“Extremely,” said I.  “Have you many similar ventures?”

“Oh yes.  Our botanical gardens are full of them,” he replied.  “Those trees to the right are Baucis and Philemon.  That lotos plant on the left used to be Dryope, and when Adonis isn’t busy valeting at the hotel, he comes down here and blooms as an anemone, into which, as you are probably aware, he was changed by Venus.  That pink thing by the fountain is Hyacinthus, and over there by the pond is where Narcissus blooms.  He’s a barber in his off hours.”

I had already learned that, so expressed no surprise.

“That’s a stunning sunflower you have,” I ventured, pointing to a perfect specimen thereof directly ahead of us.

“Yes,” said the attendant.  “That’s Clytie.  She’s only potted.  We don’t set her out permanently, because the royal family like to have her on the table at state dinners.  And she, poor girl, rather enjoys it.  Apollo is generally to be found at these dinners either as a guest or playing a zither or a banjo behind a screen.  Wherever he is, the sunflower turns and it affords considerable amusement among Jupiter’s guests to watch it.  Jupiter has christened Clytie the Sherlock Holmes of Olympus, because wherever Apollo is she spots him.  Sometimes when he isn’t present, he has to be very careful in his statements about where he has been, for long habit has made Clytie unerring in her instinct.”

This seemed to me to be a rather good revenge on Apollo for his very ungodlike treatment of Clytie, and if half the attendant told me that day at the Zoo is true, this excessively fickle Olympian is probably sorry by this time that he treated her originally with such uncalled for disdain.

“Come over here and see the bear-pit,” said the guide.  I obeyed with alacrity, and, leaning over the rail, had the pleasure of seeing the most beautiful bruin my eyes had ever rested upon.  She was as glossy as a new silk hat; her eyes were as soft and timid as those of a frightened deer, and, when she moved, she was the perfection of grace.

[Illustration:  CALLISTO]

“Good-morning, Callisto,” said my guide.

“Same to you, my dear Cephalus,” the bear returned, in a sweet feminine voice that entranced me.

“How are things with you to-day?” asked Cephalus, with a kindly smile.

“Oh, I can’t growl,” laughed Callisto—­it was evident that the unfortunate woman was not taking her misfortune too seriously.  “Only I wish you’d tell people who come here that while I undoubtedly am a bear, I have not yet lost my womanly taste, and I don’t want to be fed all the time on buns.  If anybody asks you what you think I’d like, tell them that an occasional omelette soufflee, or an oyster pate, or a platter of petits fours would please me greatly.”

“I shall do it, Callisto,” said the keeper, as he started to move away.  “Meanwhile, here’s a stick of chewing-gum for you.”  Callisto received it with a manifestation of delight which moved me greatly, and I bethought myself of the magic properties of my coat, and plunging my hand into its capacious pockets, I found there an oyster pate that made my mouth water, and an omelette soufflee that looked as if it had been made by a Parisian milliner, it was so dainty.