“Too safe,” Isadora’s husband objected. “Of course, with younger lions, the work and responsibility piles up on me. But we’ve got to make our living, and this turn’s about busted.”
Harris Collins shook his head.
“What d’ye mean?—what’s the idea?” the man demanded eagerly.
“They’ll live for years yet, seeing how captivity has agreed with them,” Collins elucidated. “If you invest in young lions you run the risk of having them pass out on you. And you can go right on pulling the trick off with what you’ve got. All you’ve got to do is to take my advice . . . ”
The master-trainer paused, and the lion man opened his mouth to speak.
“Which will cost you,” Collins went on deliberately, “say three hundred dollars.”
“Just for some advice?” the other asked quickly.
“Which I guarantee will work. What would you have to pay for three new lions? Here’s where you make money at three hundred. And it’s the simplest of advice. I can tell it to you in three words, which is at the rate of a hundred dollars a word, and one of the words is ‘the.’”
“Too steep for me,” the other objected. “I’ve got a make a living.”
“So have I,” Collins assured him. “That’s why I’m here. I’m a specialist, and you’re paying a specialist’s fee. You’ll be as mad as a hornet when I tell you, it’s that simple; and for the life of me I can’t understand why you don’t already know it.”