Circus Boys Omnibus

by

Edgar B.P. Darlington

BOOK INDEX

The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings (1910)

The Circus Boys Across the Continent (1911)

The Circus Boys in Dixie Land (1911)

The Circus Boys on the Mississippi (1912)

The Circus Boys on the Plains (1920)

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS

or

Making the Start in the Sawdust Life

First Published 1910

CONTENTS

I. The Lure of the Circus

II. Phil Hears His Dismissal

III. Making His Start in the World

IV. The Circus Comes to Town

V. When the Bands Played

VI. Proving His Mettle

VII. Making Friends With the Elephants

VIII. In the Sawdust Arena

IX. Getting His First Call

X. Phil Gets a Surprise

XI. The First Night With the Show

XII. A Thrilling Rescue

XIII. The Dawning of a New Day

XIV. An Unexpected Hit

XV. A Stroke of Good Fortune

XVI. His First Setback

XVII. Left Behind

XVIII. A Startling Discovery

XIX. Teddy Distinguishes Himself

XX. The Return to the Sawdust Life

XXI. An Elephant in Jail

XXII. Emperor Answers the Signal

XXIII. The Mystery Solved

XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

The Lure of the Circus

“I say, Phil, I can do that.”

“Do what, Teddy?”

“A cartwheel in the air like that fellow is doing in the picture on the billboard there.”

“Oh, pshaw! You only think you can. Besides, that’s not a cartwheel; that’s a double somersault. It’s a real stunt, let me tell you. Why, I can do a cartwheel myself. But up in the air like that—well, I don’t know. I guess not. I’d be willing to try it, though, if I had something below to catch me,” added the lad, critically surveying the figures on the poster before them.

“How’d you like to be a circus man, Phil?”

Phil’s dark eyes glowed with a new light, his slender figure straightening until the lad appeared fully half a head taller.

“More than anything else in the world,” he breathed. “Would you?”

“Going to be,” nodded Teddy decisively, as if the matter were already settled.

“Oh, you are, eh?”

“Uh-huh!”

“When?”

“I don’t know. Someday—someday when I get old enough, maybe.”

Phil Forrest surveyed his companion with a half critical smile on his face.

“What are you going to do—be a trapeze performer or what?”

“Well,” reflected the lad wisely, “maybe I shall be an ‘Or What.’ I’m not sure. Sometimes I think I should like to be the fellow who cracks the whip with the long lash and makes the clowns hop around on one foot—”

“You mean the ringmaster?”

“I guess that’s the fellow. He makes ’em all get around lively. Then, sometimes, I think I would rather be a clown. I can skin a cat on the flying rings to beat the band, now. What would you rather be, Phil?”

“Me? Oh, something up in the air—high up near the peak of the tent—something thrilling that would make the people sit up on the board seats and gasp, when, all dressed in pink and spangles, I’d go flying through the air—”

“Just like a bird?” questioned Teddy, with a rising inflection in his voice.

“Yes. That’s what I’d like most to do, Teddy,” concluded the lad, his face flushed with the thought of the triumphs that might be his.

Teddy Tucker uttered a soft, long-drawn whistle.

“My, you’ve got it bad, haven’t you? Never thought you were that set on the circus. Wouldn’t it be fine, now, if we both could get with a show?”

“Great!” agreed Phil, with an emphatic nod. “Sometimes I think my uncle would be glad to have me go away—that he wouldn’t care whether I joined a circus, or what became of me.”

“Ain’t had much fun since your ma died, have you, Phil?” questioned Teddy sympathetically.

“Not much,” answered the lad, a thin, gray mist clouding his eyes. “No, not much. But, then, I’m not complaining.”

“Your uncle’s a mean old—”

“There, there, Teddy, please don’t say it. He may be all you think he is, but for all the mean things he’s said and done to me, I’ve never given him an impudent word, Teddy. Can you guess why?”

“ ’Cause he’s your uncle, maybe,” grumbled Teddy.

“No, ’cause he’s my mother’s brother—that’s why.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’d feel that way if I’d had a mother.”

“But you did.”

“Nobody ever introduced us, if I did. Guess she didn’t know me. But if your uncle was my uncle do you know what I’d do with him, Phil Forrest?”

“Don’t let’s talk about him. Let’s talk about the circus. It’s more fun,” interrupted Phil, turning to the billboard again and gazing at it with great interest.

They were standing before the glowing posters of the Great Sparling Combined Shows, that was to visit Edmeston on the following Thursday.

Phillip Forrest and Teddy Tucker were fast friends, though they were as different in appearance and temperament as two boys well could be. Phil was just past sixteen, while Teddy was a little less than a year younger. Phil’s figure was slight and graceful, while that of his companion was short and chubby.

Both lads were orphans. Phil’s parents had been dead for something more than five years. Since their death he had been living with a penurious old uncle who led a hermit-like existence in a shack on the outskirts of Edmeston.

But the lad could remember when it had been otherwise—when he had lived in his own home, surrounded by luxury and refinement, until evil days came upon them without warning. His father’s property had been swept away, almost in a night. A year later both of his parents had died, leaving him to face the world alone.

The boy’s uncle had taken him in begrudgingly, and Phil’s life from that moment on had been one of self-denial and hard work. Yet he was thankful for one thing—thankful that his miserly old uncle had permitted him to continue at school.

Standing high in his class meant something in Phil’s case, for the boy was obliged to work at whatever he could find to do after school hours, his uncle compelling him to contribute something to the household expenses every week. His duties done, Phil was obliged to study far into the night, under the flickering light of a tallow candle, because oil cost too much. Sometimes his candle burned far past the midnight hour, while he applied himself to his books that he might be prepared for the next day’s classes.

Hard lines for a boy?

Yes. But Phil Forrest was not the lad to complain. He went about his studies the same as he approached any other task that was set for him to do—went about it with a grim, silent determination to conquer it. And he always did.

As for Teddy—christened Theodore, but so long ago that he had forgotten that that was his name—he studied, not because he possessed a burning desire for knowledge, but as a matter of course, and much in the same spirit he did the chores for the people with whom he lived.

Teddy was quite young when his parents died leaving him without a relative in the world. A poor, but kind-hearted family in Edmeston had taken the lad in rather than see him become a public charge. With them he had lived and been cared for ever since. Of late years, however, he had been able to do considerable toward lightening the burden for them by the money he managed to earn here and there.

The two boys were on their way home from school. There remained but one more day before the close of the term, which was a matter of sincere regret to Phil and of keen satisfaction to his companion. Just now both were too full of the subject of the coming show to think of much else.

“Going to the show, Phil?”

“I am afraid not.”

“Why not?”

“I haven’t any money; that’s the principal reason,” smiled the boy. “Are you?”

“Sure. Don’t need any money to go to a circus.”

“You don’t?”

“No.”

“How do you manage it?”

“Crawl in under the tent when the man ain’t looking,” answered Teddy promptly.

“I wouldn’t want to do that,” decided the older lad, with a shake of the head. “It wouldn’t be quite honest. Do you think so?”

Teddy Tucker shrugged his shoulders indifferently.

“Never thought about it. Don’t let myself think about it. Isn’t safe, for I might not go to the show if I did. What’s your other reason?”

“For not going to the circus?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t think Uncle would let me; that’s a fact.”

“Why not?”

“Says circuses and all that sort of thing are evil influences.”

“Oh, pshaw! Wish he was my uncle,” decided Teddy belligerently. “How long are you going to stand for being mauled around like a little yellow dog?”

“I’ll stand most anything for the sake of getting an education. When I get that then I’m going to strike out for myself, and do something in the world. You’ll hear from me yet, Teddy Tucker, and maybe I’ll hear from you, too.”

“See me, you mean—see me doing stunts on a high something-or-other in a circus. Watch me turn a somersault.”

The lad stood poised on the edge of the ditch, on the other side of which the billboard stood. This gave him the advantage of an elevated position from which to attempt his feat.

“Look out that you don’t break your neck,” warned Phil. “I’d try it on a haymow, or something like that, first.”

“Don’t you worry about me. See how easy that fellow in the picture is doing it. Here goes!”

Teddy launched himself into the air, with a very good imitation of a diver making a plunge into the water, hands stretched out before him, legs straight behind him.

He was headed straight for the ditch.

“Turn, Teddy! Turn! You’ll strike on your head.”

Teddy was as powerless to turn as if he had been paralyzed from head to foot. Down he went, straight as an arrow. There followed a splash as his head struck the water of the ditch, the lad’s feet beating a tattoo in the air while his head was stuck fast in the mud at the bottom of the ditch.

“He’ll drown,” gasped Phil, springing down into the little stream, regardless of the damage liable to be done to his own clothes.

Throwing both arms about the body of his companion he gave a mighty tug. Teddy stuck obstinately, and Phil was obliged to take a fresh hold before he succeeded in hauling the lad from his perilous position. Teddy was gasping for breath. His face, plastered with mud, was unrecognizable, while his clothes were covered from head to foot.

Phil dumped him on the grass beneath the circus billboard and began wiping the mud from his companion’s face, while Teddy quickly sat up, blinking the mud out of his eyes and grumbling unintelligibly.

“You’re a fine circus performer, you are,” laughed Phil. “Suppose you had been performing on a flying trapeze in a circus, what do you suppose would have happened to you?”

“I’d have had a net under me then, and I wouldn’t have fallen in the ditch,” grunted Teddy sullenly.

“What do you suppose the folks will say when you go home in that condition?”

“Don’t care what they say. Fellow has got to learn sometime, and if I don’t have any worse thing happen to me than falling in a ditch I ought to be pretty well satisfied. Guess I’ll go back now. Come on, go ’long with me.”

Phil turned and strode along by the side of his companion until they reached the house where Teddy lived.

“Come on in.”

“I’m sorry, Teddy, but I can’t. My uncle will be expecting me, and he won’t like it if I am late.”

“All right; see you tomorrow if you don’t come out again tonight. We’ll try some more stunts then.”

“I wouldn’t till after the circus, were I in your place,” laughed Phil.

“Why not!”

“ ’Cause, if you break your neck, you won’t be able to go to the show.”

“Huh!” grunted Teddy, hastily turning his back on his companion and starting for the house.

Phil took his way home silently and thoughtfully, carrying his precious bundle of books under an arm, his active mind planning as to how he might employ his time to the best advantage during the summer vacation that was now so close at hand.

A rheumatic, bent figure was standing in front of the shack where the lad lived, glaring up the street from beneath bushy eyebrows, noting Phil Forrest’s leisurely gait disapprovingly.

Phil saw him a moment later.

“I’m in for a scolding,” he muttered. “Wonder what it is all about this time. I don’t seem able to do a thing to please Uncle Abner.”

CHAPTER II

Phil Hears His Dismissal

“Where you been, young man?” The question was a snarl rather than a sentence.

“To school, Uncle, of course.”

“School’s been out more than an hour. I say, where have you been?”

“I stopped on the way for a few minutes.”

“You did?” exploded Abner Adams. “Where?”

“Teddy Tucker and I stopped to read a circus bill over there on Clover Street. We did not stop but a few minutes. Was there any harm in that?”

“Harm? Circus bill—”

“And I want to go to the circus, too, Uncle, when it comes here. You know? I have not been to anything of that sort since mother died—not once. I’ll work and earn the money. I can go in the evening after my work is finished. Please let me go, Uncle.”

For a full minute Abner Adams was too overcome with his emotions to speak. He hobbled about in a circle, smiting the ground with his cane, alternately brandishing it threateningly in the air over the head of the unflinching Phil.

“Circus!” he shouted. “I might have known it! I might have known it! You and that Tucker boy are two of a kind. You’ll both come to some bad ending. Only fools and questionable characters go to such places—”

“My mother and father went, and they always took me,” replied the boy, drawing himself up with dignity. “You certainly do not include them in either of the two classes you have named?”

“So much the worse for them! So much the worse for them. They were a pair of—”

“Uncle, Uncle!” warned Phil. “Please don’t say anything against my parents. I won’t stand it. Don’t forget that my mother was your own sister, too.”

“I’m not likely to forget it, after she’s bundled such a baggage as you into my care. You’re turning out a worthless, good-for-nothing loaf—”

“You haven’t said whether or not I might go to the circus, Uncle,” reminded Phil.

“Circus? No! I’ll have none of my money spent on any such worthless—”

“But I didn’t ask you to spend your money, even though you have plenty of it. I said I would earn the money—”

“You’ll have a chance to earn it, and right quick at that. No, you won’t go to any circus so long as you’re living under my roof.”

“Very well, Uncle, I shall do as you wish, of course,” answered Phil, hiding his disappointment as well as he could. The lad shifted his bundle of books to the other hand and started slowly for the house.

Abner Adams hobbled about until he faced the lad again, an angry gleam lighting up his squinting eyes.

“Come back here!”

Phil halted, turning.

“I said come back here.”

The lad did so, his self-possession and quiet dignity never deserting him for an instant. This angered the crabbed old uncle more than ever.

“When will you get through school?”

“Tomorrow, I believe.”

“Huh! Then, I suppose you intend to loaf for the rest of the summer and live on my hard earned savings. Is that it?”

“No, sir; I hadn’t thought of doing anything of the sort. I thought—”

“What did you think?”

