of
similarly crated dogs. A sorry lot they were, all of them scrubs and
most of them spirit-broken and miserable. Several had bad sores on their
heads from being knocked about by Davis. No care was taken of these
sores, and they were not improved by the whitening that was put on them
for concealment whenever they performed. Some of them howled lamentably
at times, and every little while, as if it were all that remained for
them to do in their narrow cells, all of them would break out into
barking.

Michael was the only one who did not join in these choruses. Long since,
as one feature of his developing moroseness, he had ceased from barking.
He had become too unsociable for any such demonstrations; nor did he
pattern after the example of some of the sourer-tempered dogs in the
room, who were for ever bickering and snarling through the slats of their
cages. In fact, Michael's sourness of temper had become too profound
even for quarrelling. All he desired was to be let alone, and of this he
had a surfeit for the first forty-eight hours.

Wilton Davis had assembled his troupe ahead of time, so that the change
of programme was five days away. Having taken advantage of this to go to
see his wife's people over in New Jersey, he had hired one of the stage-
hands to feed and water his dogs. This the stage-hand would have done,
had he not had the misfortune to get into an altercation with a barkeeper
which culminated in a fractured skull and an ambulance ride to the
receiving hospital. To make the situation perfect for what followed, the
theatre was closed for three days in order to make certain alterations
demanded by the Fire Commissioners.

No one came near the room, and after several hours Michael grew aware of
hunger and thirst. The time passed, and the desire for food was
supplanted by the desire for water. By nightfall the barking and yelping
became continuous, changing through the long night hours to whimpering
and whining. Michael alone made no sound, suffering dumbly in the bedlam
of misery.

Morning of the second day dawned; the slow hours dragged by to the second
night; and the darkness of the second night drew down upon a scene behind
the scenes, sufficient of itself to condemn all trained-animal acts in
all theatres and show-tents of all the world. Whether Michael dreamed or
was in semi-delirium, there is no telling; but, whichever it was, he
lived most of his past life over again. Again he playe