A hedge, swinging sharp right, flanked the garden, and above it on a slope of daisy-dotted meadows we could see Lord Lundie's tiled and half-timbered summer farmhouse. Of a sudden we heard voices behind the tree--the fine full tones of the unembarrassed English, speaking to their equals--that tore through the hedge like sleet through rafters. “That it is not called 'monkey-puzzler' for nothing, I willingly concede”--this was a rich and rolling note--“but on the other hand--” “I submit, me lud, that the name implies that it might, could, would, or should be ascended by a monkey, and not that the ascent is a physical impossibility. I believe one of our South American spider monkeys wouldn't hesitate... By Jove, it might be worth trying, if--” This was a crisper voice than the first. A third, higher-pitched, and full of pleasant affectations, broke in. “Oh, practical men, there is no ape here. Why do you waste one of God's own days on unprofitable discussion? Give me a match!” “I've a good mind to make you demonstrate in your own person. Come on, Bubbles! We'll make Jimmy climb!” There was a sound of scuffling, broken by squeaks from Jimmy of the high voice. I turned back and drew Penfentenyou into the side of the flanking hedge. I remembered to have read in a society paper that Lord Lundie's lesser name was “Bubbles.” “What are they doing?” Penfentenyou said sharply. “Drunk?” “Just playing! Superabundant vitality of the Race, you know. We'll watch 'em,” I answered. The noise ceased. “My deliver,” Jimmy gasped. “The ram caught in the thicket, and--I'm the only one who can talk Neapolitan! Leggo my collar!” He cried aloud in a foreign tongue, and was answered from the gate. “It's the Calvinistic organ-grinder,” I whispered. I had already found a practicable break at the bottom of the hedge. “They're going to try to make the monkey climb, I believe.” “Here--let me look!” Penfentenyou flung himself down, and rooted till he too broke a peep-hole. We lay side by side commanding the entire garden at ten yards' range. “You know 'em?” said Penfentenyou, as I made some noise or other. “By sight only. The big fellow in flannels is Lord Lundie; the light-built one with the yellow beard painted his picture at the last Academy: He's a swell R.A., James Loman.” “And the brown chap with the hands?” “Tomling, Sir Christopher Tomling, the South American engineer who built the--” “San Juan Viaduct. I know,” said Penfentenyou. “We ought to have had him with us.... Do you think a monkey would climb the tree?” The organ-grinder at the gate fenced his beast with one arm as Jimmy talked. “Don't show off your futile accomplishments,” said Lord Lundie. “Tell him it's an experiment. Interest him!” “Shut up, Bubbles. You aren't in court,” Jimmy replied. “This needs delicacy. Giuseppe says--”