made very angry by teasing and then allowed to run into a circus
where men came out with red cloaks, waved them at him, and ran
away. Next the bull was allowed to tire himself out by tossing
and killing a lot of poor, old, broken-down horses who couldn't
defend themselves. Then, when the bull was thoroughly out of
breath and wearied by this, a man came out with a sword and
killed the bull.

"Every Sunday," said the Doctor, "in almost every big town in
Spain there are six bulls killed like that and as many horses."

"But aren't the men ever killed by the bull?" I asked.

"Unfortunately very seldom," said he. "A bull is not nearly as
dangerous as he looks, even when he's angry, if you are only
quick on your feet and don't lose your head. These bullfighters
are very clever and nimble. And the people, especially the
Spanish ladies, think no end of them. A famous bullfighter (or
matador, as they call them) is a more important man in Spain than
a king--Here comes another crowd of them round the corner, look.
See the girls throwing kisses to them. Ridiculous business!"

At that moment our friend the bed-maker came out to see the
procession go past. And while he was wishing us good morning and
enquiring how we had slept, a friend of his walked up and joined
us. The bed-maker introduced this friend to us as Don Enrique
Cardenas.

Don Enrique when he heard where we were from, spoke to us in
English. He appeared to be a well-educated, gentlemanly sort of