CHAPTER XXVIII
One friend Michael made among the many animals he encountered in theCedarwild School, and a strange, sad friendship it was. Sara she wascalled, a small, green monkey from South America, who seemed to have beenborn hysterical and indignant, and with no appreciation of humour.Sometimes, following Collins about the arena, Michael would meet herwhile she waited to be tried out on some new turn. For, unable orunwilling to try, she was for ever being tried out on turns, or, withlittle herself to do, as a filler-in for more important performers.
But she always caused confusion, either chattering and squealing withfright or bickering at the other animals. Whenever they attempted tomake her do anything, she protested indignantly; and if they tried force,her squalls and cries excited all the animals in the arena and set thework back.
"Never mind," said Collins finally. "She'll go into the next monkey bandwe make up."
This was the last and most horrible fate that could befall a monkey onthe stage, to be a helpless marionette, compelled by unseen sticks andwires, poked and jerked by concealed men, to move and act throughout anentire turn.
But it was before this doom was passed upon her that Michael made heracquaintance. Their first meeting, she sprang suddenly at him, ascreaming, chattering little demon, threatening him with nails and teeth.And Michael, already deep-sunk in habitual moroseness merely looked ather calmly, not a ripple to his neck-hair nor a prick to his ears. Thenext moment, her fuss and fury quite ignored, she saw him turn his headaway. This gave her pause. Had he sprung at her, or snarled, or shownany anger or resentment such as did the other dogs when so treated byher, she would have screamed and screeched and raised a hubbub ofexpostulation, crying for help and calling all men to witness how she wasbeing unwarrantably attacked.
As it was, Michael's unusual behaviour seemed to fascinate her. Sheapproached him tentatively, without further racket; and the boy who hadher in charge slacked the thin chain that held her.
"Hope he breaks her back for her," was his unholy wish; for he hated Saraintensely, desiring to be with the lions or elephants rather than dancingattendance on a cantankerous female monkey there was no reasoning with.
And because Michael took no notice of her, she made up to him. It wasnot long before she had her hands on him, and, quickly after that, an armaround his neck and her head snuggled against his. Then began herinterminable tale. Day after day, catching him at odd times in the ring,she would cling closely to him and in a low voice, running on and on,never pausing for breath, tell him, for all he knew, the story of herlife. At any rate, it sounded like the story of her woes and of all theindignities which had been wreaked upon her. It was one long complaint,and some of it might have been about her health, for she sniffed andcoughed a great deal and her chest seemed always to hurt her from the wayshe had of continually and gingerly pressing the palm of her hand to it.Sometimes, however, she would cease her complaining, and love and motherhim, uttering occasional series of gentle mellow sounds that were likecroonings.
Hers was the only hand of affection that was laid on him at Cedarwild,and she was ever gentle, never pinching him, never pulling his ears. Bythe same token, he was the only friend she had; and he came to lookforward to meeting her in the course of the morning work--and this,despite that every meeting always concluded in a scene, when she foughtwith her keeper against being taken away. Her cries and protests wouldgive way to whimperings and wailings, while the men about laughed at thestrangeness of the love-affair between her and the Irish terrier.
But Harris Collins tolerated, even encouraged, their friendship.
"The two sour-balls get along best together," he said. "And it does themgood. Gives them something to live for, and that way lies health. Butsome day, mark my words, she'll turn on him and give him what for, andtheir friendship will get a terrible smash."
And half of it he spoke with the voice of prophecy, and, though she neverturned on Michael, the day in the world was written when their friendshipwould truly receive a terrible smash.
"Now seals are too wise," Collins explained one day, in a sort ofextempore lecture to several of his apprentice trainers. "You've justgot to toss fish to them when they perform. If you don't, they won't,and there's an end of it. But you can't depend on feeding dainties todogs, for instance, though you can make a young, untrained pig performcreditably by means of a nursing bottle hidden up your sleeve."
"All you have to do is think it over. Do you think you can make thosegreyhounds extend themselves with the promise of a bite of meat? It'sthe whip that makes them extend.--Look over there at Billy Green. Thereain't another way to teach that dog that trick. You can't love her intodoing it. You can't pay her to do it. There's only one way, and that's_make_ her."
