ruised head.

"Well," Davis gave in, turning on his heel, "they can make fools of
themselves over dogs, them that wants to. But when they've been in the
business as long as I have . . . "

CHAPTER XXXI

A post card from Davis to Collins explained the reasons for Michael's
return. "He sings too much to suit my fancy," was Davis's way of putting
it, thereby unwittingly giving the clue to what Collins had vainly
sought, and which Collins as unwittingly failed to grasp. As he told
Johnny:

"From the looks of the beatings he's got no wonder he's been singing.
That's the trouble with these animal people. They don't know how to take
care of their property. They hammer its head off and get grouched
because it ain't an angel of obedience.--Put him away, Johnny. Wash him
clean, and put on the regular dressing wherever the skin's broken. I
give him up myself, but I'll find some place for him in the next bunch of
dogs."

Two weeks later, by sheerest accident, Harris Collins made the discovery
for himself of what Michael was good for. In a spare moment in the
arena, he had sent for him to be tried out by a dog man who needed
several fillers-in. Beyond what he knew, such as at command to stand up,
to lie down, to come here and go there, Michael had done nothing. He had
refused to learn the most elementary things a show-dog should know, and
Collins had left him to go over to another part of the arena where a
monkey band, on a sort of mimic stage, was being arranged and broken in.

Frightened and mutinous, nevertheless the monkeys were compelled to
perform by being tied to their seats and instruments and by being pulled
and jerked from off stage by wires fastened to their bodies. The leader
of the orchestra, an irascible elderly monkey, sat on a revolving stool
to which he was securely attached. When poked from off the stage by
means of long poles, he flew into ecstasies of rage. At the same time,
by a rope arrangement, his chair was whirled around and around. To an
audience the effect would be that he was angered by the blunders of his
fellow-musicians. And to an audience such anger would be highly
ludicrous. As Collins said:

"A monkey band is always a winner. It fetches the laugh, and the money's
in the laugh. Humans just have to laugh at monkeys because they're so
similar and because the human has the advantage and feels himself
superior. Suppose we're walking along the street, you and me, and you