erceived by
Rounders, had been standing behind him noting the incident.

"Rounders," said Brinton, "you're lucky. About two months ago a fellow
did the same thing as you've been doing, but he did not come out as well
as you."

"What befell him?" asked Rounders.

"Brutus caught his hand under the bars, pulled in his arm, reached out
his other paw in an affectionate embrace around the man's neck, pressed
him against the bars, and mashed him. When I came up it was too late. He
dropped on the sawdust and never got up again."

In noting their habits, Rounders observed that they were more afraid of
the short pole which Brinton carried into the cage than they were of the
whip. Brinton called this bit of dark wood his magic wand, which in a
measure justified its name, for as soon as he touched them with it, they
gave way and drew back to the end of the cage. He usually carried it
with him into a little tent-chamber, which was rigged up near the lion's
cage. One night, after issuing from the cage, he forgot to take the
magic wand with him, leaving it lying on the sawdust, alongside of one
of the wheels which carried the beasts. Jim Rounders picked it up with
curiosity, and found it very heavy. In a word, it was iron. He drew his
hand caressingly from one end of it to the other, as he thought of the
effects which it produced when it came in contact with the lions' noses.
As his hand softly reached down to the other end, he drew it back as if
bitten by a viper, with an exclamation that would not have met with
favor in the Young Men's Christian Association. The end was hot. He
carried the rod into the little tent-chamber, and left it there. It was
now made clear to him why the animals showed such an aversion to the end
of the magic wand.

The wife of Brutus was a lioness called Cleopatra, generally kept in
another cage. In the order of nature she was at times more affectionate
to her husband than at others, and during such periods Brutus became
irritable, and difficult to manage. It was hard to keep him down, even
with the hot iron. As they wended their way from village to village, and
town to town, over the old-fashioned turnpikes, Brutus entered one of
the irritable phases of his life, during which, it is hardly necessary
to say, the vigilant eye of Rounders was nearly always on the tamer in
his management of the brute. One night, through a chink of the little
tent-chamber, he saw Brinton standing irresolute, although behind