er is perfect there are practically but two times each day when
it is possible--in mid-morning and mid-afternoon, when the sun is high
enough for clear photographs and low enough to cast a shadow in the
faint track.

The Coon that Showed Me How

Then a new method was suggested in an unexpected way. A friend of mine
had a pet coon which he kept in a cage in his bachelor quarters up
town. One day, during my friend's {195} absence the coon got loose and
set about a series of long-deferred exploring expeditions, beginning
with the bachelor's bedroom. The first promising object was a writing
desk. Mounting by a chair the coon examined several uninteresting
books and papers, and then noticed higher up a large stone bottle. He
had several times found pleasurable stuff in bottles, so he went for
it. The cork was lightly in and easily disposed of, but the smell was
far from inviting, for it was merely a quart of ink. Determined to
leave no stone unturned, however, the coon upset the ink to taste and
try. Alas! it tasted even worse than it smelt; it was an utter failure
as a beverage.

And the coon, pushing it contemptuously away, turned to a pile of fine
hand-made, deckle-edge, heraldry note-paper--the pride of my friend's
heart--and when he raised his inky little paws there were left on the
paper some beautiful black prints. This was a new idea: the coon tried
it again and again. But the ink held out longer than the paper, so
that the fur-clad painter worked over sundry books, and the adjoining
walls, while the ink, dribbling over everything, formed a great pool
below the desk. Something attracted the artist's attention, causing
him to jump down. He landed in the pool of ink, making it splash in
all directions; some of the black splotches reached the white
counterpane of the bachelor's bed. Another happy idea: the coon now
leaped on the bed, racing around as long as the ink on his feet gave
results. As he paused to rest, or perhaps to see if any places had
been neglected, the door opened, and in came the landlady. The scene
which followed was too painful for description; no one present enjoyed
it. My friend was sent for to come and take his coon out of there
forever. He came and took him away, I suppose "forever." He had only
one other place for him--his office and there it was I made the
animal's acquaintance and heard of his exploit--an ink and paper, if
not a literary affair.

This gave me the hint at the Zoo I needed