III. THE TRAINED SEALS

I’VE got a trained seal,” Pietro told the man at the ticket window, as he stood on tip-toe to buy his seat. He had earned the quarter mending a net for a neighbor on Fisherman’s Wharf.

“What’s that?” demanded a sharp-eyed man behind him, who happened to be the owner of the show.

Pietro told him about Finny-Foot.

“Where do you live?” the man asked, with a peculiar gleam in his eye. But the boy was too over-awed by the mirrored magnificence of the theatre to wonder at the question.

The whole program, the usual vaudeville, entranced him. But when the trained seals appeared, his heart thrilled with delight. The curtain rose on a row of the clumsy fellows seated in a circle on up-turned barrels, barking in chorus.

First came a barrel-rolling contest, at which the audience applauded mightily, as it is rare to see trained seals. Pietro assured himself Finny-Foot did as well as the best of them. There was a trick seal who was always hiding from the showman. There was a mother seal in trailing skirts and plumed hat, holding her baby in her flappers. (The little seal looked too cunning in his white bonnet and long dress). There were other tricks, and every move the animals made, with their awkward flappers, sent the audience into gales of laughter. There was even a seal orchestra, which set Pietro wondering how they could hold their violins. He could not see that both instrument and bow were tied in place. The showman rewarded each performer with a fish, just as Pietro did Finny-Foot. The big bull seal at the kettle drums would hammer away with all his might till he saw the man approach, then he would open his jaws for his fish and eat it, before again taking part in the symphony.

But the thing everyone enjoyed the most was when a large glass tank was drawn on the stage. On an up-standing rock in the middle lay three seals, barking just as they might have off the shore of Monterey. The showman threw in a fish, and all three dove for it. He threw them another, and another, then a whole handful of small, silver-shining fingerlings, and the seals dove again and again for them, bringing them up in their jaws and holding them down with one flapper while they ate, if they were too large to swallow whole.

Pietro went home as proud as a peacock to think that his seal could do tricks as good as those people paid to see.

That evening, just as he had seated himself on the porch in the sunset glow, with Finny-Foot scrambling awkwardly for his supper, the showman appeared.

“Now where is that seal?” he asked briskly.

Finny-Foot was put through his paces, the boy proud and flattered by the showman’s interest.

“What will you take for him?” the man asked at last. “I need another seal for my pyramid act.”

“What’s that?” Pietro’s father called through the window.

“I’ll give you five dollars for that seal,” said the showman, holding out a green-back.

“But I don’t want to sell him,” said Pietro promptly.

“Better take it,” advised his father. “It will buy a new coat for school.”

“Do I have to, Father?”

“As you please. It is your seal.”

The showman added a dollar to the five in his hand. Pietro looked at the money, then at his ragged jacket. Six dollars would mean a lot to him. Then he looked down at Finny-Foot, whose round, puppy-like eyes were fastened on his trustingly. He wondered if the showman was kind to his seals. Then he remembered the whip he had snapped at them when they were slow to obey a command. Besides, how could a seal be happy so far from the ocean he loved? He remembered the old seal who lay all day on the side-walk of the Cliff House beach.

“No!” decided the fisherman’s boy. Nor did the offer of more money change his mind. He only hugged his pet to his ragged coat and shook his curly head. Nor could the showman persuade Pietro’s father to interfere.

After that the boy fell to thinking. Soon school would begin, and he must have shoes. One bright morning he took Finny-Foot in his arms, and made his way to the Ferry Building, where he sometimes earned a dime carrying someone’s suitcase. He was followed by a troupe of small boys and a dozen older people, who closed in about him in a circle when he set the seal on the ground. Borrowing an empty barrel from a man he knew at a fruit-stand, he began putting the seal through his barrel-rolling trick. Then he passed his hat. Nickels, dimes and pennies came pouring in,—mostly from the grown-up portion of his audience. When the next ferry-boat landed, pouring a new audience into the facade, he repeated his show. A third time he put Finny-Foot through his paces, and then passed the hat.

A policeman stopped him. It seemed that there were several reasons why he could not give another show. But he had already earned enough money to buy the new shoes.

After that Pietro had to leave Finny-Foot shut up all day while he went to school, and the young seal did not thrive. No longer would he caper joyously after the fish that were thrown him. No longer did his fur gleam velvety and his brown eyes shine. Pietro realized that a seal does not belong on dry land. He needs to live on the rocks off-shore, where he can dive for his dinner. Finny-Foot might even be homesick for the other seals. The boy’s heart ached with pity.

Then he had an idea! When Saturday came, he went with his father in the fishing dory, and with them went Finny-Foot.

They were not heading toward where Pietro had found his pet, but he waited till he had scanned the water in every direction to make sure there were no sharks, then he gave Finny-Foot one last pat on his puppy-like head, and hugged him, and let him slip into the water.

The young seal, joyous with the feel of the salt tide, and never once thinking that he was leaving his friend, struck out for a point of rock he could just see above the wave tops. His muscles were soft from disuse,—but just let him reach those rocks, and rest awhile, and he would see if he could not find his way home!