"I just guess you ain't goin' to do anything of the sort," the stage-hand assured Davis. "It's my property," the latter asserted with an air of legal convincingness. "And against it I'm goin' to stack up my common sense," was the stage- hand's reply. "You tap him once, and see what you'll get. Dogs is dogs, and men is men, but I'm damned if I know what you are. You can't pull off rough stuff on that dog. First time he was on a stage in his life, after being starved and thirsted for two days. Oh, I know, Mr. Manager." "If you kill the dog it'll cost you a dollar to the garbage man to get rid of the carcass," the manager took up. "I'll pay it gladly," Davis said, again lifting the iron bar. "I've got some come-back, ain't I?" "You animal guys make me sick," the stage-hand uttered. "You just make me draw the line somewheres. And here it is: you tap him once with that baby crowbar, and I'll tap you hard enough to lose me my job and to send you to hospital." "Now look here, Jackson . . . " the manager began threateningly. "You can't say nothin' to me," was the retort. "My mind's made up. If that cheap guy lays a finger on that dog I'm just sure goin' to lose my job. I'm gettin tired anyway of seein' these skates beatin' up their animals. They've made me sick clean through." The manager looked to Davis and shrugged his shoulders helplessly. "There's no use pulling off a rough-house," he counselled. "I don't want to lose Jackson and he'll put you into hospital if he ever gets started. Send the dog back where you got him. Your wife's told me about him. Stick him into a box and send him back collect. Collins won't mind. He'll take the singing out of him and work him into something." Davis, with another glance at the truculent Jackson, wavered. "I'll tell you what," the manager went on persuasively. "Jackson will attend to the whole thing, box him up, ship him, everything--won't you, Jackson?" The stage-hand nodded curtly, then reached down and gently caressed Michael's bruised head. "Well," Davis gave in, turning on his heel, "they can make fools of themselves over dogs, them that wants to. But when they've been in the business as long as I have . . . " CHAPTER XXXI A post card from Davis to Collins explained the reasons for Michael's return. "He sings too much to suit my fancy," was Davis's way of putting it, thereby unwittingly giving the clue to what Collins had vainly sought, and which Collins as unwittingly failed to grasp. As he told Johnny: "From the looks of the beatings he's got no wonder he's been singing. That's the trouble with these animal people. They don't know how to take care of their property. They hammer its head off and get grouched because it ain't an angel of obedience.--Put him away, Johnny. Wash him clean, and put on the regular dressing wherever the skin's broken. I give him up myself, but I'll find some place for him in the next bunch of dogs."