“I thought I would find something to do. Of course, I do not expect to be idle. I shall work at something until school begins again next fall, then, of course, I shall not be able to do so much.”

“School! You’ve had enough school! In my days boys didn’t spend the best part of their lives in going to school. They worked.”

“Yes, sir; I am willing to work, too. But, Uncle, I must have an education. I shall be able to earn so much more then, and, if necessary, I shall be able to pay you for all you have spent on me, which isn’t much, you know.”

“What, what? You dare to be impudent to me? You—”

“No, sir, I am not impudent. I have never been that and I never shall be; but you are accusing me wrongfully.”

“Enough. You have done with school—”

“You—you mean that I am not to go to school any more—that I have got to go through life with the little I have learned? Is that what you mean, Uncle?” asked the boy, with a sinking heart.

“You heard me.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Work!”

“I am working and I shall be working,” Phil replied.

“You’re right you will, or you’ll starve. I have been thinking this thing over a lot lately. A boy never amounts to anything if he’s mollycoddled and allowed to spend his days depending on someone else. Throw him out and let him fight his own way. That’s what my father used to tell me, and that’s what I’m going to say to you.”

“What do you mean, Uncle?”

“Mean? Can’t you understand the English language? Have I got to draw a picture to make you understand? Get to work!”

“I am going to as soon as school is out.”

“You’ll do it now. Get yourself out of my house, bag and baggage!”

“Uncle, Uncle!” protested the lad in amazement. “Would you turn me out?”

“Would I? I have, only you are too stupid to know it. You’ll thank me for it when you get old enough to have some sense.”

Phil’s heart sank within him, and it required all his self-control to keep the bitter tears from his eyes.

“When do you wish me to go?” he asked without a quaver in his voice.

“Now.”

“Very well, I’ll go. But what do you think my mother would say, could she know this?”

“That will do, young man. Do your chores, and then—”

“I am not working for you now, Uncle, you know, so I shall have to refuse to do the chores. There is fifty cents due me from Mr. Churchill for fixing his chicken coop. You may get that, I don’t want it.”

Phil turned away once more, and with head erect entered the house, going straight to his room, leaving Abner Adams fuming and stamping about in the front yard. The old man’s rage knew no bounds. He was so beside himself with anger over the fancied impudence of his nephew that, had the boy been present, he might have so far forgotten himself as to have used his cane on Phil.

But Phil by this time had entered his own room, locking the door behind him. The lad threw his books down on the bed, dropped into a chair and sat pale-faced, tearless and silent. Slowly his eyes rose to the old-fashioned bureau, where his comb and brush lay. The eyes halted when at length they rested on the picture of his mother.

The lad rose as if drawn by invisible hands, reached out and clasped the photograph to him. Then the pent-up tears welled up in a flood. With the picture pressed to his burning cheek Phil Forrest threw himself on his bed and sobbed out his bitter grief. He did not hear the thump of Abner Adams’ cane on the bedroom door, nor the angry demands that he open it.

“Mother, Mother!” breathed the unhappy boy, as his sobs gradually merged into long-drawn, trembling sighs.

Perhaps his appeal was not unheard. At least Phil Forrest sprang from his bed, holding the picture away from him with both hands and gazing into the eyes of his mother.

Slowly his shoulders drew back and his head came up, while an expression of strong determination flashed into his own eyes.

“I’ll do it—I’ll be a man, Mother!” he exclaimed in a voice in which there was not the slightest tremor now. “I’ll fight the battle and I’ll win.”

Phil Forest had come to the parting of the ways, which he faced with a courage unusual in one of his years. There was little to be done. He packed his few belongings in a bag that had been his mother’s. The lad possessed one suit besides the one he wore, and this he stowed away as best he could, determining to press it out when he had located himself.

Finally his task was finished. He stood in the middle of the floor glancing around the little room that had been his home for so long. But he felt no regrets. He was only making sure that he had not left anything behind. Having satisfied himself on this point, Phil gathered up his bundle of books, placed the picture of his mother in his inside coat pocket, then threw open the door.

The lad’s uncle had stamped to the floor below, where he was awaiting Phil’s coming.

“Good-bye, Uncle,” he said quietly, extending a hand.

“Let me see that bag,” snapped the old man.

“The bag is mine—it belonged to my mother,” explained the boy. “Surely you don’t object to my taking it with me?”

“You’re welcome to it, and good riddance; but I’m going to find out what’s inside of it.”

“You surely don’t think I would take anything that doesn’t belong to me—you can’t mean that?”

“Ain’t saying what I mean. Hand over that bag.”

With burning cheeks, Phil did as he was bid, his unwavering eyes fixed almost sternly on the wrathful face of Abner Adams.

“Huh!” growled the old man, tumbling the contents out on the floor, shaking Phil’s clothes to make sure that nothing was concealed in them.

Apparently satisfied, the old man threw the bag on the floor with an exclamation of disgust. Phil once more gathered up his belongings and stowed them away in the satchel.

“Turn out your pockets!”

“There is nothing in them, Uncle, save some trinkets of my own and my mother’s picture.”

“Turn them out!” thundered the old man.

“Uncle, I have always obeyed you. Obedience was one of the things that my mother taught me, but I’m sure that were she here she would tell me I was right in refusing to humiliate myself as you would have me do. There is nothing in my pockets that does not belong to me. I am not a thief.”

“Then I’ll turn them out myself!” snarled Abner Adams, starting forward.

Phil stepped back a pace, satchel in hand.

“Uncle, I am a man now,” said the boy, straightening to his full height. “Please don’t force me to do something that I should be sorry for all the rest of my life. Will you shake hands with me?”

“No!” thundered Abner Adams. “Get out of my sight before I lay the stick over your head!”

Phil stretched out an appealing hand, then hastily withdrew it.

“Good-bye, Uncle Abner,” he breathed.

Without giving his uncle a chance to reply, the lad turned, opened the door and ran down the steps.

CHAPTER III

Making His Start in the World

The sun was just setting as Phil Forrest strode out of the yard. Once outside of the gate he paused, glancing irresolutely up and down the street. Which way to turn or where to go he did not know. He had not thought before of what he should do.

Phil heard the clatter of Abner Adams’ stick as the old man thumped about in the kitchen.

Suddenly the door was jerked open with unusual violence.

“Begone!” bellowed Mr. Adams, brandishing his cane threateningly.

Phil turned down the street, without casting so much as a glance in the direction of his wrathful uncle, and continued on toward the open country. To anyone who had observed him there was nothing of uncertainty in the lad’s walk as he swung along. As a matter of fact, Phil had not the slightest idea where he was going. He knew only that he wanted to get away by himself.

On the outskirts of the village men had been at work that day, cutting and piling up hay. The field was dotted with heaps of the fragrant, freshly garnered stuff.

Phil hesitated, glanced across the field, and, noting that the men had all gone home for the day, climbed the fence. He walked on through the field until he had reached the opposite side of it. Then the lad placed his bag on the ground and sat down on a pile of hay.

With head in hands, he tried to think, to plan, but somehow his mind seemed unable to perform its proper functions. It simply would not work.

“Not much of a start in the world, this,” grinned Phil, shifting his position so as to command a better view of the world, for he did not want anyone to see him. “I suppose Uncle Abner is getting supper now. But where am I going to get mine? I hadn’t thought of that before. It looks very much as if I should have to go without. But I don’t care. Perhaps it will do me good to miss a meal,” decided the boy sarcastically. “I’ve been eating too much lately, anyhow.”

Twilight came; then the shadows of night slowly settled over the landscape, while the lad lay stretched out on the sweet-smelling hay, hands supporting his head, gazing up into the starlit sky.

Slowly his heavy eyelids fluttered and closed, and Phil was asleep. The night was warm and he experienced no discomfort. He was a strong, healthy boy, so that sleeping out of doors was no hardship to him. All through the night he slept as soundly as if he had been in his own bed at home. Nor did he awaken until the bright sunlight of the morning finally burned his eyelids apart.

Phil started up rubbing his eyes.

At first he wondered where he was. But the sight of his bag lying a little to one side brought back with a rush the memory of what had happened to him the evening before.

“Why, it’s morning,” marveled the lad, blinking in the strong sunlight. “And I’ve slept on this pile of hay all night. It’s the first time I ever slept out of doors, and I never slept better in my life. Guess I’ll fix myself up a little.”

Phil remembered that a little trout stream cut across the field off to the right. Taking up his bag, he started for the stream, where he made his toilet as best he could, finishing up by lying flat on his stomach, taking a long, satisfying drink of the sparkling water.

“Ah, that feels better,” he breathed, rolling over on the bank. After a little he helped himself to another drink. “But I’ve got to do something. I can’t stay out here in this field all the rest of my life. And if I don’t find something to eat I’ll starve to death. I’ll go downtown and see if I can’t earn my breakfast somehow.”

Having formed this resolution, Phil took up his belongings and started away toward the village. His course led him right past Abner Adams’ house, but, fortunately, Mr. Adams was not in sight. Phil would have felt a keen humiliation had he been forced to meet the taunts of his uncle. He hurried on past the house without glancing toward it.

He had gone on for some little way when he was halted by a familiar voice.

“Hello, Phil! Where are you going in such a hurry and so early in the morning?”

Phil started guiltily and looked up quickly at the speaker.

“Good morning, Mrs. Cahill. What time is it?”

“It’s just past four o’clock in the morning.”

“Gracious! I had no idea it was so early as that,” exclaimed the lad.

“If you are not in such a great hurry, stop a bit,” urged the woman, her keen eyes noting certain things that she did not give voice to. She had known Phil Forrest for many years, and his parents before him. Furthermore, she knew something of the life he had led since the death of his parents. “Had your breakfast?”

“Well—”

“Of course you haven’t. Come right in and eat with me,” urged the good-hearted widow.

“If you will let me do some chores, or something to pay for it, I will,” agreed Phil hesitatingly.

“Nothing of the kind! You’ll keep me company at breakfast; then you’ll be telling me all about it.”

“About what?”

“ ’Bout your going away,” pointing significantly to the bag that Phil was carrying.

He was ravenously hungry, though he did not realize it fully until the odor of the widow’s savory cooking smote his nostrils.

She watched him eat with keen satisfaction.

“Now tell me what’s happened,” urged Mrs. Cahill, after he had finished the meal.

Phil did so. He opened his heart to the woman who had known his mother, while she listened in sympathetic silence, now and then uttering an exclamation of angry disapproval when his uncle’s words were repeated to her.

“And you’re turned out of house and home? Is that it, my boy?”

“Well, yes, that’s about it,” grinned Phil.

“It’s a shame.”

“I’m not complaining, you know, Mrs. Cahill. Perhaps it’s the best thing that could have happened to me. I’ve got to start out for myself sometime, you know. I’m glad of one thing, and that is that I didn’t have to go until school closed. I get through the term today, you know?”

“And you’re going to school today?”

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t want to miss the last day.”

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I shall find something else to do, I guess. I want to earn enough money this summer so that I can go to school again in the fall.”

“And you shall. You shall stay right here with the Widow Cahill until you’ve got through with your schooling, my lad.”

“I couldn’t think of that. No; I am not going to be a burden to anyone. Don’t you see how I feel—that I want to earn my own living now?”

She nodded understandingly.

“You can do some chores and—”

“I’ll stay here until I find something else to do,” agreed Phil slowly. “I shan’t be able to look about much today, because I’ll be too busy at school; but tomorrow I’ll begin hunting for a job. What can I do for you this morning?”

“Well, you might chop some wood if you are aching to exercise your muscles,” answered the widow, with a twinkle in her eyes. She knew that there was plenty of wood stored in the woodhouse, but she was too shrewd an observer to tell Phil so, realizing, as she did, that the obligation he felt for her kindness was too great to be lightly treated.

Phil got at his task at once, and in a few moments she heard him whistling an accompaniment to the steady thud, thud of the axe as he swung it with strong, resolute arms.

“He’s a fine boy,” was the Widow Cahill’s muttered conclusion.

Phil continued at his work without intermission until an hour had passed. Mrs. Cahill went out, begging that he come in and rest.

“Rest? Why, haven’t I been resting all night? I feel as if I could chop down the house and work it up into kindling wood, all before school time. What time is it?”

“Nigh on to seven o’clock. I’ve wanted to ask you something ever since you told me you had left Abner Adams. It’s rather a personal question.”

The lad nodded.

“Did your uncle send you away without any money?”

“Of course. Why should he have given me anything so long as I was going to leave him?”

“Did you ever hear him say that your mother had left a little money with him before she died—money that was to be used for your education as long as it lasted?”

Phil straightened up slowly, his axe falling to the ground, an expression of surprise appeared in his eyes.

“My mother left money—for me, you say?” he wondered.

“No, Phil, I haven’t said so. I asked you if Abner had ever said anything of the sort?”

“No. Do you think she did?”

“I’m not saying what I think. I wish I was a man; I’d read old Abner Adams a lecture that he wouldn’t forget as long as he lives.”

Phil smiled indulgently.

