Ever, like an avenging devil, Mulcachy pursued and smashed and jabbed, gritting through his teeth: “You will argue, will you? I’ll teach you what argument is! There! Take that! And that! And that!”
“ Now I’ve got him afraid of me, and the rest ought to be easy,” he announced, resting off and panting hard from his exertions, while the great tiger crouched and quivered and shrank back from him against the base of the arena-bars. “Take a five-minute spell, you fellows, and we’ll got our breaths.”
Lowering one of the iron chairs, and attaching it firmly in its place on the floor, Mulcachy prepared for the teaching of the first trick. Ben Bolt, jungle-born and jungle-reared, was to be compelled to sit in the chair in ludicrous and tragic imitation of man-creatures. But Mulcachy was no
