in. All other nations seem to take kindly to it, but _torero_ is
the Spanish for bull-fighter.

The heralds at the far end of the arena lead off with a flourish of
trumpets, and the great door with the iron bull's head over the top
swings open and shows a gloomy cavity beyond. There is nothing to see
for about ten seconds. There is a hush all round the tiers of waiting
people, and presently a blurred shadow looms through the dark.

[Illustration: "FLINGING HORSE AND RIDER LIKE STUFFED MUSEUM
SPECIMENS."]

The bull trots out nimbly to the rim of the arena, glares aggressively
at the empty space ahead of him, shakes his mighty head, and every line
of his lithe frame says "Ready!" He is not like our British bulls, heavy
and ponderous, but spry and agile as a terrier, twisting on his own axis
like a small rater in stays. He was not goaded or tortured before the
entry, to make him savage, as the historians of bull-fights would have
us believe--there is no necessity. It is almost the finest part of the
spectacle, this first entry, and those who cannot bring themselves to
sit out the drama of blood and steel that comes later should witness it
and then go. So the bull trots in and looks round for something to slay.
This is a chance for a young and agile torero to show his skill.

[Illustration: "THE AWFUL DRIVE HOME OF THE GREAT HORN INTO THE HORSE'S
BODY."]

The seeker of fame runs out to about the centre of the sandy arena and
stands with his arms folded. His Majesty the bull waits for nothing
farther, but puts all four hoofs to the ground and thunders towards the
youngster at full gallop. Just as the great horns lash upwards for the
toss, the boy twists himself round, and at that moment the space between
the two is to be counted by inches. The bull usually puts so much
vicious power into this first effort, that at the attempted toss he
flings his forequarters clear of the ground, and his forefeet come down
with a sounding crack on the hard floor. There is nothing left for the
fighter to do but run, and he vaults the barrier into the corridor
beyond. The bull frequently gathers so much impetus in following at the
runner's heels, that he too must leap the fence--a goodly jump for a
bull--about five feet. Then follows a wild scramble of corpulent
policemen, sweetmeat-sellers, water-carriers, and so forth, and they
scuffle heavily over the barrier into the deserted ring. But a door is
soon opened, the bull turned back into