“He’s an old man, Mrs. Cahill. He’s all crippled up with rheumatism, and maybe he’s got a right to be cranky—”

“And to turn his own sister’s child outdoors, eh? Not by a long shot. Rheumatics don’t give anybody any call to do any such a thing as that. He ought to have his nose twisted, and it’s me, a good church member, as says so.”

The lad picked up his axe and resumed his occupation, while Mrs. Cahill turned up a chunk of wood and sat down on it, keeping up a running fire of comment, mostly directed at Abner Adams, and which must have made his ears burn.

Shortly after eight o’clock Phil gathered his books, strapped them and announced that he would be off for school.

“I’ll finish the woodpile after school,” he called back, as he was leaving the gate.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” retorted the Widow Cahill.

Darting out of the yard, Phil ran plump into someone, and halted sharply with an earnest apology.

“Seems to me you’re in a terrible rush about something. Where you going?”

“Hello, Teddy, that you?”

“It’s me,” answered Teddy ungrammatically.

“I’m on my way to school.”

“Never could understand why anybody should want to run when he’s going to school. Now, I always run when I start off after school’s out. What you doing here?” demanded the boy, drawing his eyelids down into a squint.

“I’ve been chopping some wood for Mrs. Cahill.”

“Huh! What’s the matter with the bear this morning?”

“The bear?”

Teddy jerked a significant thumb in the direction of Phil’s former home.

“Bear’s got a grouch on a rod wide this morning.”

“Oh, you mean Uncle Abner,” answered Phil, his face clouding.

“Yep.”

“Why?”

“I just dropped in to see if you were ready to go to school. He yelled at me like he’d gone crazy.”

“That all?” grinned the other boy.

“No. He chased me down the road till his game knee gave out; then he fell down.”

Phil could not repress a broad grin at this news.

“Good thing for me that I could run. He’d have given me a walloping for sure if he’d caught me. I’ll bet that stick hurts when it comes down on a fellow. Don’t it, Phil?”

“I should think it would. I have never felt it, but I have had some pretty narrow escapes. What did the folks you are living with say when you got home all mud last night?”

Teddy grinned a sheepish sort of grin.

“Told me I’d better go out in the horse barn—said my particular style of beauty was better suited to the stable than to the kitchen.”

“Did you?”

“Well, no, not so as you might notice it. I went down to the creek and went in swimming, clothes and all. That was the easiest way. You see, I could wash the mud off my clothes and myself all at the same time.”

“It’s a wonder they let you in at all, then.”

“They didn’t; at least not until I had wrung the water out of my trousers and twisted my hair up into a regular top-knot. Then I crawled in behind the kitchen stove and got dried out after a while. But I got my supper. I always do.”

“Yes; I never knew you to go without meals.”

“Sorry you ain’t going to the circus tomorrow, Phil.”

“I am. Teddy, I’m free. I can do as I like now. Yes, I’ll go to the circus with you, and maybe if I can earn some money tonight I’ll treat you to red lemonade and peanuts.”

“Hooray!” shouted Teddy, tossing his hat high in the air.

CHAPTER IV

The Circus Comes to Town

The Sparling Combined Shows came rumbling into Edmeston at about three o’clock the next morning. But, early as was the hour, two boys sat on the Widow Cahill’s door-yard fence watching the wagons go by.

The circus was one of the few road shows that are now traveling through the country, as distinguished from the great modern organizations that travel by rail with from one to half a dozen massive trains. The Sparling people drove from town to town. They carried twenty-five wagons, besides a band wagon, a wild-west coach and a calliope.

“Phil! Phil! Look!” exclaimed Teddy, clutching at his companion’s coat sleeve, as two hulking, swaying figures appeared out of the shadows of the early morning.

“Where?”

“There.”

“Elephants! There’s two of them.”

“Ain’t that great? I didn’t suppose they’d have any elephants. Wonder if there’s any lions and tigers in those big wagons.”

“Of course there are. Didn’t you see pictures of them on the bills, Teddy?”

“I don’t know. Dan Marts, the postmaster, says you can’t set any store by the pictures. He says maybe they’ve got the things you see in the pictures, and maybe they haven’t. There’s a camel! Look at it! How’d you like to ride on that hump all day?” questioned Teddy gleefully.

“Shouldn’t like it at all.”

“I read in my geography that they ride on them all the time on the—on—on Sarah’s Desert.”

“Oh, you mean the Sahara Desert—that’s what you mean,” laughed Phil.

“Well, maybe.”

“I should rather ride an elephant. See, it’s just like a rocking chair. I could almost go to sleep watching them move along.”

“I couldn’t,” declared Teddy. “I couldn’t any more go to sleep when a circus is going by than I could fly without wings.”

“See, there comes a herd of ponies. Look how small they are. Not much bigger than St. Bernard dogs. They could walk right under the elephants and not touch them.”

“Where do they all sleep?” wondered Teddy.

“Who, the ponies?”

“No, of course not. The people.”

“I don’t know unless they sleep in the cages with the animals,” laughed Phil. “Some of the folks appear to be sleeping on the horses.”

“I’d be willing to go without sleep if I could be a showman,” mused Teddy. “Wouldn’t you?”

“Sure,” agreed Phil. “Hello! There come some more wagons. Come on! We’ll run down to meet them.”

“No; Let’s go over to the grounds where the circus is coming off. They’ll be putting up the tents first thing we know.”

“That’s so, and I want to be around. You going to work any, Teddy?”

“Not I. I’m going to see the show, but you don’t catch me carrying pails of water for the elephants for a ticket of admission that don’t admit you to anything except a stand-up. I can stand up cheaper than that.”

Both boys slipped from the fence, and, setting off at a jog trot, began rapidly overhauling and passing the slow-moving wagons with their tired horses and more tired drivers.

By the time Teddy and Phil reached the circus grounds several wagons were already there. Shouts sprang up from all parts of the field, while half a dozen men began measuring off the ground in the dim morning light, locating the best places in which to pitch the tents. Here and there they would drive in a stake, on one of which they tied a piece of newspaper.

“Wonder what that’s for,” thought Phil aloud.

“Hey, what’s the paper tied on the peg for?” shouted Teddy to a passing showman.

“That’s the front door, sonny.”

“Funniest looking front door I ever saw,” grunted Teddy.

“He means that’s the place where the people enter and leave their tickets.”

“Oh, yes. That’s what they call the ‘Main Entrance,’ ” nodded Teddy. “I’ve seen it, but I don’t usually go in that way.”

With the early dawn figures began emerging from several of the wagons. They were a sleepy looking lot, and for a time stood about in various attitudes, yawning, stretching their arms and rubbing their eyes.

“Hey, boy, what town is this?” questioned a red-haired youth, dragging himself toward the two lads.

“Edmeston.”

“Oh, yes. I remember; I was here once before.”

“With a show?” asked Teddy.

“Yes, with a Kickapoo Indian medicine man. And he was bad medicine. Say, where can I wash my countenance?”

“Come on; I’ll show you,” exclaimed Teddy and Phil in the same breath.

They led the way to the opposite side of the field, where there was a stream of water. While the circus boy was making his morning toilet the lads watched him in admiring silence.

“What do you do?” ventured Phil.

“I perform on the rings.”

“Up in the air?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Ever fall off?”

“I get my bumps,” grinned the red-haired boy. “My name is Rodney Palmer. What’s your names?”

They told him.

“We’re going to be circus men, too,” Teddy informed him, but the announcement did not seem to stir a deep interest in the circus boy. He had heard other boys say the same thing. “Is it very hard work?”

“Worst ever.”

“When do you sleep?”

“When we ain’t awake.”

“And you perform on the flying rings?”

Rodney nodded his head indifferently.

“I should think you’d burn the tent up with that head of red hair,” grinned Teddy.

Instead of getting angry at the boy’s thrust, Rodney glanced at Teddy with a half questioning look in his eyes, then burst out laughing.

“You’re a cheerful idiot, aren’t you?” he twinkled. “I’ll tell you why I don’t. Confidentially, you know?”

“Sure.”

“I wear a wig when I’m performing. Mebby if it wasn’t for that I might set something on fire. I must get over on the lot now.”

“You’re in a lot already,” Teddy informed him.

“We call the place where we pitch the tents ‘the lot.’ The cook tent must be up by this time, and I’m half starved. The performance was so late yesterday afternoon that they had the cook tent down before I got my supper. Will you come along?”

They did.

“Do you think there is anything I could do to earn a ticket to the show today?” asked Phil.

“Yes, there’s most always something for a boy to do.”

“Whom do I ask about it?”

“Go see the boss canvasman. I’ll point him out to you as we go along.”

“Thank you. You want to see him, too, Teddy?”

“No; I don’t have to.”

“That’s him over there. He’s a grouch, but just don’t let him bluff you. Yes, the cook tent’s about ready. I’ll sneak in and hook something before breakfast; then mebby I’ll come back and talk with you.”

“We’ll look for you in the show this afternoon,” said Phil.

“All right, if I see you I’ll swing my hand to you,” Rodney replied, starting for the cook tent, where the meals were served to the show people.

“Now, I’m going to see that boss canvasman,” announced Phil. “See, they are laying the pieces of the tents flat on the ground. I suppose they fasten them all together when they get them placed, then raise them up on the poles.”

“I guess so. I don’t care much so long as I don’t have to do it.”

“Teddy Tucker, actually you are the laziest boy I ever knew. Why don’t you brace up?”

“Don’t I have just as good a time and better, than you do?”

“Guess you do.”

“Don’t I get just as much to eat?”

“I presume so,” admitted Phil.

“Don’t I see all the shows that come to town, and go to all the picnics?”

“Yes.”

“Then, what’s the use of being any more’n lazy?”

Teddy’s logic was too much for his companion, and Phil laughed heartily.

“Look, the elephant is butting one of the wagons,” cried Teddy.

“No, they are using the elephant to push the cage around in place. I wonder what’s in it,” said Phil.

A roar that fairly made the ground shake answered Phil’s question. The cage in question held a lion, and a big, ugly one if his voice was any indication. The great elephant, when the cage was being placed, would, at a signal from its keeper, place its ponderous head against one side of the cage and push, while a driver would steer the wagon by taking hold of the end of the tongue.

It was a novel sight for the two boys, and they watched it with the keenest interest. A man dressed in riding clothes, carrying a short crop in his hand, was observing the operations with equal interest. He was James Sparling, the proprietor and manager of the Great Combined Shows, but the lads were unaware of that fact. Even had they known, it is doubtful if Mr. Sparling would have been of sufficient attraction to draw their attention from the working elephant.

All at once there was a warning shout from Mr. Sparling.

The men set up a yell, followed by a sudden scurrying from the immediate vicinity of the cage that the elephant had been shunting about.

“Stop it! Brace it!” bellowed the owner of the show, making frantic motions with his free hand, cutting circles and dashes in the air with the short crop held in the other.

“What’s the row?” wondered Teddy.

“I—I don’t know,” stammered Phil.

“The elephant’s tipping the lion cage over!” shouted someone. “Run for your lives!”

For once in his life Teddy Tucker executed a lightning-like movement. He was one of several dark streaks on the landscape running as if Wallace, the biggest lion in captivity, were in reality hard upon his heels. As he ran, Teddy uttered a howl that could have been heard from one end of the circus lot to the other.

A few of the more fearless ones, the old hands of the show, did not attempt to run. Instead they stood still, fairly holding their breaths, waiting to see what would happen next.

Mr. Sparling was too far away to be able to do anything to prevent the catastrophe that was hanging over them, but it did not prevent him from yelling like a madman at the inactive employees of the show.

At the first cry—the instant he comprehended what was happening—Phil Forrest moved every bit as quickly as had his companion, though he leaped in the opposite direction.

All about on the ground lay tent poles of various length and thickness, side poles, quarter poles and the short side poles used to hold the tent walls in place. These were about twenty feet in length and light enough to be easily handled.

With ready resourcefulness and quick comprehension, Phil pounced upon one of these and darted toward the cage which was toppling over in his direction.

The roof of the lion cage that housed Wallace projected over the edge some six inches, and this had caught the keen eyes of the lad at the first alarm. His plan had been formed in a flash.

He shot one end of the side pole up under the projecting roof, jammed the other end into the ground, throwing his whole weight upon the foot of the pole to hold it in place.

For an instant the tent pole bent like a bow under the pull of the archer. It seemed as if it must surely snap under the terrific strain.

Phil saw this, too. Now that the foot of the pole was firmly imbedded in the ground, there was no further need for him to hold it down. He sprang under the pole with the swaying cage directly over him, grabbed the pole at the point where it was arching so dangerously, and pulling himself from the ground, held to the slippery stick desperately.

Light as he was the boy’s weight saved the pole. It bent no further.

The cage swayed from side to side, threatening to topple over at one end or the other.

“Get poles under the ends,” shouted the boy in a shrill voice. “I can’t hold it here all day.”

“Get poles, you lazy good-for-nothings!” bellowed the owner. “Brace those ends. Look out for the elephant. Don’t you see he’s headed for the cage again?”

Orders flew thick and fast, but through it all Phil Forrest hung grimly to the side pole, taking a fresh overhand hold, now and then, as his palms slipped down the painted stick.

Now that he had shown the way, others sprang to his assistance. Half a dozen poles were thrust up under the roof and the cage began slowly settling back the other way.

