“It is very simple,” said Luis Cervallos. “The bull shuts his eyes when he charges. Therefore—”
“The man steps, out of the way and the bull rushes by,” Harned interrupted.
“Yes,” said Luis Cervallos; “that is it. The bull shuts his eyes, and the man knows it.”
“But cows do not shut their eyes,” said John Harned. “I know a cow at home that is a Jersey and gives milk, that would whip the whole gang of them.”
“But the toreadors do not fight cows,” said I.
“They are afraid to fight cows,” said John Harned.
“Yes,” said Luis Cervallos, “they are afraid to fight cows. There would be no sport in killing toreadors.”
“There would be some sport,” said John Harned, “if a toreador were killed once in a while. When I become an old man, and mayhap a cripple, and should I need to make a living and be unable to do hard work, then would I become a bull-fighter. It is a light vocation for elderly gentlemen and pensioners.”
“But see!” said Maria Valenzuela, as the bull charged bravely and the capador eluded it with a fling of his cape. “It requires skill so to avoid the beast.”
“True,” said John Harned. “But believe me, it requires a thousand times more skill to avoid the many and quick punches of a prize-fighter who keeps his eyes open and strikes with intelligence. Furthermore, this bull does not want to fight. Behold, he runs away.”