"Why, you're er natural born artist, that's what you are. If I could
growl an' scratch like that I'd be a Missin' Link t'-morrer. No more
living skelingtons fer me."

"Look here," said Nicholas Crips seriously, "how long does the Missing
Link have to remain in the cage?"

"The show opens et one in th' afternoon, close at five, opens again at
seven, an' closes et arf-pas ten."

"And has the Missing Link to be growling' and scratching all the time?"

"No, not all the time. If there ain't any people in he kin lie in er
corner on th' stror under his blanket an' sleep, an' sometimes he kin
stay lyin' on the stror when there's on'y a few people in, so long ez he
growls a bit, an' stretches hisself. There's a lot in stretchin' hisself
proper."

"Like this," said Nickie. He reached out one leg, clawed with his left
hand, and yawned cavernously.

"Th' very identical," said Bonypart admiringly. "You was meant t' be a
Missin' Link. Y'iv got all th' natural gifts, an' with th' proper hide
drawn on over yeh, an' yer face made up a bit, nobody ud ever think you
was anythink else but a true African Missin' Link, born an' bred."

"Are you quite sure the Missing Link has nothing else to do?" asked
Nickie, cautiously.

"Positive, Missin' Links is scarce; they has pretty much their own way.