“Hadn’t you better have some poles braced against the other side, sir?” suggested Phil, touching his hat to Mr. Sparling, who, he had discovered, was some person in authority. “The cage may tip clear over on the other side, or it may drop so heavily on the wheels as to break the axles.”

“Right. Brace the off side. That’s right. Now let it down slowly. Not so hard on the nigh side there. Ease off there, Bill. Push, Patsy. What do you think this is—a game of croquet? There you go. Right. Now let’s see if you woodenheads know enough to keep the wagon right side up.”

Mr. Sparling took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his forehead, while Phil stood off calmly surveying the men who were straightening the wagon, but with more caution than they had exercised before.

“Come here, boy.”

Someone touched Phil on the arm.

“What is it?”

“Boss wants to speak to you.”

“Who?”

“Boss Sparling, the fellow over there with the big voice and the sombrero.”

Phil walked over and touched his hat to Mr. Sparling.

The showman looked the lad over from head to foot.

“What’s your name?” He shot the question at the lad as if angry about something, and he undoubtedly was.

“Phil Forrest.”

“Do they grow your kind around here?”

“I can’t say, sir.”

“If they do, I’d like to hire a dozen or more of them. You’ve got more sense than any boy of your age I ever saw. How old are you?”

“Sixteen.”

“Huh! I wish I had him!” growled Mr. Sparling. “What do you want?”

“I should like to have a chance to earn a pass to the show this afternoon. Rodney Palmer said the boss canvasman might give me a chance to earn one.”

“Earn one? Earn one?” Mr. Sparling’s voice rose to a roar again. “What in the name of Old Dan Rice do you think you’ve been doing? Here you’ve kept a cage with a five-thousand-dollar lion from tipping over, to say nothing of the people who might have been killed had the brute got out, and you want to know how you can earn a pass to the show? What d’ye think of that?” and the owner appealed helplessly to an assistant who had run across the lot, having been attracted to the scene by the uproar.

The assistant grinned.

“He’s too modest to live.”

“Pity modesty isn’t more prevalent in this show, then. How many do you want? Have a whole section if you say the word.”

“How many are there in a section?” asked Phil.

“ ’Bout a hundred seats.”

Phil gasped.

“I—I guess two will be enough,” he made answer.

“Here you are,” snapped the owner, thrusting a card at the lad, on which had been scribbled some characters, puzzling to the uninitiated. “If you want anything else around this show you just ask for it, young man. Hey, there! Going to be all day getting that canvas up? Don’t you know we’ve got a parade coming along in a few hours?”

Phil Forrest, more light of heart than in many days, turned away to acquaint his companion of his good fortune. Teddy Tucker was making his way cautiously back to the scene of the excitement of a few moments before.

“Did he get away?” Teddy questioned, ready to run at the drop of the hat should the danger prove to be still present.

“Who, the manager?”

“No, the lion.”

“He’s in the cage where he’s been all the time. They haven’t opened it yet, but I guess he’s all right. Say, Teddy!”

“Say it.”

“I’ve got a pass to the show for two people for both performances—this afternoon and tonight.”

The interest that the announcement brought to Teddy’s eyes died away almost as soon as it appeared.

“Going?”

“Am I going? I should say so. Want to go in with me on my pass, Teddy?”

The lad hitched his trousers, took a critical squint at the canvas that was slowly mounting the center pole to the accompaniment of creaking ropes, groaning tackle and confused shouting.

“They’re getting the menagerie tent up. I’ll bet it’s going to be a dandy show,” he vouchsafed. “How’d you get the tickets?”

“Manager gave them to me.”

“What for?”

“I did a little work for him. Helped get the lion’s cage straightened up. How about it—are you going in on my pass?”

“N-o-o,” drawled Teddy. “Might get me into bad habits to go in on a pass. I’d rather sneak in under the tent when the boss isn’t looking.”

CHAPTER V

When the Bands Played

Phil started for the Widow Cahill’s on the run after having procured his tickets. “Here’s a ticket for the circus, Mrs. Cahill,” he shouted, bursting into the room, with excited, flushed face.

“What’s this you say—the circus? Land sakes, I haven’t seen one since I was—well, since I was a girl. I don’t know.”

“You’ll go, won’t you?” urged Phil.

“Of course, I’ll go,” she made haste to reply, noting the disappointment in his face over her hesitation. “And thank you very much.”

“Shall I come and get you, Mrs. Cahill, or can you get over to the circus grounds alone?”

“Don’t worry about me, my boy. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Your seat will be right next to mine, and we can talk while we are watching the performers.”

“Yes; you run along now. Here’s a quarter for spending money. Never mind thanking me. Just take it and have a good time. Where’s your friend?”

“Teddy?”

“Yes.”

“Over on the lot.”

“He going in with you, too?”

“Oh, no. Teddy is too proud to go in that way. He crawls in under the tent,” laughed Phil, running down the steps and setting off for the circus grounds with all speed.

When he arrived there he saw at once that something was going on. The tents were all in place, the little white city erected with as much care and attention to detail as if the show expected to remain in Edmeston all summer. The lad could scarcely make himself believe that, only a few hours before, this very lot had been occupied by the birds alone. It was a marvel to him, even in after years, when he had become as thoroughly conversant with the details of a great show as any man in America.

Just now there was unusual activity about the grounds. Men in gaudy uniforms, clowns in full makeup, and women with long glistening trains, glittering with spangles from head to feet, were moving about, while men were decorating the horses with bright blankets and fancy headdress.

“What are they going to do?” asked Phil of a showman.

“Going to parade.”

“Oh, yes, that’s so; I had forgotten about that.”

“Hello, boy—I’ve forgotten your name—”

“Forrest,” explained Phil, turning. The speaker was Mr. Sparling’s assistant, whom the lad had seen just after saving the lion cage from turning over.

“Can you blow a horn as well as you can stop a wagon?”

“Depends upon what kind of a horn. I think I can make as much noise on a fish horn as anyone else.”

“That’ll do as well as anything else. Want to go in the parade?”

“I’d love to!” The color leaped to the cheeks of Phil Forrest and a sparkle to his eyes. This was going beyond his fondest dreams.

The assistant motioned to a clown.

“Fix this boy up in some sort of a rig. I’m going to put him in the Kazoo Band. Bring him back here when he is ready. Be quick.”

A long, yellow robe was thrown about the boy, a peaked cap thrust on his head, after which a handful of powder was slapped on his face and rubbed down with the flat of the clown’s hand. The fine dust got into the lad’s nostrils and throat, causing him to sneeze until the tears rolled down his cheeks, streaking his makeup like a freshet through a plowed field.

“Good,” laughed the clown. “That’s what your face needs. You’d make a good understudy for Chief Rain-In-The-Face. Now hustle along.”

Phil picked up the long skirts and ran full speed to the place where the assistant had been standing. There he waited until the assistant returned from a journey to some other part of the lot.

“That’s right; you know how to obey orders,” he nodded. “That’s a good clown makeup. Did Mr. Miaco put those streaks on your face?”

“No, I sneezed them there,” answered Phil, with a sheepish grin.

The assistant laughed heartily. Somehow, he had taken a sudden liking to this boy.

“Do you live at home, Forrest?”

“No; I have no home now.”

“Here’s a fish horn. Now get up in the band wagon—no, not the big one, I mean the clowns’ band wagon with the hayrack on it. When the parade starts blow your confounded head off if you want to. Make all the noise you can. You’ll have plenty of company. When the parade breaks up, just take off your makeup and turn it over to Mr. Miaco.”

“You mean these clothes?”

“Yes. They’re a part of the makeup. You’ll have to wash the makeup off your face. I don’t expect you to return the powder to us,” grinned the assistant humorously.

The clowns were climbing to the hayrack. A bugle had blown as a signal that the parade was ready to move. Phil had not seen Teddy Tucker since returning to the lot. He did not know where the boy was, but he was quite sure that Teddy was not missing any of the fun. Tucker had been around circuses before, and knew how to make the most of his opportunities. And he was doing so now.

“Ta ra, ta ra, ta ra!” sang the bugle.

Crash! answered the cymbals and the bass drums. The snare drums buzzed a long, thrilling roll; then came the blare of the brass as the whole band launched into a lively tune such as only circus bands know how to play.

The parade had begun to move.

It was a thrilling moment—the moment of all moments of Phil Forrest’s life.

The clowns’ wagon had been placed well back in the line, so as not to interfere with the music of the band itself. But Phil did not care where he was placed. He only knew that he was in a circus parade, doing his part with the others, and that, so far as anyone knew, he was as much a circus man as any of them.

As the cavalcade drew out into the main street and straightened away, Phil was amazed to see what a long parade it was. It looked as if it might reach the whole length of the village.

The spring sun was shining brightly, lighting up the line, transforming it into a moving, flashing, brilliant ribbon of light and color.

“Splendid!” breathed the boy, removing the fish horn from his lips for a brief instant, then blowing with all his might again.

As the wagons moved along he saw many people whom he knew. As a matter of fact, Phil knew everyone in the village, but there were hundreds of people who had driven in from the farms whom he did not know. Nor did anyone appear to recognize him.

“If they only knew, wouldn’t they be surprised?” chuckled the lad. “Hello, there’s Mrs. Cahill.”

The widow was standing on her front door step with a dishtowel in one hand.

In the excess of his excitement, Phil stood up, waving his horn and yelling.

She heard him—as everybody else within a radius of a quarter of a mile might have—and she recognized the voice. Mrs. Cahill brandished the dishtowel excitedly.

“He’s a fine boy,” she glowed. “And he’s having the first good time he’s had in five years.”

The Widow Cahill was right. For the first time in all these years, since the death of his parents, Phil Forrest was carefree and perfectly happy.

The clowns on the wagon with him were uproariously funny. When the wagon stopped now and then, one whom Phil recognized as the head clown, Mr. Miaco, would spring to the edge of the rack and make a stump speech in pantomime, accompanied by all the gestures included in the pouring and drinking of a glass of water. So humorous were the clown’s antics that the spectators screamed with laughter.

Suddenly the lad espied that which caused his own laughter to die away, and for the moment he forgot to toot the fish horn. The parade was passing his former home, and there, standing hunched forward, leaning on his stick and glaring at the procession from beneath bushy eyebrows, stood Phil’s uncle, Abner Adams.

Phil’s heart leaped into his throat; at least that was the sensation that he experienced.

“I—I hope he doesn’t know me,” muttered the lad, shrinking back a little. “But I’m a man now. I don’t care. He’s driven me out and he has no right to say a thing.”

The lad lost some of his courage, however, when the procession halted, and he found that his wagon was directly in front of Mr. Adams’ dooryard, with his decrepit uncle not more than twenty feet away from him. The surly, angry eyes of Abner Adams seemed to be burning through Phil’s makeup, and the lad instinctively shrank back ever so little.

However, at that instant the boy’s attention was attracted to another part of the wagon. The head clown stepped from the wagon and, with dignified tread, approached Abner Adams. He grasped the old man by the hand, which he shook with great warmth, making a courtly bow.

At first Abner Adams was too surprised to protest. Then, uttering an angry snarl, he threw the clown off, making a vicious pass at him with his heavy stick.

The clown dodged the blow, and made a run for the wagon, which was now on the move again.

Phil breathed a sigh of relief. The people had roared at the funny sight of the clown shaking hands with the crabbed old man; but to Phil Forrest there had been nothing of humor in it. The sight of his uncle brought back too many unhappy memories.

The lad soon forgot his depression, however, in the rapid changes that followed each other in quick succession as on a moving-picture film.

Reaching the end of the village street the procession was obliged to turn and retrace its steps over the same ground until it reached the business part of the town, where it would turn off and pass through some of the side streets.

Now there were two lines, moving in opposite directions. This was of interest to Phil, enabling him, as it did, to get a good look at the other members of the troupe. Mr. Sparling was riding ahead in a carriage drawn by four splendid white horses, driven by a coachman resplendent in livery and gold lace, while the bobbing plumes on the heads of the horses added to the impressiveness of the picture.

“I’d give anything in the world to be able to ride in a carriage like that,” decided Phil. “Maybe someday I shall. We’ll see.”

Now came the elephants, lumbering along on velvet feet. On the second one there crouched a figure that somehow seemed strangely familiar to Phil Forrest. The figure was made up to represent a huge frog.

A peculiar gesture of one of the frog’s legs revealed the identity of the figure beneath the mask.

“Teddy!” howled Phil.

“Have a frog’s leg,” retorted Teddy, shaking one of them vigorously at the motley collection of clowns.

“Not eating frogs legs today,” jeered a clown, as Teddy went swinging past them, a strange, grotesque figure on the back of the huge, hulking beast.

The clowns’ wagon was just on the point of turning when the men heard a loud uproar far down the line. At first they thought it was a part of the show, but it soon became apparent that something was wrong.

Phil instinctively let the horn fall away from his lips. He peered curiously over the swaying line to learn what, if anything, had gone wrong.

He made out the cause of the trouble almost at once. A pony with a woman on its back had broken from the line, and was plunging toward them at a terrific pace. She appeared to have lost all control of the animal, and the pony, which proved to be an ugly broncho, was bucking and squealing as it plunged madly down the street.

