People, as a rule, are not fond of lizards, and the larger the lizards
the less people like them; until the crocodile and the alligator,
largest of all, are received with positive antipathy, and rarely
treated as pets. People make many excuses for such an attitude toward
lizards; calling them ugly, crawly, slimy, scaly, and so forth. I have
an hypothesis that envy is a large element in this human antipathy.
For after all, if we will but confess it, the alligator's is rather an
enviable lot. To lie all day in a bed of warm, soft mud--really, it
is a pleasant thing. To be able, without inconvenience, to postpone
dinner for a fortnight--that is attractively economical. To enjoy the
advantages of six eyelids and the resulting capability in winks--there
is something even in this. But chiefly, envy for the crocodile has
got into the grain of humanity by heredity from those ancients who
believed everything that Plutarch told them in his book, _De Iside
et Osiride_. The crocodile, he informs us therein, can render itself
invisible at will, everything else being perfectly visible to it the
while. This is a noble privilege, and worthy of the most respectful
envy. Jack the Giant Killer performed the trick by means of a cloak;
but Plutarch's crocodile does it "merely by the power of the heye,"
as the street-corner mesmerist has it--does it "like winking," in
fact. The mechanism is very simple, and quite easy to understand. It
consists only of a membrane to draw over the eye; and as the eye it is
drawn over is the crocodile's, it is obvious that he becomes invisible
at once. His ability to see others is provided for by the ingenious
expedient of having the membrane transparent--and there you are. What
could be simpler? Anybody who can run to a transparent membrane fitting
for his eyes may dodge his creditors at will, thanks to the tip of the
benevolent and ingenious Plutarch.
[Illustration: THE CROCODILE-CREASE.]
[Illustration: A PASSING PLEASANTRY.]
[Illustration: "'EAR THAT, BILL?"]
[Illustration: SHORT FROCKS.]
In the reptile-house at these Gardens, the largest saurian bears the
apt name of Little-'un. He is a youthful alligator, although, being
rather more than 10 ft. 6 in. long, he has quite grown out of short
frocks. Nothing infantile remains about his appearance, and he has
in full development that curious cravat of fleshy folds and creases
noticeable in no animals but alligators and 'bus-drivers, and among the
latter species only in the stout and red-faced variety. Little-'un's
name was not given him by way of a joke, but because, nine years
ago, he was only a foot long--which _is_ little for an alligator.
Little-'un has always been a good business alligator, however, and
by strict industry and invincible perseverance in the pursuit of
whatever might be eatable, has risen to an honoured and considerable
eminence in the higher Zoo circles. To observe the open countenance
of Little-'un bearing down on a piece of meat that ought properly to
belong to some other alligator, is to get a sight of a truly original
edition of "Smiles's Self-Help." Little-'un's one moral principle
is--the greatest good of the greatest alligator. His business maxim
is get something to eat; honestly, if there is no other way, but,
anyhow, get it as large as possible, and as often as you can. He
would, without the least bashfulness, proceed to eat his friends in
the same tank if Tyrrell (the keeper, whom you know already) neglected
the commissariat. Indeed, he once began on one fellow-lodger, with no
other excuse than opportunity. Feeding was in progress, and, in the
scramble and confusion, a smallish crocodile, lunging his nose in the
direction of the desired morsel, without particularly noticing where
that direction led, found himself up to the eyes in Little-'un's dental
establishment. Little-'un's prudent habits rendered it unlikely that
he would deliberately fling away anything that Providence had actually
thrust into his mouth, even if it were his own grandfather: and only a
vigorous application of Tyrrell's pole saved the crocodile from making
a meal in a sense he didn't originally intend.
Eighty-five degrees is the temperature prescribed for the water here,
and every crocodile is a thermometer unto himself, soon showing signs,
notwithstanding his thick hide, of any variation in the rate of his
gentle stewing--Little-'un being as sensitive as any, in spite of his
assiduous attention to business.
[Illustration:
200°
"HERE, STOP IT, TYRELL!"
150°
100°
80°
70°
60°