The joys of independence lasted till the first large drops of rain began to soak into his fur. Then they grew a trifle dubious. After all, he had become used to living in a house with a roof on it, and the society of mankind, while often tedious, had its compensations. He had had an adventurous outing and smelled and bitten at all sorts of new and interesting substances. He had proven himself a monkey of ingenuity and initiative. Now, the hut on the edge of the Minorcan quarter seemed snug and warm, and the food he shared with Sebastian more filling, on the whole, than what one could forage for oneself. He would go back--but he had come a considerable distance in his careless rambling and was not quite sure of his bearings. He looked around him--ah, there was a house with a light in the window. That meant man and warmth and shelter. A different master, perhaps--but he had been so long with Sebastian that he had quite forgotten his first unpleasant experiences with masters. He slipped down to the ground and jangled over toward the lighted house, shivering as he ran. It was really raining now, and he hated rain like a cat. Mr. Cave, alone in colloquy with a half-emptied bottle of spirits, heard a sudden ghostly clanking through the dripping pour of the rain, and looking up, saw the Devil in person standing in his doorway with a chain wrapped around his middle. He rubbed horrified eyes and began to pray in a whisper. Then his mind righted itself and he sank back in his chair, muttering. It was only that impudent Minorcan's draggled pet-ape--but it had given him a start, and he did not like being startled when he was in liquor. The wet monkey had jumped on the table now and sat opposite him, grinning and looking at the bottle of spirits. He grinned back at it. It would be funny to give the miserable little beast some liquor and get it drunk. You could get a chicken drunk on corn soaked in brandy but a drunken monkey would be even more amusing. "Here," he said, splashed some liquor into a glass and held it out to the monkey. If the monkey behaved itself and proved entertaining when intoxicated, he might even keep it. The Minorcan fellow set a good deal of store by it and laborers had no business keeping pets. The monkey took the glass trustingly--Sebastian had taught it how to drink from a glass, in the useless way men had. Now it swallowed a gulp of what was inside the glass. The raw liquor stung its throat--it coughed and spat in quaint loathing. Mr. Cave roared--this was even more diverting than he had expected. Then he felt the monkey's sharp teeth almost meet in his thumb, gave a squeal of pain, and struck at it blindly with the bottle. Even so, the monkey might have escaped, if it had not been for its chain. But the chain tangled its feet as it dodged away--and Mr. Cave's second blow was better aimed than his first.