SOME MODERN GLADIATORS
their joss dreams, and if it hadn't been for Mr. Scraws they'd have made us a present of all Africa. You see, we'd done it so quiet. No noise, no rudeess, just an inclination on our part, and their biggest champions were put to bed. We were little tin gods in their eyes, and their yelping now took on more of awe than venom. But Feeney didn't appreciate our growing popularity and foamed at the mouth. Then he barked an order.
"We were still scraping a modest hoof in mild deprecation of the encore when the squaws began bobbing their heads violently and I was inquisitive enough to shyly turn and look over my shoulder.
"‘Attention!' I cried, and Tib wheeled just in time to see our host's orders had resulted in another rude cage being unloaded through an opening in the paling, and two more beasts entered.
"These started towards us on a canter, and to my horror I observed Tib was frittering away the precious seconds in gallantly kissing his moist digits to a bevy of frenzied valentines, presumably the wives of the chief.
"‘For my sake!' I had just time to invoke, when the lion in the lead turned at an acute angle and got very close before I could pull the trigger. I overshot. But Tib, ignoring his annoyer and after foolishly chanting some lines about 'Lions to right of 'em, lions to left of 'em,' pivoted and raked my
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