“Well, it’s this way,” returned McClintock. “You haven’t pulled anything yet about our co-worker, Signor Antonio Amado, and his trained animal show. He’s just been bawling his head off to me. Says there’s a conspiracy on foot to keep him out of the papers and threatens all kinds of trouble if we don’t slip something over about his concession right away. I know you planned to get around to him before long, but you’d better start something right off. Can you think of anything?” Jimmy didn’t reply for nearly half a minute. His general manner betokened profound mental concentration. “I guess we can accommodate that bird,” he finally remarked. “I don’t want to hurl any purple pansies at myself, but I think I’ve got a stunt that’ll pretty nearly crowd everything else on to the back page. I’ve got seven other animal stories ready, but I think this one has a shade on all of ’em. I’ll slip over and ooze it into our Dago friend’s intellect.” The manager laughed good-naturedly. “Say,” he commented, “you’re the best little friend of yourself you ever had, aren’t you? Just hand out a little of that conversation to Tony and he’ll lie down and behave for a few hours. Tell him you’ll get his picture in all the papers. That’ll make a hit with him. He’s a member of your lodge.” The implications of the last remark made about as much impression on Jimmy as did the idle wind which at that moment was lightly brushing his cheek. He strolled over to the garish and gaudy building which housed Amado’s Colossal and Gargantuan Collection of Trained Wild Beasts from the Trackless Jungle; paused just long enough at the main entrance to tell the dark-eyed lady cashier that she looked like a pocket edition of Maxine Elliott and passed into the auditorium where Signor Amado was directing the progress of the final show of the night. The animal trainer was a short, stocky, swarthy-hued Latin with beady eyes, shiny black hair, and a moustache to the care of which he devoted himself with self-effacing solicitude. It was a fierce looking affair with ends pointed like a rapier, which thrust themselves aggressively upwards at a sharp angle giving the signor’s dark countenance a look of great ferocity. He tried desperately hard at all times to live up to that moustache and he had a habit of working himself into violent rages which were, in reality, rather hollow and empty affairs, as even the most casual observer could see. He was at heart, a weak and excessively vain little man. Only the animals who leaped or cowered at his command were fooled by his appearance of ferocity. At the conclusion of the show he retired to his office and began to pour into the unreceptive ears of the general director of promotion and publicity a voluble stream of protest against the neglect of himself which Jimmy was able to check only with great difficulty.