“Well, first of all you’ve got to hitch ’em up, got to get a silk thread round their waists. That’s a mighty ticklish oppyration, but Jinny’s good at it. You see, they’re so slick cement won’t stick to ’em, and if you was to use wax it kills ’em in a day or two. So we’ve got to get a silk loop round their middle, and cement a fine bristle to it. Once we have ’em harnessed up we begin to train ’em. That’s just a matter of patience. Some’s apter than others. Barthsheeber there was very quick. In a few days she was on to her job.”
“And how long do they live?”
“Oh, about a year, but I’ve had ’em for nigh two. They got mighty weak towards the last though. You know, a female in prime condition can draw twelve hundred times her own weight.”
“Wonderful! And what do they eat?”
“Well,” said O’Flather, thoughtfully, “a performer can go about four days without eating, but we feed ’em every day. Jinny used to do it. She loves ’em. But it’s hard on a person. I’ve got a young woman engaged just now.”
“A young woman!”
“Yep, but she’s a poor weak bit of a thing. I don’t think as she’ll stick it much longer. You see, there’s lots of folks the little devils won’t take to—me, for instance. Blood’s too bitter, I guess. They seem to prefer the women, too. Then again, they feed better if the body’s hot, specially if the skin’s perspiring.”
“How very interesting!” I said absently. Then suddenly the reason of it came to me. The insects had no intelligence, no consciously directed power. The motive that inspired them was—Fear. Their extraordinary demonstrations were caused by their desperate efforts to escape. It was fear that drew the coaches and the gun-carriages: fear that made those kicking on their backs turn the threshing mills; fear in the fight to free themselves from the stakes to which they were chained that made the duellists clash their sabres, and the Bathshebas work at their wells. It was even fear that made those two lashed side by side, and head to tail, run round in opposite directions to get away from each other, till they gave the illusion of a waltz. Fear as a motive power! This exhibition, outwardly so amusing, was really all suffering and despair, struggle born of fear, pleasure gained at the cost of pain. Exquisitely ludicrous; yet how like life, how like life!
“Professor O’Flather,” I said gravely, “you have taught me a lesson I will never forget.”
“Naw,” said the Professor modestly, “it ain’t nuthin’. Hope you get a few dollars out of it. Mind you give the show a boost.”