“Yep,” came the answer. “Just about ruined too. That idiot I had got ’em so flighty they’ll kill anybody that goes into the arena with ’em.”
“I’ll fix ’em up for you,” announced “Cap,” laconically. “Say the word and I’ll go out there and start in on ’em.”
The circus owner swallowed quickly then reached for a liability contract.
“Er—just sign this first,” he announced, and “Cap” signed, releasing the circus from any possible damages for his death. Then together they went to winter quarters, Ricardo to make his first effort at training, Tammen to see a new trainer get killed.
“Want any help?” he asked.
“Nope—just two kitchen chairs.”
“Kitchen chairs? What for?”
“To train ’em with.”
Whereupon “Cap” got his chairs and a buggy whip. Then he ordered one lion into the arena, where he awaited it.
The lion took one look and sprang. Midway in the air, it struck something, roared in victorious fashion, then settled to chew it to pieces. But it wasn’t a man—it was that chair. He disentangled himself and leaped again, only to tangle himself with the second chair which “Cap” had tossed in his path. A third time, while again Ricardo broke the leap with the first chair which he had retrieved while the lion was breaking away from the second; then the cat paused to look his new antagonist over. So far he hadn’t been hurt at all. Merely foiled. Here was some one who could outwit him, and who really had him at his mercy, who didn’t beat him, but who, instead, talked and purred and meowed continually in friendly fashion. The lion didn’t leap again.