The others failed to see what Phil had observed almost from the first. The bit had broken in the mouth of the broncho and the reins hung loosely in the woman’s helpless hands.

They were almost up with the clowns’ wagon when the woman was seen to sway dizzily in her saddle, as the leather slipped beneath her. Then she plunged headlong to the ground.

Instead of falling in a heap, the circus woman, with head dragging, bumping along the ground, was still fast to the pony.

“Her foot is caught in the stirrup!” yelled half a dozen men at once, but not a man of them made an effort to rescue her. Perhaps this was because none of the real horsemen of the show were near enough to do so.

Mr. Sparling, however, at the first alarm, had leaped from his carriage, and, thrusting a rider from his mount, sprang into the saddle and came tearing down the line in a cloud of dust. He was bearing down on the scene at express train speed.

“The woman will be killed!”

“Stop him! Stop him!”

“Stop him yourself!”

But not a man made an effort to do anything.

It had all occurred in a few seconds, but rapidly as the events succeeded each other, Phil Forrest seemed to be the one among them who retained his presence of mind.

He fairly launched himself into the air as the ugly broncho shot alongside the clowns’ wagon.

CHAPTER VI

Proving His Mettle

Familiar as they were with daring deeds, those of the circus people who witnessed Phil Forrest’s dive gasped.

They expected to see the boy fall beneath the feet of the plunging pony, where he would be likely to be trampled and kicked to death.

But Phil had looked before he leaped. He had measured his distance well—had made up his mind exactly what he was going to do, or rather what he was going to try to do.

The pony, catching a brief glimpse of the dark figure that was being hurled through the air directly toward him, made a swift leap to one side. But the animal was not quick enough. The boy landed against the broncho with a jolt that nearly knocked the little animal over, while to Phil the impact could not have been much more severe, it seemed to him, had he collided with a locomotive.

“Hang on!” howled a voice from the wagon.

That was exactly what he intended to do.

The cloud of dust, with Mr. Sparling in the center of it, had not reached them, but his keen eyes already had observed what was going on.

“G-g-g-grab the woman!” shouted Phil.

His left arm had been thrown about the broncho’s neck, while his right hand was groping frantically for the animal’s nose. But during all this time the pony was far from idle. He was plunging like a ship in a gale, cracking the whip with Phil Forrest until it seemed as if every bone in the lad’s body would be broken. He could hear his own neck snap with every jerk.

With a howl Miaco, the head clown, launched himself from the wagon, too. Darting in among the flying hoofs—there seemed to be a score of them—he caught the woman, jerked her foot free of the stirrup and dragged her quickly from her perilous position.

“She’s free. Let go!” he roared to the boy holding the pony.

But by this time Phil had fastened his right hand on the pony’s nostrils, and with a quick pressure shut off the animal’s wind. He had heard the warning cry. The lad’s grit had been aroused, however, and he was determined that he would not let go until he should have conquered the fighting broncho.

With a squeal of rage, the pony leaped sideways. A deep ditch led along by the side of the road, but this the enraged animal had not noticed. Into it he went, kicking and fighting, pieces of Phil’s yellow robe streaming from his hoofs.

The lad’s body was half under the neck of the pony, but he was clinging to the neck and the nose of the beast with desperate courage.

“Get the boy out of there!” thundered Mr. Sparling, dashing up and leaping from his pony. “Want to let him be killed?”

By this time others had ridden up, and some of the real horsemen in the outfit sprang off and rushed to Phil Forrest’s assistance. Ropes were cast over the flying hoofs before the men thought it wise to get near them. Then they hauled Phil out, very much the worse for wear.

In the meantime Mr. Sparling’s carriage had driven up and he was helping the woman in.

“Is the boy hurt?” he called.

“No, I’m all right, thank you,” answered Phil, smiling bravely, though he was bruised from head to foot and his clothing hung in tatters. His peaked clown’s cap someone picked up in a field over the fence and returned to him. That was about all that was left of Phil Forrest’s gaudy makeup, save the streaks on his face, which by now had become blotches of white and red.

The clowns picked him up and boosted him to the wagon, jabbering like a lot of sparrows perched on a telephone wire.

“See you later!” shouted the voice of Mr. Sparling as he drove rapidly away.

Phil found his horn, and despite his aches and pains he began blowing it lustily. The story of his brave rescue had gone on ahead, however, and as the clowns’ wagon moved on it was greeted by tremendous applause.

The onlookers had no difficulty in picking out the boy who had saved the woman’s life, and somehow the word had been passed around as to his identity.

“Hooray for Phil Forrest!” shouted the multitude.

Phil flushed under the coating of powder and paint, and sought to crouch down in the wagon out of sight.

“Here, get up there where they can see you!” admonished a clown. “If you’re going to be a showman you mustn’t be afraid to get yourself in the spotlight.”

Two of them hoisted the blushing Phil to their shoulders and broke into a rollicking song, swaying their bodies in imitation of the movements of an elephant as they sang.

At this the populace fairly howled with delight.

“He’s the boy, even if he ain’t purty to look at,” jeered someone in the crowd.

“Handsome is as handsome does!” retorted a clown in a loud voice, and the people cheered.

After this the parade went on without further incident, though there could be no doubt that the exciting dash and rescue by one of their own boys had aroused the town to a high pitch of excitement. And the showmen smiled, for they knew what that meant.

“Bet we’ll have a turn-away this afternoon,” announced a clown.

“Looks that way,” agreed another, “and all on account of the kid.”

“What’s a turn-away?” asked Phil.

“That’s when there are more people want to get in than the tent will hold. And it means, too, that the boss will be good natured till it rains again, and the wagons get stuck in the mud so that we’ll make the next town behind time. At such times he can make more noise than the steam calliope.”

“He seems to me to be a pretty fine sort of a man, even if he is gruff,” suggested Phil.

“The best ever,” agreed several clowns. “You’ll look a long way before you’ll find a better showman, or a better man to his help, than Jim Sparling. Ever been in the show business, kid?”

Phil shook his head.

“Anybody’d think you always had been, the way you take hold of things. I’ll bet you’ll be in it before you are many years older.”

“I’d like to,” glowed the lad.

“Ask the boss.”

“No, he wouldn’t want me. There is nothing I could do now, I guess.”

Further conversation was interrupted by the bugle’s song announcing the disbanding of the parade, the right of the line having already reached the circus lot.

The clowns piled from the hayrack like a cataract, the cataract having all the colors of the rainbow.

Phil, not to be behind, followed suit, though he did not quite understand what the rush was about. He ran until he caught up with Miaco.

“What’s the hurry about?” he questioned.

“Parade’s over. Got to hurry and get dinner, so as to be ready for the afternoon performance.”

All hands were heading for the dressing tent in a mad rush.

Phil was halted by the assistant manager.

The lad glanced down rather sheepishly at his costume, which was hanging in tatters, then up at the quizzically smiling face of the showman.

“I—I’m sorry I’ve spoiled it, sir, but I couldn’t help it.”

“Don’t worry about that, young man. How did it happen?” he questioned, pretending not to know anything about the occurrence in which Phil had played a leading part.

“Well, you see, there was a horse ran away, and I happened to get in the way of it. I—”

“Yes, Forrest, I understand all about it. Somebody did something to that animal to make it run away and the boss is red headed over it.”

“I—I didn’t.”

“No, that’s right. It was lucky that there was one person in the parade who had some sense left, or there would have been a dead woman with this outfit,” growled the assistant.

“Was she badly hurt?”

“No. Only bruised up a bit. These show people get used to hard knocks.”

“I’m glad she is all right. Who is she?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No.”

“That was Mr. Sparling’s wife whose life you saved, and I reckon the boss will have something to say to you when he gets sight of you again.”

CHAPTER VII

Making Friends With the Elephants

“Is it possible? I didn’t know that,” marveled the boy. “And does she perform?”

“Everybody works in this outfit, young man,” laughed the assistant, “as you will learn if you hang around long enough. Going to the show?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Got seats?”

“Mr. Sparling provided me with tickets, thank you. But I’ve got to get home first and put on some other clothes. This suit is about done for, isn’t it?”

“I should say it was. You did that stopping the horse, didn’t you?”

Phil nodded.

“Boss will buy you a new suit for that.”

“Oh, no; I couldn’t allow him to do that,” objected Phil.

“Well, you are a queer youngster. So long. I’ll see you when you come in this afternoon. Wait, let me see your tickets.”

The lad handed them over wonderingly, at which his questioner nodded approvingly.

“They’re good seats. Hope you will enjoy the show.”

“Thank you; I am sure I shall,” answered Phil, touching his hat and starting on a run for home.

Arriving there, Mrs. Cahill met him and threw up her hands in horror when she observed the condition of his clothes.

“I am afraid they are gone for good,” grinned Phil rather ruefully.

“No. You leave them with me. I’ll fix them up for you. I heard how you saved that show woman’s life. That was fine, my boy. I’m proud of you, that I am. You did more than all those circus men could do, and the whole town is talking about it.”

“If you are going to the show you had better be getting ready,” urged Phil, wishing to change the subject.

“All right, I will. I’ll fix your clothes when I get back. Will you be home to supper?”

“I don’t know for sure. If I can I’ll be back in time, but please don’t wait for me. Here is your ticket.”

The lad hurried to the room the good woman had set aside for him and quickly made the change of clothing. He was obliged to change everything he had on, for even his shirt had been torn in his battle with the broncho. After bathing and putting on the fresh clothes, Phil hurried from the house, that he might miss nothing of the show.

The sideshow band was blaring brazenly when he reached the lot. The space in front of the main entrance was packed with people, many of whom pointed to him, nodding their heads and directing the attention of their companions to the lad.

Phil wished he might be able to skulk in by the back door and thus avoid their attention, but as this was impossible, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and worked his way slowly toward the front of the crowd.

Getting near the entrance, he saw Mr. Sparling’s assistant. The latter, chancing to catch sight of Phil, motioned him to crawl under the ropes and come in. The boy did so gratefully.

“The doors are not open yet, but you may go in. You will have time to look over the animals before the crowd arrives, then you can reach your seat before the others get in. Please let me see those checks once more.”

The assistant made a mental note of the section and number of the seats for future reference and handed back the coupons.

Phil stole into the menagerie tent, relieved to be away from the gaze and comments of the crowd that was massed in front.

“Gracious, I’m afraid I wouldn’t make a very good circus man. I hate to have everybody looking at me as if I were some natural or unnatural curiosity. Wonder if I will know any of the show people when they are made up, as they call it, and performing in the ring? I shouldn’t wonder if they didn’t know me in my best clothes, though,” grinned the boy.

Phil had had the forethought to bring a few lumps of sugar in his pocket. Entering the menagerie tent, he quickly made his way to the place where the elephants were chained, giving each one of the big beasts a lump. He felt no fear of them and permitted them to run their sensitive trunks over him and into his pockets, where they soon found the rest of the sugar.

After disposing of the sweets, both beasts emitted a loud trumpeting. At such close quarters the noise they made seemed to shake the ground.

“Why do they do that?” questioned Phil of the keeper.

“That’s their way of thanking you for the sugar. You’ve made friends of both of them for life. They’ll never forget you, even if they don’t see you for several seasons.”

“Do they like peanuts?”

“Do they? Just try them.”

Phil ran to a snack stand at the opposite side of the tent and bought five cents’ worth of peanuts, then hurried back to the elephants with the package.

“What are their names?”

“The big one is Emperor and the smaller one is called Jupiter,” answered the keeper, who had already recognized his young visitor.

“Are they ever ugly?”

“Never have been. But you can’t tell. An elephant is liable to go bad most any time, then you—”

“But how can you tell, or can’t you?”

“Most always, unless they are naturally bad.”

“How do you know?”

“See that little slit on the cheek up there?”

“Yes,” said Phil, peering at the great jowls wonderingly.

“Well, several days before they get in a tantrum you will see a few tear drops—that’s what I call them—oozing from that little slit. I don’t know whether it’s water on the brain or what it is. But when you see the tear drops you want to get from under and chain Mr. Elephant down as quickly as possible.

“That is strange.”

“Very. But it’s a sure sign. Never knew it to fail, and I’ve known some elephants in my time. But Emperor and Jupiter never have shed a tear drop since I’ve known them. They are not the crying kind, you know.”

The lad nodded understandingly.

“How about the lions and the tigers—can you tell when they are going to have bad spells?”

“Well,” reflected the showman, “it’s safe to say that they’ve always got a grouch on. The cats are always—”

“Cats?”

“Yes. All that sort of animals belong to the cat family and they’ve got only one ambition in life.”

“What’s that?”

“To kill somebody or something.”

“But their keepers—don’t they become fond of their keepers or trainers?”

The elephant tender laughed without changing the expression of his face. His laugh was all inside of him, as Phil characterized it.

“Not they! They may be afraid of their keeper, but they would as soon chew him up as anybody else—I guess they would rather, for they’ve always got a bone to pick with him.”

“Do any of the men go in the cages and make the animals perform here?”

“Oh, yes. Wallace, the big lion over there, performs every afternoon and night. So does the tiger in the cage next to him.”

