“And if it don’t work?” was the dubious query.
“If it don’t work, you don’t pay.”
“Well, shoot it along,” the lion man surrendered.
“Wire the cage,” said Collins.
At first the man could not comprehend; then the light began to break on him.
“You mean . . . ?”
“Just that,” Collins nodded. “And nobody need be the wiser. Dry batteries will do it beautifully. You can install them nicely under the cage floor. All Isadora has to do when she’s ready is to step on the button; and when the electricity shoots through their feet, if they don’t go up in the air and rampage and roar around to beat the band, not only can you keep the three hundred, but I’ll give you three hundred more. I know. I’ve seen it done, and it never misses fire. It’s just as though they were dancing on a red-hot stove. Up they go, and every time they come down they burn their feet again.
“But you’ll have to put the juice into them slowly,” Collins warned. “I’ll show you how to do the wiring. Just a weak battery first, so as they can work up to it, and then stronger and stronger to the curtain. And they never get used to it. As long as they live they’ll dance just as lively as the first time. What do you think of it?”
“It’s worth three hundred all right,” the man admitted. “I wish I could make my money that easy.”