He produces a miniature kennel, to which is attached “by a ’uman ’air” an undeniable flea. The flea hops gallantly, but is clearly impeded from doing its best jumps by the human hair. We are now shown a second flea which is “only half-trained.” He has certainly forgotten how to hop. Indeed he seems to be suffering from congenital inertia. He scrambles a centimetre or two and sometimes makes a sort of flutter off the ground, but he rather suggests a solicitor learning to fly than a flea learning to walk. _Mr. S._ I will now show you the flea when fully trained. He opens a small cardboard box which seems to be full of toy four-wheelers and hansom-cabs. They are made of some metal, brightly painted, with substantial metal wheels. One of these vehicles is placed on the lighted board and begins to move. It is drawn by Eustace. It moves at a steady pace towards the materfamilias. _Reginald_ (_suddenly, in a high piping voice_). How does he feed them, mother? _The Materfamilias._ Hush, dear. _Mr. S._ (_impassive_). The fleas are fed on the ’uman arm. (_An after-thought_) My own. _Reginald_ (_an imaginative child_). Does he feed them one at a time or all together, mother? _The M.F._ Hush, dear. _Mr. S._ I will now show you Edward, champion flea of the world. Edward is indeed a magnificent creature. He is drawing a light racing hansom and he shows an amazing turn of speed. Eustace with his heavy old four-wheeler has a long start, but in a moment Edward is up with him; he has passed him. Reginald (_breathlessly_). Mother, he’s _running_! And so he is. He is making a bee-line for the M.F. _Will he reach her?_ No. Mr. Slint has coolly picked up Edward’s hansom and is showing him to the spectators through a magnifying-glass. The limelight is thrown on to Edward’s swarthy features and by an ingenious use of the cinema we are now shown a striking “close-up” of Edward’s expression as he is passed round before the people in the tent, hanging in his tiny collar at the end of the human hair. Rage, hatred, mortification, boredom, and what can only be described as the lust for blood are indicated in turn by the rolling eyes, the mobile lips. And, as he passes before the M.F., he wears a look of thwarted ambition which makes one shudder. Now comes the final spectacle. Out of the little box Mr. Slint rapidly takes cab after cab and sets them on the white board, line abreast. Each cab is drawn by a single devoted flea. On the right of the line is Edward, on the left is Eustace. In perfect order the fleas advance, dressing by the right.... It is a moving sight. There is something very sinister in that steady, noiseless, calculated progress--for I need not say that the fleas are moving _away_ from Mr. Slint: they are moving with machine-like precision towards Reginald. No, they have changed direction. Edward has given them “Right incline!” They are moving with machine-like precision, silent, inexorable, cabs and all, towards the materfamilias.