Phil had dumped the bag of peanuts into his hat, which he held out before him while talking. Two squirming trunks had been busy conveying the peanuts to the pink mouths of their owners, so that by the time Phil happened to remember what he had brought them, there was not a nut left in the hat.

He glanced up in surprise.

“Emperor, you are a greedy old elephant,” laughed Phil, patting the trunk.

Emperor trumpeted loudly, and the call was immediately taken up even more loudly by his companion.

“No, you can’t have any more,” chided Phil. “You will have indigestion from what you’ve already eaten, I’m afraid. Behave, and I’ll bring you some more tonight if I come to the show,” he laughed.

Two caressing trunks touched his hands, then traveled gently over his cheeks. They tickled, but Phil did not flinch.

“You could do most anything with them now, you see,” nodded the keeper. “They’d follow you home if I would let them.”

“Especially if my pockets were full of sweets.”

“There’s the animal trainer getting ready to go into the lion cage, if you want to see him,” the attendant informed him.

“Yes, I should like to. And thank you very much for your kindness.”

“You’re welcome. Come around again.”

The boy hurried over to the lion cage. The people were now crowding into the menagerie tent in throngs. There seemed to Phil to be thousands already there. But all eyes now being centered on Wallace’s cage, they had no time to observe Phil, for which he was duly thankful.

The animal trainer, clad in red tights, his breast covered with spangles, was already at the door of the cage, whip in hand. When a sufficient crowd had gathered about him, he opened the door, and, entering the cage threw wide the iron grating that shut Wallace off from the door end of the wagon. The big lion bounded out with a roar that caused the people to crowd back instinctively.

Then the trainer began putting the savage beast through its paces, causing it to leap over his whip, jump through paper hoops, together with innumerable other tricks that caused the spectators to open their mouths in wonder. All the time Wallace kept up a continual snarling, interspersed now and then with a roar that might have been heard a quarter of a mile away.

This was a part of the exhibition, as Phil shrewdly discovered. The boy was a natural showman, though unaware of the fact. He noted all the little fine points of the trainer’s work with as much appreciation as if he had himself been an animal trainer.

“I half believe I should like to try that myself,” was his mental conclusion. “But I should want to make the experiment on a very little lion at first. If I got out with a whole skin I might want to tackle something bigger. I wonder if he is going into the tiger cage?”

As if in answer to his question, an announcer shouted out the information that the trainer would give an exhibition in the cage of the tiger just before the evening performance.

“I’ll have to see that,” muttered Phil. “Guess I had better get in and find my seat now.”

At the same time the crowd, understanding that the lion performance was over, began crowding into the circus tent.

The band inside swung off into a sprightly tune and Phil could scarcely repress the inclination to keep time to it with his feet. Altogether, things were moving pretty well with Phil Forrest. They had done so ever since he left home the day before. In that one day he had had more fun than had come to him in many years.

But his happy day would soon be ended. He sighed as he thought of it. Then his face broke out into a sunny smile as he caught a glimpse of the ropes and apparatus, seen dimly through the afternoon haze, in the long circus tent.

As he gained the entrance between the two large tents he saw the silk curtains at the far end of the circus arena fall apart, while a troop of gayly caparisoned horses and armored riders suddenly appeared through the opening.

The grand entry was beginning.

“Gracious, here the show has begun and I am not anywhere near my seat,” he exclaimed. “But, if I am going to be late I won’t be alone. There are a whole lot more of us that were too much interested in the animal trainer to think to come in and get our seats. I guess I had better run. I—”

Phil started to run, but he got no further than the start.

All at once his waist was encircled in a powerful grip and he felt his feet leaving the ground. Phil was being raised straight up into the air by some strange force, the secret of which he did not understand.

CHAPTER VIII

In the Sawdust Arena

The lad repressed an inclination to cry out, for the thing that had encircled his waist and raised him up seemed to be tightening about him.

A familiar voice just behind him served to calm Phil’s disquieted nerves.

“Don’t be frightened, kid. It’s only Emperor having a little joke. He’s a funny fellow,” said the elephant’s attendant.

Phil had read somewhere that elephants possessed a keen sense of humor, and now he was sure of it. But he never thought he would have an opportunity to have the theory demonstrated on himself.

The elephants were on their way to participate in the grand entry, and there was not a minute to spare now. Emperor on his way into the other tent had come across his new-found friend and recognized him instantly, while Phil had not even heard the approach of the elephants.

No sooner had the elephant discovered the lad than he picked him up with his trunk, slowly hoisting the boy high in the air.

“Steady, Emperor! Steady!” cautioned the attendant. But Emperor needed no admonition to deal gently with his young friend. He handled Phil with almost the gentleness of a mother lifting a babe.

Phil Forrest experienced a thrill that ran all through him when he realized what was taking place.

“We can’t stop to put you down now, my boy. You’ll have to go through the performance with us. Grab the head harness when he lets you down on his head. You can sit on the head without danger, but keep hold of the harness with one hand. I’ll bet you’ll make a hit.”

“I will if I fall off,” answered Phil a bit unsteadily.

As it was, the unusual motion made him a little giddy.

“That’s a good stunt. Stick to him, Forrest,” directed a voice as they swept on toward the ring.

The voice belonged to Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show. He was quick to grasp the value of Phil’s predicament—that is, its value to the show as a drawing card.

By now the people began to understand that something unusual was going on, and they asked each other what it was all about.

“It’s Phil Forrest riding the elephant,” shouted one of the lad’s school friends, recognizing him all at once. “Hooray for Phil!”

There were many of the pupils from his school there, and the howling and shouting that greeted him made the lad’s cheeks burn. But now, instead of wanting to crawl under something and hide, Phil felt a thrill of pleasure, of pride in the achievement that was denied to all the rest of his friends.

The inspiring music of the circus band, too, added to his exhilaration. He felt like throwing up his hands and shouting.

Suddenly he felt something tugging at his coat pocket, and glancing down gave a start as he discovered the inquisitive trunk of Emperor thrust deep down in the pocket.

When the trunk came away it brought with it a lump of sugar that Phil did not know he possessed. The sugar was promptly conveyed to the elephant’s mouth, the beast uttering a loud scream of satisfaction.

“Emperor, you rascal!” laughed Phil, patting the beast on the head.

Once more the trunk curled up in search of more sugar, but a stern command from the trainer caused the beast to lower it quickly. The time for play had passed. The moment had arrived for Emperor to do his work and he was not the animal to shirk his act. In fact, he seemed to delight in it. All elephants work better when they have with them some human being or animal on which they have centered their affections. Sometimes it is a little black and tan dog, sometimes a full-grown man. In this instance it happened to be a boy, and that boy Phil Forrest.

“Waltz!” commanded the trainer.

If Phil’s head had swum before, it spun like a top now. Round and round pirouetted the huge beasts, keeping in perfect step with the music of the band, and tighter and tighter did the lad grip the head harness of old Emperor. Phil closed his eyes after a little because he had grown so dizzy that he feared he would fall off.

“Hang on, kid. It’ll be Christmas by and by,” comforted the trainer humorously.

“That’s what I am trying to do,” answered Phil a bit unsteadily.

“How’s your head?”

“Whirling like a merry-go-round.”

He heard the trainer chuckling.

The spectators were shouting out Phil’s name all over the big tent.

“Fine, fine!” chuckled James Sparling, rubbing his palms together. “That ought to fill the tent tonight.”

The spectators realized, too, that they were being treated to something not down on the bills and their shouts and laughter grew louder and louder.

“Do you think you could stand up on his head?” came the voice of the trainer just loud enough for Phil to hear.

“Me? Stand on the elephant’s head?”

“Yes. Think you can do it?”

“If I had a net underneath to catch me, maybe I’d try it.”

“Emperor won’t let you fall. When I give the word he’ll wrap his trunk around your legs. That will hold you steady from the waist down. If you can keep the rest of yourself from lopping over you’ll be all right. It’ll make a hit—see if it don’t.”

“I—I’ll try it.”

“Wait till I give the word, then get up on all fours, but don’t straighten up till you feel the trunk about you. We’ll make a showman of you before you know it.”

“I seem to be the whole show as it is,” grumbled Phil.

“You are, just now—you and Emperor. Good thing the other performers are not in the ring, or they would all be jealous of you.”

“I wish Uncle Abner could see me now. Wouldn’t he be mad!” grinned Phil, as the memory of his crabbed relative came back to him. “He’d come right out after me with his stick, he’d be so angry. But I guess Emperor wouldn’t let him touch me,” decided the boy proudly, with an affectionate pat to which the elephant responded with a cough that sounded not unlike the explosion of a dynamite cartridge.

“All ready now. Don’t be afraid. Hold each position till I give you the word to change it.”

“Ready,” announced the lad.

“Emperor! Jupiter!”

The twitching of a ponderous ear of each animal told that they had heard and understood.

“Rise!”

Phil had scrambled to all fours.

“Hold him, Emperor!”

The great trunk curled up, ran over the boy’s legs and twined about them.

“Up you go, kid!”

Phil raised himself fearlessly, straightened and stood full upon his feet. That strong grip on his legs gave him confidence and told him he had nothing to fear. All he would have to do would be to keep his ears open for the trainer’s commands both to himself and the beast, and he would be all right.

He felt himself going up again.

The sensation was something akin to that which Phil had once experienced when jumping off a haystack. He felt as if his whole body were being tickled by straws.

The elephants were rising on their hind legs, uttering shrill screams and mighty coughs, as if enraged over the humiliation that was being put upon them.

It seemed to Phil as if Emperor would never stop going up until the lad’s head was against the top of the tent. He ventured to look down.

What a distance it was! Phil hastily directed his glances upward.

At last the elephant had risen as high as he could go. He was standing almost straight up and down, and on his head the slender figure of the boy appeared almost unreal to those off on the seats.

Thunders of applause swept over the assemblage. People rose up in their seats, the younger ones hurling hats high in the air and uttering catcalls and shrill whistles, until pandemonium reigned under the “big top,” as the circus tent proper is called by the showmen.

“Swing your hat at them!”

The trainer had to shout to make himself heard, and as it was Phil caught the words as from afar off.

He took off his soft hat and waved it on high, gazing wonderingly off over the seats. He could distinguish nothing save a waving, undulating mass of moving life and color.

It was intoxicating. And Phil Forrest went suddenly dizzy again.

“I’m losing my head,” rebuked the lad. “If I don’t pull myself together I shall surely fall off. Then they will have something to laugh at rather than to applaud.”

He took himself firmly in hand. But the applause did not abate one whit.

“Watch out, we’re going down,” warned the trainer.

“Right!”

The elephant trainer’s command came out like the crack of a ringmaster’s whip.

Slowly the great beasts lowered themselves toward the sawdust ring.

“Stoop over and grab the harness!”

Phil did so.

“Sit! Let go, Emperor!”

The trunk was released instantly and Phil plumped to the beast’s head once more, amid the wildest applause.

The band swung into another tune, which was the signal for the next act to be brought on. At the same time the ringmaster blew a shrill blast on his whistle.

The trainer left the ring with his charges by an exit that he seldom departed through. But he did so in order to leave Phil near the place where his seats were, first having ascertained where these were located.

“Put him down, Emperor! Down, I say!”

Emperor reached up an unwilling trunk, grasped Phil about the waist and stood him on the ground. At the trainer’s command the beast released his hold of his friend and as the hook was gently pressed against his side to hurry him, Emperor started reluctantly away.

Phil, with flushed face, a happy look in his eyes, had turned to run up the aisle to his seats, when, with a loud trumpeting, Emperor wheeled, and breaking away from his trainer, swept down toward the spot where he had left Phil Forrest.

The movement almost threw those in that section into a panic. Women screamed, believing the animal had suddenly gone crazy, while men sprang to their feet.

Phil had turned at the first alarm, and, observing what was taking place, with rare presence of mind trotted down to the arena again.

He reached there about the same time that Emperor did.

With a shrill scream Emperor threw his long trunk about the lad, and before Phil had time to catch his breath, he had been hurled to the elephant’s back.

Uttering loud trumpetings the great elephant started on a swift shamble for his quarters, giving not the slightest heed to his trainer’s commands to halt.

CHAPTER IX

Getting His First Call

“Let him go. Emperor won’t hurt me,” laughed Phil as soon as he could get his breath, for he was moving along at a pace which would have meant a tumble to the ground had the elephant not supported the lad with its trunk.

The audience soon seeing that no harm had come to the boy, set up another roar, which was still loud in Phil’s ears when Emperor set his burden down after reaching the elephant quarters in the menagerie tent.

“You’re a bad boy. Get down, sir, and let me off,” chided Phil.

The elephant, to his surprise, cautiously let himself down to his knees, his trunk at the same time reaching out surreptitiously for a wisp of fresh grass.

Phil slipped off, laughing heartily. He had lost all fear of the great, hulking beast.

“Don’t punish him, please,” begged the boy when the keeper came hurrying along with Jupiter. “But if you will make him let me alone, I’ll go in the other tent. I want to see the circus.”

“Wait a moment. I’ll chain him up.”

The keeper soon had Emperor fast. Then after a final affectionate petting Phil ran lightly to the other tent and quickly made his way to his seat. The people were so engrossed in the acts in the ring that they did not observe the boy particularly this time.

