ame, and that afternoon the
bull-fighters marched into the ring; and in their smooth-fitting
tights--black, white, green, pink, blue, purple, all colors--their short
jackets, puffed-out shirts, with the queer little hats and the neat
black slippers, well-built fellows, all of them--they made a great
showing.

"They marched once around the ring, and then Torellas, who was leading
them, halted in front of the Mayor's box and asked permission to kill
the bull, and the Mayor, of course, said yes. Then, marching to the
opposite side of the ring, to where was the President of Peru in the
biggest box of all, with hangings of red and gold, and two American
rear-admirals of the fleet on either side of him, Torellas saluted, and
tossed up his hat, then his cloak, to the President. And as he did so,
around the ring the less famous bull-fighters were picking out friends
or great people and to them tossing their hats, by way of doing them
honor. Cogan tossed his up among the American blue-jackets, and they,
not knowing he wasn't a Peruvian, didn't know what to make of it, but
they scuffled for it just the same.

"Torellas was in white tights with black slippers. A small gold cross
was pinned to the breast of his fine white shirt. As he stepped back
from the President's box he touched a white silk handkerchief to his
lips, almost like a woman, but those graceful little movements were as
much a part of him as were his strength and nerve. Cogan could hear
women in the seats behind him whispering of the beauty of him. Until
then it had never occurred to Cogan that the matador was any
professional beauty. He surely was a finely developed fellow, a good
deal of a man to look at, but for the beauty! No, he wasn't
handsome--Cogan took another look--but any man would say a great looking
one.

"The ring was now clear, with the bull-fighters hidden behind the
stockade, or tucked away in the little places of refuge built against
the inside of the stockade. These places of refuge were for the
bull-fighters to run into when chased by a bull; and there were half a
dozen of them, of heavy planking and about as high as a man's chest,
with an entrance wide enough for a man, but not for a bull's horns.
Cogan picked out his particular refuge because just above it, in front
seats, were the Rocas and Guavera.

"It was now time for the bull-fight to begin, but this was such an
extraordinary occasion that a compliment had first to be paid to the
visi