Billy Green, at the moment, was training a tiny, nondescript, frizzly-haired dog. Always, on the stage, he made a hit by drawing from hispocket a tiny dog that would do this particular trick. The last one haddied from a wrenched back, and he was now breaking in a new one. He wascatching the little mite by the hind-legs and tossing it up in the air,where, making a half-flip and descending head first, it was supposed toalight with its forefeet on his hand and there balance itself, its hindfeet and body above it in the air. Again and again he stooped, caughther hind-legs and flung her up into the half-turn. Almost frozen withfear, she vainly strove to effect the trick. Time after time, and everytime, she failed to make the balance. Sometimes she fell crumpled;several times she all but struck the ground: and once, she did strike, onher side and so hard as to knock the breath out of her. Her master,taking advantage of the moment to wipe the sweat from his streaming face,nudged her about with his toe till she staggered weakly to her feet.
"The dog was never born that'd learn that trick for the promise of a bitof meat," Collins went on. "Any more than was the dog ever born that'dwalk on its forelegs without having its hind-legs rapped up in the airwith the stick a thousand times. Yet you take that trick there. It'salways a winner, especially with the women--so cunning, you know, soadorable cute, to be yanked out of its beloved master's pocket and tohave such trust and confidence in him as to allow herself to be tossedaround that way. Trust and confidence hell! He's put the fear of Godinto her, that's what."
"Just the same, to dig a dainty out of your pocket once in a while andgive an animal a nibble, always makes a hit with the audience. That'sabout all it's good for, yet it's a good stunt. Audiences like tobelieve that the animals enjoy doing their tricks, and that they aretreated like pampered darlings, and that they just love their masters todeath. But God help all of us and our meal tickets if the audiencescould see behind the scenes. Every trained-animal turn would be takenoff the stage instanter, and we'd be all hunting for a job."
"Yes, and there's rough stuff no end pulled off on the stage right beforethe audience's eyes. The best fooler I ever saw was Lottie's. She had abunch of trained cats. She loved them to death right before everybody,especially if a trick wasn't going good. What'd she do? She'd take thatcat right up in her arms and kiss it. And when she put it down it'dperform the trick all right all right, while the audience applauded itssilly head off for the kindness and humaneness she'd shown. Kiss it? Didshe? I'll tell you what she did. She bit its nose."
"Eleanor Pavalo learned the trick from Lottie, and used it herself on hertoy dogs. And many a dog works on the stage in a spiked collar, and aclever man can twist a dog's nose and nobody in the audience any thewiser. But it's the fear that counts. It's what the dog knows he'll getafterward when the turn's over that keeps most of them straight."
"Remember Captain Roberts and his great Danes. They weren't pure-breds,though. He must have had a dozen of them--toughest bunch of brutes Iever saw. He boarded them here twice. You couldn't go among themwithout a club in your hand. I had a Mexican lad laid up by them. Hewas a tough one, too. But they got him down and nearly ate him. Thedoctors took over forty stitches in him and shot him full of that Pasteurdope for hydroph
obia. And he always will limp with his right leg fromwhat the dogs did to him. I tell you, they were the limit. And yet,every time the curtain went up, Captain Roberts brought the house downwith the first stunt. Those dogs just flocked all over him, loving himto death, from the looks of it. And were they loving him? They hatedhim. I've seen him, right here in the cage at Cedarwild, wade into themwith a club and whale the stuffing impartially out of all of them. Sure,they loved him not. Just a bit of the same old aniseed was what he used.He'd soak small pieces of meat in aniseed oil and stick them in hispockets. But that stunt would only work with a bunch of giant dogs likehis. It was their size that got it across. Had they been a lot ofordinary dogs it would have looked silly. And, besides, they didn't dotheir regular tricks for aniseed. They did it for Captain Roberts'sclub. He was a tough bird himself."
"He used to say that the art of training animals was the art of inspiringthem with fear. One of his assistants told me a nasty one about himafterwards. They had an off month in Los Angeles, and Captain Robertsgot it into his head he was going to make a dog balance a silver dollaron the neck of a champagne bottle. Now just think that over and try tosee yourself loving a dog into doing it. The assistant said he wore outabout as many sticks as dogs, and that he wore out half a dozen dogs. Heused to get them from the public pound at two and a half apiece, andevery time one died he had another ready and waiting. And he succeededwith the seventh dog. I'm telling you, it learned to balance a dollar onthe neck of a bottle. And it died from the effects of the learningwithin a week after he put it on the stage. Abscesses in the lungs, fromthe stick."
