His complexion was pink and white, his hands were as soft as the hands of
his daughters, and he weighed a hundred and twelve pounds. Moreover, he
was afraid of his wife, afraid of a policeman, afraid of physical
violence, and lived in constant dread of burglars. But the one thing he
was not afraid of was wild animals of the most ferocious sorts, such as
lions, tigers, leopards, and jaguars. He knew the game, and could
conquer the most refractory lion with a broom-handle--not outside the
cage, but inside and locked in.
It was because he knew the game and had learned it from his father before
him, a man even smaller than himself and more fearful of all things
except animals. This father, Noel Collins, had been a successful animal
trainer in England, before emigrating to America, and in America he had
continued the success and laid the foundation of the big animal training
school at Cedarwild, which his son had developed and built up after him.
So well had Harris Collins built on his father's foundation that the
place was considered a model of sanitation and kindness. It entertained
many visitors, who invariably went away with their souls filled with
ecstasy over the atmosphere of sweetness and light that pervaded the
place. Never, however, were they permitted to see the actual training.
On occasion, performances were given them by the finished products which
verified all their other delightful and charming conclusions about the
school. But had they seen the training of raw novices, it would have
been a different story. It might even have been a riot. As it was, the
place was a zoo, and free at that; for, in addition to the animals he
owned and trained and bought and sold, a large portion of the business
was devoted to boarding trained animals and troupes of animals for owners
who were out of engagements, or for estates of such owners which were in
process of settlement. From mice and rats to camels and elephants, and
even, on occasion, to a rhinoceros or a pair of hippopotamuses, he could
supply any animal on demand.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account