such a bad beggar
to handle. Give me the jungle-bred lion to train, every time, for after
the manhandling and discomfort of his capture and transportation to the
coast by the natives, he appreciates the care and humanity of a
civilized trainer. These cubs which are raised in captivity are always
played with and teased by the employees and visitors, and their first
knowledge of their strength comes to them accidentally when they hurt a
man without meaning to do it; but they soon learn to connect cause and
effect, and then it is time to watch out for 'em. A jungle-bred lion is
pretty much cock o' the walk until he is snared or trapped, and in his
first experience with men he is vanquished and realizes how useless is
his great strength against the nets and ropes which entangle him. The
cub born in captivity is familiar with men from the first, and plays
with them like a kitten until one day he is out of sorts or is
accidentally hurt in a frolic and the swift cut of his razor-like claws
makes his playmate or tormentor drop him and leave him in peace. That
makes it hard for the trainer when he takes him in hand, for although
the cub may be subdued, he remembers that he was once victorious and
watches his chance. Jack Bonavita, the greatest trainer who ever went
into a lion's cage, would have two good arms to-day if Baltimore had
been born in the Nubian desert instead of in Manchester."

They stood in front of Baltimore's cage for a moment, admiring the
swelling muscles of the great beast as he sprang from side to side,
shaking his shaggy mane and roaring defiance at the world, and then
turned to go to the white-topped table in front of the Arena. In the
doorway they met the Press Agent, looking anything but cheerful and
muttering maledictions on the heads of all city editors. The Proprietor
told him of the new arrivals in the Arena, and suggested sending the
announcement of the birth to the papers.

"A fat chance I'd stand of having it printed," he grumbled. "Here I've
worked half the season and never given 'em a story that wasn't pretty
nearly true, and to-day when I take them that account of Morelli and the
jaguar they turn me down and holler 'fake.' Let me take one of those
cubs and stripe it over with a little black paint, and to-morrow morning
every newspaper in New York will have a photographer down here to take
pictures of 'the only hybrid lion-tiger cub ever born,' and all of the
space jerkers will be buttonholing