How are the bulls this
morning?"
"Emperor is sour. Got a regular grouch on."
"Misses that young rascal Phil, I suppose?"
"Yes."
"H-m-m-m!"
"Didn't want to come through last night at all."
"H-m-m-m. Guess we'd better fire you and let the boy handle the
bulls; don't you think so?"
The trainer grinned and nodded.
"Kennedy, you've been making your brags that you always tell me
the truth. I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to
see if you can make that boast good."
"Yes, sir."
Perhaps the trainer understood something of what was in his
employer's mind, for his lips closed sharply while his jaw took
on a belligerent look.
"How did that wire come to break, Kennedy?"
The question came out with a snap, as if the showman already had
made up his mind as to what the answer should be.
"It was cut, sir," answered the trainer promptly.
The lines in Mr. Sparling's face drew hard and tense. Instead of
a violent outburst of temper, which Kennedy fully expected, the
owner sat silently contemplating his trainer for a full minute.
"Who did it?"
"I couldn't guess."
"I didn't ask you to guess.
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