scales and weighed, he left the trembling instrument of torture
with an air of disgust and disapproval that was quite as eloquent
as words. On several occasions when taken out for exercise in the
park, he endeavored to hinder the return to quarters by anchoring
himself to Mother Earth.

Congo once startled us by his knowledge of the usefulness of
doors. For a time he was kept in a compartment that had an outside
door running sidewise on a trolley track, and controlled by two
hanging chains, one to close it and one to open it. Each chain had
on its end a stout iron ring for a handle. One chilly morning when
I went to see Congo, I asked his keeper to open his door, so that
he could go out.

The keeper did so, by pulling the right hand chain. The moment the
draft of chilly outer air struck Congo, who stood in the centre of
his stall facing me, he impatiently wheeled about, walked up to
the left hand chain, grabbed it with his trunk, slipped the ring
over one of his tusks, then inclined his head downward and with an
irritated tug pulled the door shut with a spiteful slam. "Open
it again," I said to the keeper.

He did so, and in the same way, but with a visible increase in
irritation, Congo closed it in the same manner as before. Again
the keeper opened the door, and this time, with a real exhibition
of temper Congo again thrust the ring over his tusk, and brought
the door shut with a resounding bang. It was his regular habit to
close that door, or to open it, when he felt like more air or less
air; and who is there who will say that the act was due to
"instinct" in a jungle-bred animal, or anything else than original