"How did you know his name was Stubbs?" asked Ben, after he had
recovered his breath.
"Oh, I don't know that that is his real name," was the quick reply;
"I only call him that because he looks so much like a feller with
that name that I knew at home. He don't seem to mind because I call
him Stubbs."
Ben looked at Toby earnestly for a moment, acting all the time as
if he wanted to laugh again, but didn't dare to, for fear he might
burst a blood vessel; and then he said, as he patted him on the
shoulder: "Well, you are the queerest little fish that I ever saw
in all my travels. You seem to think that that monkey knows all
you say to him."
"I'm sure he does," said Toby, positively. "He don't say anything
right out to me, but he knows everything I tell him. Do you suppose
he could talk if he tried to?"
"Look here, Mr. Toby Tyler" -- and Ben turned half around in his
seat and looked Toby full in the face, so as to give more emphasis
to his words -- "are you heathen enough to think that that monkey
could talk if he wanted to?"
"I know I hain't a heathen," said Toby, thoughtfully, "for if I
had been some of the missionaries would have found me out a good
while ago; but I never saw anybody like this old Mr. Stubbs before,
an' I thought he could talk if he wanted to, just as the Living
Skeleton does, or his wife. Anyhow, Mr. Stubbs winked at me; an'
how could he do that if he didn't know what I've been sayin' to
him?"
"Look here, my son," said Ben, in a most fatherly fashion, "monkeys
hain't anything but beasts, an' they don't know how to talk any
more than they know what you say to 'em.
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