Meanwhile the little monkey persuaded himself every day that that little house was expressly built for him. Truly, he would have remained there all his life but for one occurrence. One night, moved by compassion, he opened the door, as you already know, for his terrible persecutor.
“I would like to know,” said Dry-throat, leaning his shoulders against the closed door, “I would like to know who is my benefactor?”
“It is I,” replied Beppo, changing his voice so as not to be recognized.
“What is your name?”
“My name is?”
“I know that voice!” said the blind man. Then he added, “Tell me, my dear benefactor, have you ever seen a little rose-colored monkey?”
“I have seen many monkeys, but never one of that color. Perhaps this one was green and yellow, like an omelette with parsley?”
“That is his voice! ’Tis he!” said Dry-throat to himself. “Among your friends,” he added, “have you heard of one called Beppo?”
“No. On the contrary, yes, it seems to me I have known one. But that Beppo was a rascal.”
“More than a rascal! Imagine, I did him many favors, I even allowed him to eat with me at my table, and do you know how he recompensed me? He blinded me with his sharp nails.”
“That I do not believe.”
“You do not believe it?”
“No. Beppo was a rascal; but he did not have a heart as bad as that.”
“However, it was he who blinded me.”
“No! No! No!”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“Believe me, Dry-throat, I did not blind you. It was Nanni, the cat that belonged to Candle-bit.”
“Ah! Then you are discovered! You are Beppo!” cried Dry-throat.
Beppo immediately repented his imprudence; but now it was too late. “I am as good as dead!” he said, looking for a window. That house, unfortunately, had no window.
Meanwhile Dry-throat, grabbing here and there with his hands, succeeded in catching the little monkey. Having seized him by the hair, he bound him with a little chain and placed him on his shoulders. Then the chief assassin left the house, and took the first road that came to his feet.
“Where are you leading me?” asked Beppo, with a thin voice that could hardly be heard.
“In a little while you will see. You have good eyes, and you can be my guide along the road.”
“But where do you wish to go?”
“Where my legs carry me.”
Walking day and night, they made a great journey without ever stopping a minute. One morning they found themselves in a large city on the border of the sea. In the harbor there were hundreds and hundreds of steamships. Sitting down on a large basket near the shore, Dry-throat began to search in his pockets. Not finding a penny, he said to Beppo, who was half dead with hunger and fatigue, “Tell me, ugly little monkey, did you ever do anything?”
“What does that mean?”
“Why, do you know how to sing a song? Can you play any instrument? Do you know how to jump and make summersaults? Can you eat burning paper?”
“Burning paper?” replied Beppo. “I leave that to you. However, I know how to dance the polka very well, and with my mouth I can make the sounds of a trombone and of a violin.”
“That will do,” said Dry-throat. Without waiting a minute, with his large loud voice he began to cry to the people who passed by: “Come one, come all! Come see the celebrated rose-colored monkey, that has had the honor of dancing before all the royal heads of both hemispheres. My little monkey dances, sings, plays, and makes a thousand other noises which a man or some other reasoning beast can make. Come one, come all! The cost is little, the enjoyment is great!”
After this outcry a great crowd gathered around. Our friend Beppo not only pleased everybody, but created a furore. All the spectators cried, “Bravo!” until they lost their voices. When the spectacle was over, Dry-throat felt some one touch him on the elbow. It was a nice-looking young man, dressed in a travelling suit. The young man said in a polite manner, “Does that monkey belong to you?”
“It is mine.”
“Will you sell it?”
“With all my heart!”
“How much do you want?”
“Fifty dollars. But, if the price seems high, I will take a little less.”
“Fifty dollars! Then the monkey is mine.”
When Dry-throat had been paid, the young man turned to the little monkey and said, “Don’t you recognize me, Beppo?”
“Indeed, I do, my dear Mr. Alfred,” said Beppo, jumping for joy. Poor Beppo! He was so happy that he began to cry like a baby.
That same night the young man Alfred and the little monkey—all dressed from head to foot like a little waiter—departed for a long trip around the world. And I would not be at all surprised to see one of these days a printed book entitled “Trip around the World, told by a Little Rose-colored Monkey.”