“Did I make a show of myself, Mrs. Cahill?” questioned the lad, with sparkling eyes.

“You did not. You were as handsome as a picture. There isn’t one of all those people that looks so handsome or so manly as—”

“Please, please, Mrs. Cahill!” begged the lad, blushing violently. “Have you seen anything of my friend Teddy? I had forgotten all about him.”

“That looks like him down there.”

“Where?”

“There, leaning against that pole,” she pointed.

Phil gazed in the direction indicated, and there, sure enough, was Teddy Tucker leaning carelessly against the center pole. He had no right to be there, as Phil well knew, and he watched with amused interest for the moment when the other boy’s presence would be discovered.

It came shortly afterwards. All at once the ringmaster fixed a cold eye on Teddy.

“Hey, you!”

Teddy gave no heed to him.

“Get out of there! Think you own this show?”

The lad made believe that he did not hear.

The ringmaster’s long whip lash curled through the air, going off with a crack that sounded as if a pistol had been fired, and within an inch of Teddy’s nose.

Teddy sprang back, slapping a hand to his face, believing that he had been hit. Then there followed a series of disconcerting snaps all around his head as the long lash began to work, but so skillfully was it wielded that the end of it did not touch him.

But Teddy had had enough. He turned and ran for the seats.

“Come up here,” cried Phil, laughing immoderately. “Here’s a seat right beside us and there won’t be any ringmaster to bother you.”

Considerably crestfallen, the lad climbed up to where Phil and Mrs. Cahill were sitting.

“You mustn’t go down there, you know, Teddy. They don’t allow outsiders in the ring while the performance is going on. Someone might get hurt—”

“They let you in,” bristled Teddy.

“That was different. They couldn’t help themselves, and neither could I. Emperor took me in whether I would or not; and, in fact, I didn’t know I was going till I was halfway there.”

Phil’s companion surveyed him with admiration.

“My, but you did cut a figure up on that elephant’s head! I should have been afraid.”

“There was nothing to be afraid of. But let’s watch the performance. There’s a trapeze act going on now.”

For a few moments the lads watched the graceful bodies of the performers slipping through the air. One would swing out from his perch, flying straight into the arms of his fellow-performer who was hanging head down from another swinging bar. On the return sweep the first performer would catch his own bar and return to his perch.

“Looks easy. I’ll bet I could do that,” nodded Teddy.

Phil shook his head.

“Not so easy as it looks.”

“How much do you suppose they get—think they must get as much as a dollar and a half a day for doing that? I’d do it for a dollar, if I could,” averred the irrepressible Teddy Tucker.

“They get a good many more dollars than that, Teddy. I’ve heard that some of them get all of twenty-five or thirty dollars a week.”

Phil’s companion whistled.

The next act was a bareback riding exhibition, by a pretty, graceful young woman whom the ringmaster introduced as Mademoiselle Mora.

At the crack of the whip she sprang lightly to the back of the gray old ring horse and began a series of feats that made the boys sit forward in their seats.

At the conclusion of the act Mademoiselle Mora ran out to the edge of the ring, and blowing a kiss at the blushing Phil, tripped away on fairy feet for the dressing tent.

“Did you see her? She bowed to me?” exclaimed Teddy enthusiastically.

“Guess she didn’t see you at all, young man,” replied Mrs. Cahill dryly. “There’s others in the tent besides you, even if the ringmaster did crack his whip in your face and just miss your nose.”

A clown came out and sang a song about a boy who had rescued a beautiful young woman from a runaway horse and got kidnaped by an elephant. The song made a hit, for most of the audience understood that it referred to Phil Forrest.

And so the performance went on, with a glitter and a crash, a haze of yellow dust hanging like a golden cloud in the afternoon sun, over spectators and performers alike.

“Hello, there’s Rod!” exclaimed Teddy.

“Who?”

“Rod. The red-haired kid we saw this morning, only his hair is black now. He’s covered up his own looks so he won’t set the tent on fire.”

“Oh, you mean Rodney Palmer? Yes, I guess that is he.”

“See, they’re pulling him up on a rope. I wonder where he is going?”

“To those flying rings,” explained Phil. “And there is a young woman going up, too.”

One after another was pulled up, until a troupe of four had ascended and swung off to the rings that were suspended far up there in the haze.

Both Phil and Teddy were more than ordinarily interested in this act, for they were no mean performers on the rings themselves. In the schoolyard an apparatus had been rigged with flying rings, and on this the boys had practiced untiringly during the spring months, until they had both become quite proficient.

“Isn’t he great?” breathed Teddy, as Rodney Palmer swung out into the air, letting his legs slip through the rings until only his toes were hanging to the slender support.

“Yes; he certainly does do it fine.”

“We can do it just as well.”

“Perhaps, but not so gracefully.”

“See, he’s swinging his hand at us.”

Sure enough, Rodney had picked out the two lads, and was smiling at them and waving a hand in their direction. The two lads felt very proud of this, knowing as they did that they were the envy of every boy of their acquaintance within sight of them.

The climax of the act was when the young woman seemed to plunge straight down toward the ground.

The women in the audience uttered sharp little cries of alarm. But the performer was not falling. Strong slender ropes had been fastened to her heels, the other ends being held by one of the performers who was hanging from the rings.

As a result the falling girl’s flight was checked just before she reached the ground and the spectators breathed a sigh of profound relief.

“My, that was great! I wouldn’t want to do that.”

“No, you’re too heavy, Teddy. That’s why they have a girl do it. She is slender and light—”

“I’d be light headed.”

“Guess, I would, too,” laughed Phil.

At this juncture an attendant came running up the steps, halting before the lads.

“Are you Phil Forrest?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“The boss wants to see you.”

“Mr. Sparling? All right. I wanted to see the rest of the show, but I’ll go.” Phil rose reluctantly and followed the guide. “I’ll meet you by the ticket wagon if I don’t get back here, Teddy,” he said.

CHAPTER X

Phil Gets a Surprise

“Where will I find Mr. Sparling?”

“In the doghouse.”

“Where’s that?”

“Out back of the ticket wagon. It’s a little A tent, and we call it the boss’s doghouse, because it’s only big enough to hold a couple of St. Bernards.”

“Oh! What does he want of me?”

“Ask him,” grinned the attendant, who, it developed, was an usher in the reserved-seat section. “He don’t tell us fellows his business. Say, that was a great stunt you did with Emperor.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“I do. There’s the doghouse over there. See it?”

“Yes, thank you.”

The attendant leaving him, Phil walked on alone to Mr. Sparling’s private office, for such was the use to which he put the little tent that the usher had called the “doghouse.”

“I wonder what he can want of me?” mused Phil. “Probably he wants to thank me for stopping that pony. I hope he doesn’t. I don’t like to be thanked. And it wasn’t much of anything that I did anyway. Maybe he’s going to—but what’s the use of guessing?”

The lad stepped up to the tent, the flaps of which were closed. He stretched out his hand to knock, then grinned sheepishly.

“I forgot you couldn’t knock at a tent door. I wonder how visitors announce themselves, anyway.”

His toe, at that moment, chanced to touch the tent pole and that gave him an idea. Phil tapped against the pole with his foot.

“Come in!” bellowed the voice of the owner of the show.

Phil entered, hat in hand. At the moment the owner was busily engaged with a pile of bills for merchandise recently purchased at the local stores, and he neither looked up nor spoke.

Phil stood quietly waiting, noting amusedly the stern scowl that appeared to be part of Mr. Sparling’s natural expression.

“Well, what do you want?” he demanded, with disconcerting suddenness.

“I—I was told that you had sent for me, that you wanted to see me,” began the lad, with a show of diffidence.

“So I did, so I did.”

The showman hitched his camp chair about so he could get a better look at his visitor. He studied Phil from head to foot with his usual scowl.

“Sit down!”

“On the ground, sir?”

“Ground? No, of course not. Where’s that chair? Oh, my lazy tent man didn’t open it. I’ll fire him the first place we get to where he won’t be likely to starve to death. I hear you’ve been trying to put my show out of business.”

“I wasn’t aware of it, sir,” replied Phil, looking squarely at his questioner. “Perhaps I was not wholly blameless in attaching myself to Emperor.”

“Huh!” grunted Mr. Sparling, but whether or not it was a grunt of disapproval, Phil could not determine.

“So you’re not living at home?”

“I have no home now, sir.”

“Just so, just so. Brought up in refined surroundings, parents dead, crabbed old uncle turned you out of doors for reasons best known to himself—”

Phil was amazed.

“You seem to know all about me, sir.”

“Of course. It’s my business to know something about everything. I ought to thank you for getting Mrs. Sparling out of that mix-up this morning, but I’ll let her do that for herself. She wants to see you after the performance.”

“I don’t like to be thanked, Mr. Sparling, though I should like to know Mrs. Sparling,” said Phil boldly.

“Neither do I, neither do I. Emperor has gone daffy over you. What did you feed him?”

“Some sugar and peanuts. That was all.”

“Huh! You ought to be a showman.”

“I have always wanted to be, Mr. Sparling.”

“Oh, you have, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, why don’t you?”

“I have never had the opportunity.”

“You mean you’ve never looked for an opportunity. There are always opportunities for everything, but we have to go after them. You’ve been going after them today for the first time, and you’ve nailed one of them clear up to the splice of the center pole. Understand?”

“Not entirely, sir.”

“Well, do you want to join out with the Great Sparling Combined Shows, or don’t you?”

“You mean—I join the—the—”

Mr. Sparling was observing him narrowly.

“I said, would you like to join our show?”

“I should like it better than anything else in the world.”

“Sign this contract, then,” snapped the showman, thrusting a paper toward Phil Forrest, at the same time dipping a pen in the ink bottle and handing it to him.

“You will allow me to read it first, will you not?”

“Good! That’s the way I like to hear a boy talk. Shows he’s got some sense besides what he’s learned in books at some—well, never mind.”

“What—what is this, ten dollars a week?” gasped Phil, scarcely able to believe his eyes as he looked at the paper.

“That’s what the contract says, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then, that’s what it is. Traveling expenses and feed included. You are an easy keeper?”

“Well, I don’t eat quite as much as a horse, if that’s what you mean,” laughed Phil.

“Huh!”

After reading the contract through, the lad affixed his signature to it with trembling hand. It was almost too good to be true.

“Thank you, sir,” he said, laying the paper before Mr. Sparling.

“And now, my lad,” added the showman more mildly, “let me give you some advice. Some folks look upon circus people as rough and intemperate. That day’s past. When a man gets bad habits he’s of no further use in the circus business. He closes mighty quick. Remember that.”

“Yes, sir. You need not worry about my getting into any such trouble.”

“I don’t, or I wouldn’t take you. And another thing: Don’t get it into your head, as a good many show people do, that you know more about running the business than the boss does. He might not agree with you. It’s a bad thing to disagree with the boss, eh?”

“I understand, sir.”

“You’d better.”

“What do you want me to do? I don’t know what I can do to earn that salary, but I am willing to work at whatever you may put me to—”

“That’s the talk. I was waiting for you to come to that. But leave the matter to me. You’ll have a lot of things to do, after you get your bearings and I find out what you can do best. As it is, you have earned your salary for the first season whether you do anything else or not. You saved the big cat and you probably saved my wife’s life, but we’ll let that pass. When can you join out?”

“I’m ready now, sir. I shall want to go home and get my things and my books.”

“Huh! That’s right. Take your time. We shan’t be pulling out of here till after midnight, so you’d better go home and get ready. You’ll want to bid good-bye to Mrs. Ca—Ca—Cahill.”

“I wonder if there is anything that he doesn’t know about,” marveled Phil.

“Anything you want to ask me about—any favor you’d like? If there is, get it out.”

“Well, yes, there is, but I scarcely feel like asking it, you have been so kind to me.”

“Shucks!”

“I—I have a little friend, who—who, like myself, has no parents and is crazy over the circus. He wants to be a circus man just as much as I do. If you had a place—if you could find something for him to do, I should appreciate it very much.”

“Who is he, that youngster with the clown face, who crawled in under the tent this afternoon?”

Phil laughed outright.

“I presume so. That’s the way he usually gets in.”

“Where is he now?”

“Seeing the performance, sir.”

“Nail him when he comes out. We’ll give him all the show he wants.”

With profuse thanks Phil Forrest backed from the tent and walked rapidly toward the entrance. It seemed to him as if he were walking on air.

“Let that boy through. He’s with the show now,” bellowed Mr. Sparling, poking his head from the doghouse tent.

The gateman nodded.

“How soon will the performance be over?” inquired Phil, approaching the gateman.

“Ten minutes now.”

“Then, I guess I won’t go in. I promised to meet Teddy over by the ticket wagon anyway.”

But Phil could not stand still. Thrusting his hands in his pockets he began pacing back and forth, pondering deeply. He did not observe the shrewd eyes of Mr. Sparling fixed upon him from behind the flap of the little tent.

“At last, at last!” mused Phil. “I’m a real live showman at last, but what kind of a showman I don’t know. Probably they’ll make me help put up the tents and take them down. But, I don’t care. I’ll do anything. And think of the money I’ll earn. Ten dollars a week!” he exclaimed, pausing and glancing up at the fluttering flags waving from center and quarter poles. “Why, it’s a fortune! I shall be able to save most all of it, too. Oh, I’m so happy!”

