they had had
a hard morning, but as soon as they saw Tim Fagan they brightened up.
They arose simultaneously on their hind legs and their eyes glittered
with deadly hatred. They strained at their ropes, and then, suddenly,
panic-stricken, they turned and ran, bringing up at the ends of their
ropes with a shock that bent the stout stakes to which they were
fastened. They stood still and cowered, trembling.

"Lay hold!" commanded Toole. "Lay hold of a horn of th' brute till I
show ye how t' make him swim."

Through the fresh gravel of the beach the four feet of the reluctant
goat ploughed deep furrows. It shook its head from side to side, but
Toole and Fagan held it fast, and into the water it went.

"Now!" cried Alderman Toole. "Git behind an' push, Tim! Wan! Two! Three!
Push!"

Alderman Toole released his hold and Keeper of the Water Goats Fagan
pushed. Then they tried the other goat. It was easier to try the other
water goat than to waste time hunting up the one they had just tried,
for it had gone away. As soon as Alderman Toole let it go, it went. It
seemed to want to get to the other end of the park as soon as possible,
but it did not take the short cut across the lake--it went around. But
it did not mind travel--it went to the farthest part of the park, and it
would have gone farther if it could. So Alderman Toole and Keeper Fagan
tried the other water goat. That one went straight to the other end of
the park. It swerved from a straight line but once, and that was when
it shied at a pail of water that was in the way. It did not seem to like
water.

In the Franklin Zoo Dennis Toole had just removed the lid of his tin
lunch-pail when the telegraph boy handed him the yellow envelope. He
turned it over and over, studying its exterior, while the boy went to
look at the shop-worn brown bear. The zoo keeper decided that there was
no way to find out what was inside of the envelope but to open it. He
was ready for the worst. He wondered, unthinkingly, which one of his
forty or more cousins was dead, and opened the envelope.

"Dennis Toole, Franklin Zoo," he read, "Dongolas won't swim. How do you
make them swim? Telegraph at once. Michael Toole."

He laid the telegram across his knees and looked at it as if it was some
strange communication from another sphere. He pushed his hat to one side
of his head and scratched the tuft of red hair thus bared.

"'Dongolas won't swim!"' he repeated slowly. "An' how do I make thi