"It runs in families," he said. "They diet and train, too, from babyhood. He weighs three hundred and forty-seven pounds." A roar came from the lighted canvas and a man emerged and wrote something on a sign-board like a tally-sheet. Daunt stopped and perused it. "You may be interested, ladies and gentlemen," he said, "to learn that Mr. Terrible-Horse has knocked out Mr. Small-Willow-Tree, but that Mr. Tiger-Elephant has been allowed a foul over Mr. Frozen-Stork. I wish we could see a bout, but we must hurry or we'll miss the _geisha_ dancing." They came presently where the roadway overlooked a sunken temple yard encircled by moats of oozy slime dotted with pink and white lotos buds. The inclosure was set with giant cryptomeria centuries old, and was crowded with people. Stone steps led down between twisted pine-trees and _Shinto_ lanterns, to a gate on whose either side was a great stone cow, rampant, like the figures in coats-of-arms. There was a droll contrast between the posture and the placid bovine countenances. In the center of the inclosure rose a wide platform with a tasseled curtain like the stage of a theater. Opposite was a pavilion in which sat rows of women in dark-colored dress, moveless as images and holding musical instruments. The whole flagged space between jostled with the iridescent, lantern-carrying throng. A priest led the party to seats at one side on mats reserved for foreign visitors. "Look, Barbara," said Patricia. "There goes our friend the expert--across there. He looks bigger and pastier than ever." Bersonin was dressed in white flannel which accentuated his enormous size. A younger man was with him, smoking a cigarette, and in their wake followed a Japanese servant. The rest of the party had turned and were looking in that direction. "Why," said Baroness Stroloff, "that's Doctor Bersonin." One of the young army men looked at her curiously. "Do you know him?" he asked. "Why, of course. One meets him everywhere. I saw him at a dinner last week. Have you met him?" "Oh, yes, we're supposed to know everybody," he said carelessly. His tone, however, held something which made her say: "Most men don't like him, I find. I wonder why." "Why don't people like lizards?" said Patsy. "Because they're cold and clammy and wicked-looking." "They like them enough to eat them in Senagambia," said the young officer smiling. "Bersonin is a great man, no doubt, but there's something about him--I met a man once who had run across him in South America and--he was prejudiced. Who's the young fellow with him, Daunt?" "His name is Ware--Philip Ware," was the answer. "I knew him at college."