“Does my arm look as if the beast hadn’t been alive?” retorted his father. “It was a mighty lucky thing for me it wasn’t any more alive than I found it!” “What was the dragon, really, Father?” the lad persisted. “It was a lynx, or bob-cat,” was the reply. “The ‘Pioneers’ had trapped the beast in the woods and brought it to our cave, with the trap still fastened to the bob-cat’s hind foot. The other hind paw had been tied to a heavy log. “Then the fellows had gone to work and made a long tail of sacking, stuffed with shavings, and fastened this tail tightly around the lynx’s haunches, so that it would trail behind. They’d dusted it all over with mustard and red pepper, so that the animal wouldn’t chew at it and tear it off. After that, they chucked a couple of pailfuls of carpenter’s glue, almost boiling hot, over the beast, head, tail and all, and stuck the silver paper on, when the glue was wet. I don’t wonder the bob-cat was savage!” “They must have had a picnic doing it!” exclaimed Perry. “I’ve thought of that many times since,” his father agreed. “But they made a good job of it. They even took the trouble to cut all the silver paper in shapes so that it would look like real scales.” “They took an awful chance, though, Father. Suppose the tail had come off? What would have happened to you?” “I don’t think the tail saved me,” the other answered. “After all, the bob-cat was badly crippled, with both hind legs out of commission. You see, Perry, a lynx leaps for his prey, grips with teeth and fore-claws and tears with the hind claws. With the trap on one foot and a log on the other, the other gang knew I was fairly safe. So far, they had been right enough. Where they went wrong was in not knowing the animal. They all thought the creature was just a big domestic pussy that had got a bit wild running around in the woods. It was a true lynx, though, and a big one.” “Did you send the skin home for a ‘triumph’?” the boy quickly asked. “Where is it?” “When that combination of glue and silver paper got thoroughly dry,” the old merchant commented, “there wasn’t much value to the skin. We kept it as a trophy, of course, but we kept it in the cave. For all I know, it’s there yet. If you’re so keen to find a dragon, Perry, I’ll tell you exactly where to go for it.” “I’m afraid even our own local Museum wouldn’t take it,” the boy objected, smiling. “Maybe they wouldn’t, but, so far as I know, it’s the only genuine dragon that has put up a genuine fight for the last couple of thousand years. So, my son, if you ever do go dragon-hunting, don’t forget that your father was the last of all the champions of valor who fought and defeated a dragon single-handed.” “Then you really will let me go dragon-hunting with the Princeton crowd?” Perry interjected, returning to his first plea.