Phil had heard the dialogue and now drew closer to the cage,
stepping under the rope and joining Mr. Sparling.

Teddy, of course, not to be left behind, crawled under the rope
also.

"Sit down in front," shouted someone. "We can't see the animals
play."

In a moment the spectators saw a play that was not down on the
bills.

Bob was swinging the whip over Bengal's nose, the cruel lash
cutting the tender snout with every blow. But he was not doing
it from sheer cruelty, as many of the spectators who raised their
voices in loud protest imagined.

Not understanding wild animals as the trainer did, they did not
realize that this plucky fellow was fighting for his life, even
though he used but a slender rawhide in his effort to do so.

Bengal was crowding him. The least mistake on the trainer's part
now and the savage tiger would put a quick and terrible end to
him.

"Stand back, everybody! Bring the prods!" bellowed Mr. Sparling.

Phil understood that something was wrong, though he never would
have guessed it from the calm expression on the trainer's face.