“Another thing is that cross-breds and mongrels are cheap.  You needn’t be afraid of losing them or working them out.  You can always get more, and cheap.  And they ain’t the trouble in teaching.  You can throw the fear of God into them.  That’s what’s the matter with the thoroughbreds.  You can’t throw the fear of God into them.”

“Give a mongrel a real licking, and what’s he do?  He’ll kiss your hand, and be obedient, and crawl on his belly to do what you want him to do.  They’re slave dogs, that’s what mongrels are.  They ain’t got courage, and you don’t want courage in a performing dog.  You want fear.  Now you give a thoroughbred a licking and see what happens.  Sometimes they die.  I’ve known them to die.  And if they don’t die, what do they do?  Either they go stubborn, or vicious, or both.  Sometimes they just go to biting and foaming.  You can kill them, but you can’t keep them from biting and foaming.  Or they’ll go straight stubborn.  They’re the worst.  They’re the passive resisters—­that’s what I call them.  They won’t fight back.  You can flog them to death, but it won’t buy you anything.  They’re like those Christians that used to be burned at the stake or boiled in oil.  They’ve got their opinions, and nothing you can do will change them.  They’ll die first. . . .  And they do.  I’ve had them.  I was learning myself . . . and I learned to leave the thoroughbred alone.  They beat you out.  They get your goat.  You never get theirs.  And they’re time-wasters, and patience-wasters, and they’re expensive.”

“Take this terrier here.”  Collins nodded at Michael, who stood several feet back of him, morosely regarding the various activities of the arena.  “He’s both kinds of a thoroughbred, and therefore no good.  I’ve never given him a real licking, and I never will.  It would be a waste of time.  He’ll fight if you press him too hard.  And he’ll die fighting you.  He’s too sensible to fight if you don’t press him too hard.  And if you don’t press him too hard, he’ll just stay as he is, and refuse to learn anything.  I’d chuck him right now, except Del Mar couldn’t make a mistake.  Poor Harry knew he had a specially, and a crackerjack, and it’s up to me to find it.”

“Wonder if he’s a lion dog,” Charles suggested.

“He’s the kind that ain’t afraid of lions,” Collins concurred.  “But what sort of a specially trick could he do with lions?  Stick his head in their mouths?  I never heard of a dog doing that, and it’s an idea.  But we can try him.  We’ve tried him at ’most everything else.”

“There’s old Hannibal,” said Charles.  “He used to take a woman’s head in his mouth with the old Sales-Sinker shows.”

“But old Hannibal’s getting cranky,” Collins objected.  “I’ve been watching him and trying to get rid of him.  Any animal is liable to go off its nut any time, especially wild ones.  You see, the life ain’t natural.  And when they do, it’s good night.  You lose your investment, and, if you don’t know your business, maybe your life.”