ghbred!" Collins sneered at him. "Won't put any pep into
your motions, eh? Well, we'll take care of that.--Get up!--Lie down!--Get
up!--Lie down!--Get up!"

His commands were staccato, like revolver shots or the cracks of whips,
and Michael obeyed them in his same slow, reluctant way.

"Understands English, at any rate," said Collins.

"Wonder if he can turn the double flip," he added, expressing the golden
dream of all dog-trainers. "Come on, we'll try him for a flip. Put the
chain on him. Come over here, Jimmy. Put another lead on him."

Another reform-school graduate youth obeyed, snapping a girth about
Michael's loins, to which was attached a thin rope.

"Line him up," Collins commanded. "Ready?--Go!"

And the most amazing, astounding indignity was wreaked upon Michael. At
the word "Go!", simultaneously, the chain on his collar jerked him up and
back in the air, the rope on his hindquarters jerked that portion of him
under, forward, and up, and the still short stick in Collins's hand hit
him under the lower jaw. Had he had any previous experience with the
manoeuvre, he would have saved himself part of the pain at least by
springing and whirling backward in the air. As it was, he felt as if
being torn and wrenched apart while at the same time the blow under his
jaw stung him and almost dazed him. And, at the same time, whirled
violently into the air, he fell on the back of his head in the sawdust.

Out of the sawdust he soared in rage, neck-hair erect, throat a-snarl,
teeth bared to bite, and he would have sunk his teeth into the flesh of
the master-god had he not been the slave of cunning formula. The two
youths knew their work. One tightened the lead ahead, the other to the
rear, and Michael snarled and bristled his impotent wrath. Nothing could
he do, neither advance, nor retreat, nor whirl sideways. The youth in
front by the chain prevented him from attacking the youth behind, and the
youth behind, with the rope, prevented him from attacking the youth in
front, and both prevented him from attacking Collins, whom he knew
incontrovertibly to be the master of evil and hurt.

Michael's wrath was as superlative as was his helplessness. He could
only bristle and tear his vocal chords with his rage. But it was a very
ancient and boresome experience to Collins. He was even taking advantage
of the moment to glance across the arena and size up what the bears were
doing.

"Oh, you thoroughbred," h