tre greeted Davis, as the
latter, trailed by Dick Bell, came upon Michael bristling from between
the legs of the stage-hand.

"Nothing to what I'm going to raise," Davis retorted, shortening his grip
on the iron bar and raising it. "I'm going to kill 'm. I'm going to
beat the life out of him. You just watch."

Michael snarled acknowledgment of the threat, crouched to spring, and
kept his eyes on the iron weapon.

"I just guess you ain't goin' to do anything of the sort," the stage-hand
assured Davis.

"It's my property," the latter asserted with an air of legal
convincingness.

"And against it I'm goin' to stack up my common sense," was the stage-
hand's reply. "You tap him once, and see what you'll get. Dogs is dogs,
and men is men, but I'm damned if I know what you are. You can't pull
off rough stuff on that dog. First time he was on a stage in his life,
after being starved and thirsted for two days. Oh, I know, Mr. Manager."

"If you kill the dog it'll cost you a dollar to the garbage man to get
rid of the carcass," the manager took up.

"I'll pay it gladly," Davis said, again lifting the iron bar. "I've got
some come-back, ain't I?"

"You animal guys make me sick," the stage-hand uttered. "You just make
me draw the line somewheres. And here it is: you tap him once with that
baby crowbar, and I'll tap you hard enough to lose me my job and to send
you to hospital."

"Now look here, Jackson . . . " the manager began threateningly.

"You can't say nothin' to me," was the retort. "My mind's made up. If
that cheap guy lays a finger on that dog I'm just sure goin' to lose my
job. I'm gettin tired anyway of seein' these skates beatin' up their
animals. They've made me sick clean through."

The manager looked to Davis and shrugged his shoulders helplessly.

"There's no use pulling off a rough-house," he counselled. "I don't want
to lose Jackson and he'll put you into hospital if he ever gets started.
Send the dog back where you got him. Your wife's told me about him.
Stick him into a box and send him back collect. Collins won't mind.
He'll take the singing out of him and work him into something."

Davis, with another glance at the truculent Jackson, wavered.

"I'll tell you what," the manager went on persuasively. "Jackson will
attend to the whole thing, box him up, ship him, everything--won't you,
Jackson?"

The stage-hand nodded curtly, then reached down and gently caressed
Michael's b