"I don't see how you'll get your gorilla without it," I cried. "It's those wretched females that keep the old man going. I believe he'd have enough sense to remain quiet if he were by himself." Gran'pa watched them for awhile. "Yes," he said at last. "You can see that they're deliberately inciting him to shout us down--evidently under the impression that if only they scream hard enough we shall funk it and run. Just like some of our own women, George. . . ." I was not in the mood for cheap cynicism. All I wanted was peace, comfort, and Corisco. "We've very little time to waste," I yelled. "What are you going to do?" "Take them as they are," he answered. "Once we get them separated they may calm down a bit." Plunging boldly into the midst of the inferno of noise, we first lifted the three young females on to the stretchers and despatched them to the aerodrome, with Croft in charge of the procession. Then we turned to the gray-haired grandmother, who had shouted herself so hoarse that she could now speak hardly above a whisper. Gran'pa looked down at her, with a kindly light in his eyes, as if he understood only too well what it was to be old and decrepit. "The really humane thing," he said, during a comparative calm, "would be to ask her to join the Rejuvenation Club. But the other members might object. So we'll let her end her days in peace. She seems a decent old lady--a little rugged and repulsive-looking, judged by our own standards of beauty, but probably quite a respected member of society in the jungle. . . . Very interesting, George! Do these old people support themselves, or are they dependent on their children and grandchildren, I wonder. . . ." Gran'pa's speculative garrulity irritated me. I still felt far too jumpy to respond to his feeble attempts at humor. "Why not spend a few days with her?" I suggested. "Dressed up as her eldest daughter, you could obtain quite an insight into gorilla life." "Too risky!" he laughed. "The other girls might be jealous--which would only lead to discord." "On the other hand, you might get an offer of marriage from some wealthy young bachelor." "You flatter me, George!" "Not at all! You've just the build and . . . becoming appearance. . . ." "Now you're getting merely rude, George. . . . Give me a hand with papa!" We lifted the roaring mass of bone and muscle on to the stretcher, tucked him in, so to speak, and then turned our attention to Little Willie. It was terrible to see such rage in one so young. He must have been repeating every oath in the gorilla vocabulary. He also showed us every tooth in his head, tore savagely at his chain, and even flung handfuls of turf at us. But we knew how to deal with these childish tantrums. A novice might have tried smacking him--and so might one of his own people. Our method was much safer. A straight six-foot branch, forked at the one end, is the best device I know for leading baby gorillas quietly home.