One Thursday afternoon, when London zoo was closed to the public, Mister Thomas Greggs, who was in charge of the lizard pavillion, was cleaning out the tanks and terraria. He was entirely alone in the newt section where the great Japanese newt, the American hellbender, Andrias Scheuchzeri and a number of small amphibians, axolotls, eels, reptiles and frogs were exhibited. Mister Greggs went round with his duster and his broom, singing Annie Laurie as he went; when suddenly a rasping voice behind him said:

“Look Mum.”

Mister Thomas Greggs looked round, but there was nobody there; there was just the hellbender slopping around in its mud and that big black newt, that Andrias, which was leant up against the edge of the tank with its front paws and twisting its body round. Must have imagined it, thought Mister Greggs, and continued to sweep the floor till it shone.

“Look, a newt,” he heard from behind him. Mister Greggs turned quickly round; that black newt, that Andrias, was watching him, blinking with its lower eyelids.

“Ugh, it’s ugly, isn’t it,” the newt said suddenly. “Dont get too close to it, love.” Mister Greggs opened his mouth in astonishment.

“What?”

“You sure it doesnt bite?” the newt rasped.

“You . . . you can speak!” Mister Greggs stammered, unable to believe his ears.

“Im scared of that one,” the newt exclaimed. “What does it eat, Mum?”

“Say Good afternoon,” said the astonished Mister Greggs. The newt twisted its body round. “Good afternoon,” it rasped. “Good afternoon. Good afternoon. Can I give it a cake?” In some confusion, Mister Greggs reached into his pocket and drew out a piece of bread.

“Here you are, then”

The newt took the lump of bread into its paw and tried a piece of it. “Look, a newt,” it muttered contentedly. “Dad, why is it so black?” Suddenly the newt dived back into the water and just its head re-emerged. “Whys it in the water? Why? Ooh, it’s not very nice!”

Mister Thomas Greggs scratched the back of his neck in surprise. Oh, it’s just repeating what it’s heard people saying. “Say Greggs,” he tried.

“Say Greggs,” the newt repeated.

“Mister Thomas Greggs.”

“Mister Thomas Greggs.”

“Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon. Good afternoon. Good afternoon.” The newt seemed able to continue talking without getting tired of it; but by now Greggs did not know what he could say; Mister Thomas Greggs was not a talkative man.

“Shut your mouth for now,” he said, “and then when Im ready I’ll teach you how to talk.”

“Shut your mouth for now,” gurgled the newt. “Good afternoon. Look, a newt. I’ll teach you how to talk.”

The management of the zoo, however, did not look kindly on it when its zookeepers taught the animals tricks; with the elephant it was different, but the other animals were there for educational purposes and not to be presented like in a circus. Mister Greggs therefore kept a secret of the time he spent in the newt pavilion, and was there after all the other people had left, and as he was a widower nobody was curious about his being there by himself. Everyone has his own taste. And not many people went to the newt pavilion anyway; the crocodiles were popular with everyone but Andrias Scheuchzeri spent his days in relative solitude.

One day, when it was getting dark and the pavilions were closing, the director of the zoo, Sir Charles Wiggam, was wandering round the different sections just to see that everything was in order. As he went past the newt pavilion there was a splash in one of the tanks and a rasping voice said, “Good evening”.

“Good evening,” the director answered, somewhat surprised. “Whos there?”

“I beg your pardon,” the rasping voice said, “I thought it was Mister Greggs.”

“Whos there?” the director repeated.

“Andy. Andrew Scheuchzer.”  Sir Charles went closer to the tank. All he saw was one newt sitting upright and immobile.

“Who said that?”

“Andy,” said the newt. “Who are you?”

“Wiggam,” exclaimed Sir Charles in astonishment.

“Pleased to meet you,” said Andrias politely. “How do you do?”

“Damn it all!” Sir Charles roared. “Greggs! Hey, Greggs!” The newt flipped quickly away and hid in the water. Mister Thomas Greggs hurried in through the door, out of breath and somewhat uneasy.

“How can I help you, sir?”

“Greggs, what’s the meaning of this?” Sir Charles began.

“Has something happened, sir?” stammered Mister Greggs, rather unsure of himself.

“This animal is speaking!”

“I do beg your pardon, sir,” replied Mister Greggs contritely. “You’re not to do that, Andy. I’ve told you a thousand times you’re not to bother the people with all your talk. I am sorry, sir, it won’t happen again.”

“Is it you that’s taught this newt to speak?”

“Well it was him what started it, sir,” Greggs defended himself.

“I hope it won’t happen again, Greggs,” said Sir Charles severely. “I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”

Some time after this incident, Sir Charles was sitting with Professor Petrov and talking about so-called animal intelligence, conditioned responses, and about how the popular view will over estimate how much an animal is capable of understanding. Professor Petrov expressed his doubts about Elberfeld’s horses who, it was said, could not only count but also work out squares and square roots; after all, not even a normal educated man can work out square roots, said the great scientist. Sir Charles thought of Greggs talking newt. “I have a newt here,” he began hesitantly, “that famous andrias scheuchzer it is, and it has learned to talk like a parrot.”

“Out of the question,” said the scientist. “Newts don’t have the right sort of tongue.”

“Then come and have a look,” said Sir Charles. “It’s cleaning day today, so there won’t be too many people there.” And out they went.

At the entrance to the newt pavillion sir Charles stopped. From inside could be heard the scraping of a broom and a monotonous voice saying something very slowly.

“Wait,” Sir Charles whispered.

“Is there life of Mars?” the monotonous voice said. “Shall I read it?”

“No, read us something else, Andy,” another voice answered.

“Who’s to win this years Derby; Pelham Beauty or Gobernador?”

“Pelham Beauty,” the second voice replied. “But read it anyway.”

Sir Charles opened the door very quietly. Mister Thomas Greggs was sweeping the floor; and in the tank of sea water sat Andrias Scheuchzeri, slowly, word by word in a rasping voice, reading out the evening paper which he held in his front paws. “Greggs,” shouted Sir Charles. The ne............