"There was an Englishman came over when I was a youngster. He hadponies, monkeys, and dogs. He bit the monkey's ears, so that, on thestage, all he had to do was to make a move as if he was going to bite andthey'd quit their fooling and be good. He had a big chimpanzee that wasa winner. It could turn four somersaults as fast as you could count onthe back of a galloping pony, and he used to have to give it a reallicking about twice a week. And sometimes the lickings were too stiff,and the monkey'd get sick and have to lay off. But the owner solved theproblem. He got to giving him a little licking, a mere taste of thestick, regular, just before the turn came on. And that did it in hiscase, though with some other case the monkey most likely would have gotsullen and not acted at all."
It was on that day that Harris Collins sold a valuable bit of informationto a lion man who needed it. It was off time for him, and his threelions were boarding at Cedarwild. Their turn was an exciting and eventerrifying one, when viewed from the audience; for, jumping about androaring, they were made to appear as if about to destroy the slenderlittle lady who performed with them and seemed to hold them in subjectiononly by her indomitable courage and a small riding-switch in her hand.
"The trouble is they're getting too used to it," the man complained."Isadora can't prod them up any more. They just won't make a showing."
"I know them," Collins nodded. "They're pretty old now, and they'respirit-broken besides. Take old Sark there. He's had so many blankcartridges fired into his ears that he's stone deaf. And Selim--he losthis heart with his teeth. A Portuguese fellow who was handling him forthe Barnum and Bailey show did that for him. You've heard?"
"I've often wondered," the man shook his head. "It must have been asmash."
"It was. The Portuguese did it with an iron bar. Selim was sulky andtook a swipe at him with his paw, and he whopped it to him full in themouth just as he opened it to let out a roar. He told me about ithimself. Said Selim's teeth rattled on the floor like dominoes. But heshouldn't have done it. It was destroying valuable property. Anyway,they fired him for it."
"Well, all three of them ain't worth much to me now," said their owner."They won't play up to Isadora in that roaring and rampaging at the end.It really made the turn. It was our finale, and we always got a greathand for it. Say, what am I going to do about it anyway? Ditch it? Orget some young lions?"
"Isadora would be safer with the old ones," Collins said.
"Too safe," Isadora's husband objected. "Of course, with younger lions,the work and responsibility piles up on me. But we've got to make ourliving, and this turn's about busted."
Harris Collins shook his head.
"What d'ye mean?--what's the idea?" the man demanded eagerly.
"They'll live for years yet, seeing how captivity has agreed with them,"Collins elucidated. "If you invest in young lions you run the risk ofhaving them pass out on you. And you can go right on pulling the trickoff with what you've got. All you've got to do is to take my advice . . . "
The master-trainer paused, and the lion man opened his mouth to speak.
"Which will cost you," Collins went on deliberately, "say three hundreddollars."
"Just for some advice?" the other asked quickly.
"Which I guarantee will work. What would you have to pay for three newlions? Here's where you make money at three hundred. And it's thesimplest of advice. I can tell it to you in three words, which is at therate of a hundred dollars a word, and one of the words is 'the.'"
"Too steep for me," the other objected. "I've got a make a living."
"So have I," Collins assured him. "That's why I'm here. I'm aspecialist, and you're paying a specialist's fee. You'll be as mad as ahornet when I tell you, it's that simple; and for the life of me I can'tunderstand why you don't already know it."
"And if it don't work?" was the dubious query.
"If it don't work, you don't pay."
"Well, shoot it along," the lion man surrendered.
"_Wire the cage_," said Collins.
At first the man could not comprehend; then the light began to break onhim.
"You mean . . . ?"
"Just that," Collins nodded. "And nobody need be the wiser. Drybatteries will do it beautifully. You can install them nicely under thecage floor. All Isadora has to do when she's ready is to step on thebutton; and when the electricity shoots through their feet, if they don'tgo up in the air and rampage and roar around to beat the band, not onlycan you keep the three hundred, but I'll give you three hundred more. Iknow. I've seen it done, and it never misses fire. It's just as thoughthey were dancing on a red-hot stove. Up they go, and every time theycome down they burn their feet again.
"But you'll have to put the juice into them slowly," Collins warned."I'll show you how to do the wiring. Just a weak battery first, so asthey can work up to it, and then stronger and stronger to the curtain.And they never get used to it. As long as they live they'll dance justas lively as the first time. What do you think of it?"
"It's worth three hundred all right," the man admitted. "I wish I couldmake my money that easy."