“Well, of course if the caballero is afraid—­” he began with a bland smile.

“Afraid!” screamed Pepito.  “I am afraid of nothing on earth.  I am the greatest matador in Spain.  With this right hand I have killed nine hundred and fifty-seven bulls.”

“All right then,” said the Doctor, “let us see if you can kill five more.  Let the bulls in!” he shouted.  “Pepito de Malaga is not afraid.”

A dreadful silence hung over the great theatre as the heavy door into the bull pen was rolled back.  Then with a roar the five big bulls bounded into the ring.

“Look fierce,” I heard the Doctor call to them in cattle language.  “Don’t scatter.  Keep close.  Get ready for a rush.  Take Pepito, the one in purple, first.  But for Heaven’s sake don’t kill him.  Just chase him out of the ring—­Now then, all together, go for him!”

The bulls put down their heads and all in line, like a squadron of cavalry, charged across the ring straight for poor Pepito.

For one moment the Spaniard tried his hardest to look brave.  But the sight of the five pairs of horns coming at him at full gallop was too much.  He turned white to the lips, ran for the fence, vaulted it and disappeared.

“Now the other one,” the Doctor hissed.  And in two seconds the gallant assistant was nowhere to be seen.  Juan Hagapoco, the fat matador, was left alone in the ring with five rampaging bulls.

The rest of the show was really well worth seeing.  First, all five bulls went raging round the ring, butting at the fence with their horns, pawing up the sand, hunting for something to kill.  Then each one in turn would pretend to catch sight of the Doctor for the first time and giving a bellow of rage, would lower his wicked looking horns and shoot like an arrow across the ring as though he meant to toss him to the sky.

It was really frightfully exciting.  And even I who knew it was all arranged beforehand, held my breath in terror for the Doctor’s life when I saw how near they came to sticking him.  But just at the last moment, when the horns’ points were two inches from the sky-blue waistcoat, the Doctor would spring nimbly to one side and the great brutes would go thundering harmlessly by, missing him by no more than a hair.

Then all five of them went for him together, completely surrounding him, slashing at him with their horns and bellowing with fury.  How he escaped alive I don’t know.  For several minutes his round figure could hardly be seen at all in that scrimmage of tossing heads, stamping hoofs and waving tails.—­It was, as Polynesia had prophesied, the greatest bullfight ever seen.

One woman in the crowd got quite hysterical and screamed up to Don Enrique,

“Stop the fight!  Stop the fight!  He is too brave a man to be killed.  This is the most wonderful matador in the world.  Let him live!  Stop the fight!”

But presently the Doctor was seen to break loose from the mob of animals that surrounded him.  Then catching each of them by the horns, one after another, he would give their heads a sudden twist and throw them down flat on the sand.  The great fellows acted their parts extremely well.  I have never seen trained animals in a circus do better.  They lay there panting on the ground where the Doctor threw them as if they were exhausted and completely beaten.