Mr. Slint (quietly). I now show you the Performing Fleas. The fleas are common fleas, trained by myself. Perseverance and patience is alone required.
The Writing Fellow (intelligently). You never use the whip?
Mr. Slint (taking no notice). Now the nature of the flea is to ’op; it is not the nature of the flea to walk. I ’ave trained the fleas to walk. I will now show you the flea as newly captured. Being still untrained, ’e still ’ops, you see.
He produces a miniature kennel, to which is attached “by a ’uman ’air” an undeniable flea. The flea hops gallantly, but is clearly impeded from doing its best jumps by the human hair.
We are now shown a second flea which is “only half-trained.” He has certainly forgotten how to hop. Indeed he seems to be suffering from congenital inertia. He scrambles a centimetre or two and sometimes makes a sort of flutter off the ground, but he rather suggests a solicitor learning to fly than a flea learning to walk.
Mr. S. I will now show you the flea when fully trained.
He opens a small cardboard box which seems to be full of toy four-wheelers and hansom-cabs. They are made of some metal, brightly painted, with substantial metal wheels. One of these vehicles is placed on the lighted board and begins to move. It is drawn by Eustace. It moves at a steady pace towards the materfamilias.
Reginald (suddenly, in a high piping voice). How does he feed them, mother?
The Materfamilias. Hush, dear.
Mr. S. (impassive). The fleas are fed on the ’uman arm. (An after-thought) My own.