Abbott shuddered.
"Samson!" cried the woman, impellingly. The other lion was patiently standing on his end of the board, waiting. He seemed fast asleep. Samson, however, was wide awake and every cruel tooth was exposed as he stretched his mouth. In his amber eyes was the glow of molten copper.
Suddenly Samson wheeled about, and made a rush for his end of the see- saw. He stepped upon it. He was conquered. His haste to obey, evidently the result of fear and hatred, produced a ripple of laughter. The other lion, feeling the sudden tremor of Samson's weight, opened his eyes suddenly and twitched his tail. He was not asleep, after all.
Simon whispered hoarsely, "It's interesting all the way through. A fellow never knows what's going to happen. 'Tain't as if you was watching clowns, knowing what the joke's to be before they say it. To my mind, lions are more like men than clowns are."
Abbott found himself intensely nervous. He longed to have it all over, anxious, above all, to prove his fears groundless. Yet how were so many coincidences to be explained away? Fran had been a show-girl, a trainer of lions, and Abbott distinctly remembered that she had spoken of a "Samson". Fran had just these movements and this height. He missed Fran's mellow voice, but voices may be disguised; and the hands now raised toward the audience may have been stained dark. Who was that "sick friend" that Fran had possibly mentioned only as an excuse for escaping? Was that a subterfuge? And why this red mask which, according to Simon Jefferson, was an innovation?
At every trick, the black-maned lion balked. He seemed resolved not to leap upon the wall-bracket; and, after attaining that precarious elevation, he pretended not to understand that he must descend. His insubordination disquieted the enormous animal acting the corresponding part. Even he began to pace softly to and fro at such times as he should have remained motionless.
When the time came for the clown to hand the woman her violin he was afraid, and withdrew his arm with marvelous rapidity. His grotesque disguise could not hide his genuine uneasiness. The members of the band, too, played their notes with unusual care, lest the slightest deviation from routine work bring catastrophe. Nothing had gone right but the see-sawing act; but of all this, the crowd was ignorant.
After the violin playing—"Now," Simon Jefferson announced, gleefully, "there's only one more act, but it's a corker, let me tell you—that's why she's resting a minute. La Gonizetti gets astride of Samson—the one that's mad—and grabs his mane, and pretends to ride like a cow- boy. Calls herself a Rough-Rider. Makes Samson get on top of that table, then she gets on top of him."
"But this isn't La Gonizetti," Abbott protested, shuddering again.
"Now you've said something. That's right. But it looks like she's game—she'll try it—we'd better stand a little farther back."