The lion blinked up at him. He stooped and tickled it between the ears. When he stood up again the rope was noosed about its neck, and the other end of the rope was in his hand. He hailed me to stand forth, and I obeyed in fear and great wonder.
A Rex Ingram—Metro Picture.
Where the Pavement Ends.
A SCENE FROM THE PHOTOPLAY.
"Do you see me?" said Angus Jones. "I am come of the dominant race. Do you see my cat? It is the proper pet for such a man. And now—" He drew a long breath through his nose. "And now we will resume our investigations amid the haunts of these simple islanders."
So we turned back and made our second entrance into Funchal—Angus Jones and I—and the lion on a leading string. It was stupendous, and yet it went simply enough. Our progress was slow because Thomas—Angus declared his name was Thomas—had to sit down every few feet and wash his feet or his face or some part of him. He seemed a well-mannered and an amiable beast. But he was a fearsome thing to look upon, striding up the peaceful rua, and I took no part when Angus Jones yanked him along.
We called first at the shop of Joao Gomez. There was evidence that Joao had departed by the back way within the moment. But if he stood not upon his going we made even less of it. Those sausages in silver foil were the true fruit of Bologna, ripe and spicy, and there were chocolates, and dainty biscuits in tins, pickled mussels and Logos figs, anchovies and raisins and hams, real Estremadura, known to song and story. Such delights an epicure might have grudged us, but no epicure ever brought the sharp tooth shared by us three. For three at the feast we were. Angus Jones herded the lion into a corner and fed him with a ham, and he was grateful and made about two bites of it.
"Thomas," said Angus Jones, "I see your grievance is like our own—grown up among whips and scorns. Lay on, my son. 'Tis the day of triumph." And his eye was bright like a china button.
"Can you hold him to it?" I asked as we sat in the ruins of João's stock.
"Who? Thomas? He also has played a part on many stages. Do you note the scars on his poor ribs? He may even have known me, myself. Hold!"