Johnny ducked for the assembly enclosure. There he found the Italian waving his arms before the manager.
“No box-a da bear! No box-a da bear!” shouted Allegretti.
“No, I’d say you didn’t,” smiled the manager. “But you did better than that. You put on a scream; you made ’em laugh their heads off. Do that every day and I’ll double your pay!”
“What!” demanded the outraged trainer. “Do dat again! Not for five time, not for ten time my pay. He want-a keel me, dat-a bear. No box-a da bear. No more box-a dat-a bear.”
No amount of argument could make Allegretti change his mind. He was scared white. Johnny and the bear had got his goat. He was through. He would never box the bear again.
“Well,” said the manager, turning to Johnny, at last, “I guess it’s up to you!”
“Up to me? How?” gasped Johnny.
“You crabbed the Italian’s act by boxing the bear. Now you’ll have to become a professional bear boxer, and box him yourself. See?”
“No, I don’t see,” said Johnny stoutly. “Why, I don’t even know the signals.”
“Make up some of your own. Pete Treco, the tumbler, used to be a bear boxer. He can help you. We’ll be out of Chicago in three days. I’ll give you till then to get in form. What say?”