After about ten minutes of this kind of thing the small door into the matadors’ dressing-room opened and the Doctor strolled into the ring.  As soon as his fat figure, dressed In sky-blue velvet, appeared, the crowd rocked in their seats with laughter.

Juan Hagapoco, as they had called him, walked out into the centre of the ring and bowed ceremoniously to the ladies in the boxes.  Then he bowed to the bull.  Then he bowed to Pepito.  While he was bowing to Pepito’s assistant the bull started to rush at him from behind.

“Look out!  Look out!—­The bull!  You will be killed!” yelled the crowd.

But the Doctor calmly finished his bow.  Then turning round he folded his arms, fixed the on-rushing bull with his eye and frowned a terrible frown.

Presently a curious thing happened:  the bull’s speed got slower and slower.  It almost looked as though he were afraid of that frown.  Soon he stopped altogether.  The Doctor shook his finger at him.  He began to tremble.  At last, tucking his tail between his legs, the bull turned round and ran away.

The crowd gasped.  The Doctor ran after him.  Round and round the ring they went, both of them puffing and blowing like grampuses.  Excited whispers began to break out among the people.  This was something new in bullfighting, to have the bull running away from the man, instead of the man away from the bull.  At last in the tenth lap, with a final burst of speed, Juan Hagapoco, the English matador, caught the poor bull by the tail.

Then leading the now timid creature into the middle of the ring, the Doctor made him do all manner of tricks:  standing on the hind legs, standing on the front legs, dancing, hopping, rolling over.  He finished up by making the bull kneel down; then he got on to his back and did handsprings and other acrobatics on the beast’s horns.

Pepito and his assistant had their noses sadly out of joint.  The crowd had forgotten them entirely.  They were standing together by the fence not far from where I sat, muttering to one another and slowly growing green with jealousy.

Finally the Doctor turned towards Don Enrique’s seat and bowing said in a loud voice, “This bull is no good any more.  He’s terrified and out of breath.  Take him away, please.”

“Does the caballero wish for a fresh bull?” asked Don Enrique.

“No,” said the Doctor, “I want five fresh bulls.  And I would like them all in the ring at once, please.”

At this a cry of horror burst from the people.  They had been used to seeing matadors escaping from one bull at a time.  But five!—­That must mean certain death.

Pepito sprang forward and called to Don Enrique not to allow it, saying it was against all the rules of bullfighting. ("Ha!” Polynesia chuckled into my ear.  “It’s like the Doctor’s navigation:  he breaks all the rules; but he gets there.  If they’ll only let him, he’ll give them the best show for their money they ever saw.”) A great argument began.  Half the people seemed to be on Pepito’s side and half on the Doctor’s side.  At last the Doctor turned to Pepito and made another very grand bow which burst the last button off his waistcoat.