, miserable and screaming with fright. This performance it never repeated.

Stomach loved nothing in the world so much as matches. Whenever it got hold of a box of matches it was overjoyed, and immediately climbed up on the highest bookcase. Here it sat and tossed the matches one by one down on the carpet. When it grew tired of this it flung the whole box, aiming with amazing success right at the top of Uncle Ferdinand's head. Uncle Ferdinand always sat patiently waiting for this last shot; then he got down on his knees, and picked up every single match!

But what caused Uncle Ferdinand the most trouble and care was that Aunt Octavia had strictly forbidden that the monkey should ever come anywhere near her. Uncle Ferdinand was on pins and needles for fear this should happen, and scarcely did anything all day but go around shutting doors to keep Stomach away from her.

All the servants had been instructed to do the same. Sometimes they were furious with Stomach, but when it had the toothache and sat with its hand under its little swollen cheek, and rocked sorrowfully back and forth like a little sick child, their hearts softened towards it and they forgave all its pranks. But to keep Stomach within bounds grew more and more difficult. It unfastened the window-catches, promenaded along the house walls and on the window-sills. Now and then it whisked through an open window of another house, returning with the most unbelievable things, water-jugs and pillows, and cologne-bottles which it emptied out very thoughtfully and slowly over the dahlia bed.

No one must even mention Stomach's name before Aunt Octavia. ”The mere name of that disgusting creature nauseates me,” she said. Uncle went about as if on eggs and grew even more careful about shutting the doors.

But one day, in spite of all the caution, the terrible thing happened; the monkey got into Aunt Octavia's room. Some one had forgotten to shut a door; like a flash Stomach darted through, ran noiselessly over the soft carpet even into the sacred boudoir, gave a spring up onto Aunt Octavia, who lay with closed eyes on her sofa, and burrowed its whole little body in under her arm.

Then there was a hullabaloo! Aunt Octavia shrieked at the top of her lungs, and people rushed in.

”I lie here helpless,” said Aunt Octavia; ”it could have strangled me.

Ferdinand, what was its object? I ask you, Ferdinand, what was it thinking of, when it burrowed in under my arm?”

”Perhaps it wanted to warm itself,” said Uncle Ferdinand meekly.

”Warm itself!” said Aunt Octavia scornfully. ”To bite me in the heart was what it wanted.”

Nothing would satisfy her but that Uncle must take Stomach to the doctor to be chloroformed, though he would rather have done anything else in the world!

But Uncle Ferdinand's monkey really hasn't the least thing to do with the chickens from Vega.s.sheien that Karsten and I wanted, and that I began to tell about.

Hurrah! Mother would buy the four chickens, but only on condition that Karsten and I should take care of them. Would we do this?

Why, of course; it would be only fun. I never imagined then all the bother and rumpus that would come of it.