He swished his long tail and licked his lips, while his eyes glowed balefully.
“What sort of a trainer have you?” asked Buster. “Is she good to you?”
“There she comes now,” whispered Spot. “You can see for yourself.”
Buster turned and saw a young woman, dressed in a dazzling, sparkling costume of many colors, with a small cap surmounting her golden hair, and a thick, rawhide whip in her hand. There was a fearless look in the dark eyes, and when she strode up to Buster’s cage she surveyed him quite calmly. Buster returned her stare, and blinked two or three times.
“He doesn’t look so ugly,” the woman said finally, addressing one of the attendants. “If I know anything about bears, I should say he was naturally good-humored. But of course you can’t tell. His temper may have been ruined by some one. His name is Buster, you say?”
She walked up to the cage and stuck a hand between the bars and patted the shaggy head. “Well, Buster, we’re either going to be friends or enemies,” she added. “Which is it?”
Buster couldn’t reply right away, so surprised was he, but unconsciously he stuck out his tongue and licked the hand. How soft and velvety it felt! Instead of drawing the hand away, she permitted him to lick it again. Then she smiled.
“You can see,” she said, speaking to the attendant, “he’s answered my question. We’re going to be friends. Now open the door for me. I’m going inside.”
Once more Buster was surprised, but not nearly so much as the attendant. “Don’t do it, Chiquita,” he said in alarm. “He’s not to be trusted. He’s a vicious brute.”
Chiquita smiled and put on her gloves.