I watched the Doctor’s face as the bed-maker finished, and I saw a flash of boyish mischief come into his eyes as though an idea had struck him. He turned to the angry Spaniard. “Don Enrique,” he said, “you tell me your bullfighters are very brave men and skilful. It seems I have offended you by saying that bullfighting is a poor sport. What is the name of the best matador you have for to-morrow’s show?” “Pepito de Malaga,” said Don Enrique, “one of the greatest names, one of the bravest men, in all Spain.” “Very well,” said the Doctor, “I have a proposal to make to you. I have never fought a bull in my life. Now supposing I were to go into the ring to-morrow with Pepito de Malaga and any other matadors you choose; and if I can do more tricks with a bull than they can, would you promise to do something for me?” Don Enrique threw back his head and laughed. “Man,” he said, “you must be mad! You would be killed at once. One has to be trained for years to become a proper bullfighter.” “Supposing I were willing to take the risk of that—You are not afraid, I take it, to accept my offer?” The Spaniard frowned. “Afraid!” he cried, “Sir, if you can beat Pepito de Malaga in the bull-ring I’ll promise you anything it is possible for me to grant.” “Very good,” said the Doctor, “now I understand that you are quite a powerful man in these islands. If you wished to stop all bullfighting here after to-morrow, you could do it, couldn’t you?” “Yes,” said Don Enrique proudly—“I could.” “Well that is what I ask of you—if I win my wager,” said John Dolittle. “If I can do more with angry bulls than can Pepito de Malaga, you are to promise me that there shall never be another bullfight in the Capa Blancas so long as you are alive to stop it. Is it a bargain?” The Spaniard held out his hand. “It is a bargain,” he said—“I promise. But I must warn you that you are merely throwing your life away, for you will certainly be killed. However, that is no more than you deserve for saying that bullfighting is an unworthy sport. I will meet you here to-morrow morning if you should wish to arrange any particulars. Good day, Sir.” As the Spaniard turned and walked into the shop with the bed-maker, Polynesia, who had been listening as usual, flew up on to my shoulder and whispered in my ear, “I have a plan. Get hold of Bumpo and come some place where the Doctor can’t hear us. I want to talk to you.” I nudged Bumpo’s elbow and we crossed the street and pretended to look into a jeweler’s window; while the Doctor sat down upon his bed to lace up his boots, the only part of his clothing he had taken off for the night. “Listen,” said Polynesia, “I’ve been breaking my head trying to think up some way we can get money to buy those stores with; and at last I’ve got it.” “The money?” said Bumpo.