“Come here,” Collins commanded in his cold, hard tones.
Michael came and stood before him.
“Lie down!”
Michael lay down, although he did it slowly, with advertised reluctance.
“Damned thoroughbred!” Collins sneered at him. “Won’t put any pep into your motions, eh? Well, we’ll take care of that.—Get up!—Lie down!—Get up!—Lie down!—Get up!”
His commands were staccato, like revolver shots or the cracks of whips, and Michael obeyed them in his same slow, reluctant way.
“Understands English, at any rate,” said Collins.
“Wonder if he can turn the double flip,” he added, expressing the golden dream of all dog-trainers. “Come on, we’ll try him for a flip. Put the chain on him. Come over here, Jimmy. Put another lead on him.”
Another reform-school graduate youth obeyed, snapping a girth about Michael’s loins, to which was attached a thin rope.
“Line him up,” Collins commanded. “Ready?—Go!”