Stepping back to the ropes, Collins extended his hand across them, saying:  “Come here, Barney, and show all these people who you love best.”

And Barney twinkled forward on his small hoofs, nozzled the open hand, and came closer, nozzling up the arm, nudging Collins’s shoulders with his nose, half-rearing as if to get across the ropes and embrace him.  What he was really doing was begging and entreating Collins to take him away out of the squared ring from the torment he knew awaited him.

“That’s what it means by never spiking him,” Collins shot at the man with the waxed moustaches, as he stepped forward to the imaginary line in the sawdust, above the imaginary pit of the orchestra, and addressed the imaginary house.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Barney Barnato is a josher.  He’s got forty tricks up each of his four legs, and the man don’t live that he’ll let stick on big back for sixty seconds.  I’m telling you this in fair warning, before I make my proposition.  Looks easy, doesn’t it?—­one minute, the sixtieth part of an hour, to be precise, sixty seconds, to stick on the back of an affectionate josher mule like Barney.  Well, come on you boys and broncho riders.  To anybody who sticks on for one minute I shall immediately pay the sum of fifty dollars; for two whole, entire minutes, the sum of five hundred dollars.”

This was the cue for Samuel Bacon, who advanced across the sawdust, awkward and grinning and embarrassed, and apparently was helped up to the stage by the extended hand of Collins.

“Is your life insured?” Collins demanded.

Sam shook his head and grinned.

“Then what are you tackling this for?”

“For the money,” said Sam.  “I jes’ naturally needs it in my business.”

“What is your business?”

“None of your business, mister.”  Here Sam grinned ingratiating apology for his impertinence and shuffled on his legs.  “I might be investin’ in lottery tickets, only I ain’t.  Do I get the money?—­that’s our business.”

“Sure you do,” Collins replied.  “When you earn it.  Stand over there to one side and wait a moment.—­Ladies and gentlemen, if you will forgive the delay, I must ask for more volunteers.—­Any more takers?  Fifty dollars for sixty seconds.  Almost a dollar a second . . . if you win.  Better!  I’ll make it a dollar a second.  Sixty dollars to the boy, man, woman, or girl who sticks on Barney’s back for one minute.  Come on, ladies.  Remember this is the day of equal suffrage.  Here’s where you put it over on your husbands, brothers, sons, fathers, and grandfathers.  Age is no limit.—­Grandma, do I get you?” he uttered directly to what must have been a very elderly lady in a near front row.—­“You see,” (to the prospective buyer), “I’ve got the entire patter for you.  You could do it with two rehearsals, and you can do them right here, free of charge, part of the purchase.”

The next two tumblers crossed the sawdust and were helped by Collins up to the imaginary stage.