“They’re coming out,” called the gateman to him.

“Thank you.”

Phil’s face was full of repressed excitement when Teddy came slouching up to him.

“Bully show,” announced the lad. “Didn’t know which way to look, there was so much to be seen.”

“How would you like to join the show and be a real circus man?” demanded Phil.

“Great!”

“Maybe I can fix it for you.”

“You?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t give me such a shock, Phil. You said it almost as if you meant it.”

“And I did.”

Teddy gazed at his companion for a full minute.

“Something’s been going on, I guess—something that I don’t seem to know anything about.”

“There has, Teddy. I’m already a showman. You come with me. Mr. Sparling wants to speak with you. Don’t be afraid of him. He talks as if he was mad all the time, but I’m sure he isn’t.”

Grasping Teddy by the arm Phil rushed him into Mr. Sparling’s tent, entering this time without knocking.

“This is my friend whom I spoke to you about,” announced Phil, thrusting Teddy up before the showman.

Mr. Sparling eyed the lad suspiciously.

“Want to join out, too, eh?”

“I—I’d like to,” stammered Teddy.

“Do your parents approve of your going with a show?”

“I—I don’t know, sir.”

“You’d better find out, then. Ask them mighty quick. This is no camp meeting outfit that plays week stands.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause they’re dead.”

“Huh! Why didn’t you say so before?”

“You didn’t ask me.”

“You’re too smart, young man.”

“Takes a smart man to be a circus man, doesn’t it?”

“I guess you’re right at that,” answered the showman, his stern features relaxing into a smile. “You’ll do. But you’d better not hand out that line of sharp talk in bunches when you get with the show. It might get you into trouble if you did.”

“Yes, sir; I’ll be good.”

“Now, you boys had better run along and make your preparations. You may take your supper in the cook tent tonight if you wish. But you will have to be on hand promptly, as they take down the cook tent first of all.”

“Thank you; we will,” answered Phil.

“What act—what do I perform?” questioned Teddy, swelling with pride.

“Perform?”

“Yes.”

“Ho, ho, ho!”

“I’m going to be a performer and wear pink pants, ain’t I?”

“A performer? Oh, that’s too good. Yes, my son, you shall be a performer. How would you like to be a juggler?”

“Fine!”

“Then, I think I’ll let you juggle the big coffeepot in the cook tent for the edification of the hungry roustabouts,” grinned Mr. Sparling.

“What do I do?”

“Do, young man—do?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Why, you stand by the coffee boiler in the cook tent, and when you hear a waiter bawl ‘Draw one,’ at the same time throwing a pitcher at you from halfway across the tent, you catch the pitcher and have it filled and ready for him by the time he gets to you.”

“Do I throw the pitcherful of coffee back at him?” questioned Teddy innocently.

“You might, but you wouldn’t be apt to try it a second time. You’d be likely to get a resounding slap from the flat of his hand—”

“I’d hit him on the nose if he did,” declared Teddy belligerently.

Mr. Sparling could not resist laughing.

“That’s not the way to begin. But you will learn. Follow your friend Phil, here, and you will be all right if I am any judge of boys. I ought to be, for I have boys of my own. You’d better be going now.”

The two lads started off at a brisk pace. Phil to tell Mrs. Cahill of his good fortune. Teddy to bid good-bye to the people with whom he had been living as chore boy.

CHAPTER XI

The First Night With the Show

“Teddy, you and I are a pair of lucky boys. Do you know it?” asked Phil.

Each, with his bag of belongings, was on his way to the circus lot, the boys having bid good-bye to their friends in the village.

The people with whom Teddy lived had given a reluctant consent to his going with the circus, after he had explained that Phil Forrest had gotten him the place and that Phil himself was going to join the show. The lad told them he was going to make a lot of money and that someday he would pay them for all they had done for him. And he kept his word faithfully.

“Maybe. I reckon Barnum & Bailey will be wanting us first thing we know,” answered Teddy.

“We shall be lucky if we hold on to the job we have already. Did Mr. Sparling say what he would pay you?”

“No, he didn’t think of that—at least I didn’t. Did he tell you how much you were going to get?”

Phil nodded.

“How much?”

“I don’t think I had better say,” answered the lad doubtfully. “If you ask him and he tells you, of course that will be all right. I shall be glad to do so then. It isn’t that I don’t want you to know, you understand, but it might be better business, just now, to say nothing about it,” added Phil, with a wisdom far beyond his years.

“Dark secret, eh?” jeered Teddy Tucker.

“No; there’s no secret about it. It is just plain business, that’s all.”

“Business! Huh! Who ever heard of a circus being business?”

“You’ll find business enough when you get in, Teddy Tucker.”

“Don’t believe it. It’s just good fun and that’s all.”

They had reached the circus lot by this time and were now making their way to Mr. Sparling’s tent.

“We have come to report, sir,” announced Phil, entering the tent with Teddy close behind him. “We are ready for work.”

There was a proud ring in Phil Forrest’s voice as he made the announcement.

“Very well, boys. Hand your baggage over to the man at the baggage wagon. If there is anything in either of your grips that you will want during the night you had better get it out, for you will be unable to get into the wagon after the show is on the road. That’s one of the early wagons to move, too.”

“I guess there is nothing except our tooth brushes and combs that we shall need. We have those in our pockets.”

“Better take a couple of towels along as well.”

“Yes, sir; thank you.”

“The cook tent is open. Go over and have your suppers now. Wait a moment, I’ll go with you. They might not let you in. You see, they don’t know you there yet.”

Mr. Sparling, after closing and locking his trunk, escorted the lads to the cook tent, where he introduced both to the manager of that department.

“Give them seats at the performers’ table for tonight,” he directed. “They will be with the show from now on. Mr. Forrest here will remain at that table, but the other, the Tucker boy, I shall probably turn over to you for a coffee boy.”

The manager nodded good naturedly, taking quick mental measure of the two lads.

The boys were directed to their seats, which they took, almost as if in a dream. It was a new and unfamiliar experience to them. The odor of the food, the sweet scents from the green grass underneath their feet, all so familiar to the showman, gave Phil and Teddy appetites that even a canvasman might have envied.

The performers glanced at them curiously, some of the former nodding to Phil, having recognized in him the boy who had ridden the elephant into the arena in the grand entry.

“Not so much after all, are they?” grunted Teddy.

“They are all human beings like ourselves, I guess,” replied Phil.

Stripped of their gaudy costumes and paint, the performers looked just like other normal beings. But instead of talking about the show and their work, they were discussing the news of the day, and it seemed to the two lads to be more like a large family at supper than a crowd of circus performers.

Rodney Palmer nodded good naturedly to them from further up the long table, but they had no more than time to nod back when a waiter approached to take their orders. Teddy ordered pretty much everything on the bill, while Phil was more modest in his demands.

“Don’t eat everything they have,” he warned laughingly.

“Plenty more where this came from. That’s one good thing about a show.”

“What’s that?”

“If the food gives out they can eat the animals.”

“Better look out that the animals don’t make a meal of you.”

“Joining out?” asked the man sitting next to Phil.

“Yes, sir.”

“Ring act?”

“I don’t know yet what I am to do. Mr. Sparling is giving me a chance to find out what I am good for, if anything,” smiled Phil.

“Boss is all right,” nodded the circus man. “That was a good stunt you did this afternoon. Why don’t you work that up?”

“I—I’ll think about it.” Phil did not know exactly what was meant by the expression, but it set him to thinking, and out of the suggestion he was destined to “work up” something that was really worthwhile, and that was to give him his first real start in the circus world.

“What’s that funny-looking fellow over there doing?” interrupted Teddy.

“That man down near the end of the table?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Billy Thorpe, the Armless Wonder,” the performer informed him.

“And he hasn’t any hands?” wondered the boy.

“Naturally not, not having any arms. He uses his feet for hands.”

“What’s he doing now?”

“Eating with his feet. He can use them almost as handily as you can your hands. You should see Billy sew, and write and do other things. Why, they say he writes the best foot of anybody in the show.”

“Doesn’t he ever get cold feet?” questioned Teddy humorously.

“Circus people are not afflicted with that ailment. Doesn’t go well with their business.”

“May I ask what you do?” inquired Phil.

“I am the catcher in the principal trapeze act. You may have seen me today. I think you were in the big top then.”

“Oh, yes, I saw you this afternoon.”

“How many people are with the show?” asked Teddy.

“At a rough guess, I should say a hundred and fifty including canvasmen and other labor help. It’s a pretty big organization for a road show, the biggest in the country; but it’s small, so small it would be lost if one of the big railroad shows was around.”

“Is that another armless or footless wonder next to Billy Thorpe?” asked Teddy.

“It’s a freak, yes, but with hands and feet. That’s the living skeleton, but if he keeps on eating the way he’s been doing lately the boss will have to change the bills and bill him as the fattest man on earth.”

“Huh!” grunted Teddy. “He could crawl through a rat hole in a barn door now. He’s thin enough to cut cheese with.”

Phil gave his companion a vigorous nudge under the table.

“You’ll get into trouble if you are so free in expressing your opinions,” he whispered. “Don’t forget the advice Mr. Sparling gave you.”

“Apple or custard pie?” broke in the voice of the waiter.

“Custard,” answered Phil.

“Both for mine,” added Teddy.

He got what he had ordered and without the least question, for the Sparling show believed that the best way to make its people contented was to feed them.

Mr. Sparling and his assistants, Phil observed, occupied a table by themselves. After he had finished the owner motioned to him to join them, and there Mrs. Sparling made a place for him by her side and thanked him briefly but warmly for his brave act.

“I shall have to keep an eye on you two boys,” she smiled. “Any time I can help you with advice or otherwise you come right to me. Don’t you be backward about doing so, will you?”

Phil assured her that he would not.

The two lads after some further conversation strolled from the cook tent.

“I think I’ll go in and see how the animals are getting along,” decided Phil, beginning to realize that he was free to go where he would and without fear of being ordered off.

Already people were gathering in front of the entrance for the night performance. The doors were advertised to open at seven o’clock, so that the spectators might have plenty of time in which to view the collection of “rare and wonderful beasts, gathered from the remote places of the earth,” as the announcer proclaimed from the vantage point of a dry goods box.

Phil bought a bag of peanuts and took them in to his friend Emperor, the beast uttering a shrill cry of joy when he saw Phil approaching.

“I’ll try to teach him my whistle,” said the boy, puckering his lips and giving the signal that the boys of his school used in summoning each other.

“Think he’ll remember that, Mr. Kennedy?” he asked of the trainer.

“Never forget it, will you, Emperor?”

The elephant coughed.

“Never forgets anything. Knows more than any man in the show now, because he has lived longer.”

“How old is he?”

“Close to a hundred.”

“You don’t say?” marveled Teddy. “Hope I’ll be able to squeal as loud as that when I’m a hundred. Has he got a hole through his trunk?”

“Not that anybody knows of.”

“Come on; I want to see the fellow tame the tiger. I missed that today, because he didn’t do it at the afternoon show.”

They found Mr. Sparling standing in front of the cage. He, too, was there to watch the performance.

“This looks to me like ready money,” he observed to Phil, nodding his head toward the people who were crowding into the tent.

“Mr. Forrest, will you ride Emperor in again tonight? I think that’s one of the reasons they have come here,” said the showman, shrewdly grasping the least thing that would tend to popularize his show.

“Certainly, sir. I shall enjoy it very much.”

They now turned their attention to the cage where the trainer had begun with the savage tiger.

“Bengal is in an ugly temper about something tonight,” announced Mr. Sparling in a low tone. “Better be careful, Bob,” he cautioned, after having stepped up close to the cage.

“I’ll take care of him,” answered the trainer, without taking his eyes from the beast for the fraction of a second.

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.

Not a word did the performer speak, but his hand rained blows on the nose, while snarl after snarl was spit from between Bengal’s gleaming teeth.

The trainer was edging slowly toward the door. He knew that nothing could be done with the beast in its present state of terrible temper.

His only hope was that at a favorable moment, when the attendants came with their long, iron bars, he might be able to spring from the door at his back, which he was trying to reach.

Phil’s mind was working like an automatic machine. He saw now what the trainer was attempting to do, and was seeking for some means of helping the man. But what could a slender boy hope to do against the power of a great, savage brute like Bengal?

Phil concluded there was nothing.

A pistol flashed almost in the face of the two lads. Mr. Sparling had started away on a run to fetch the attendants who either had not heard or failed to heed his call.

“What did he do that f-f-for?” stammered Teddy.

“To drive the tiger back. It was a blank cartridge that he fired. I think the tiger is going to attack him. Yes, there he goes! Oh, that’s terrible!”

The trainer had been forced against the bars at the back of the cage by the animal, whose length was more than the width of the cage itself.

In an unsuspected moment the beast had sprung upon the unfortunate man, and with one sweep of his powerful paw had laid the man low.

With a growl of savage joy, the brute settled back against the bars of the cage near which the lads were standing.

Women shrieked and men grew pale as they stood helpless to do aught to avert the impending tragedy.

Teddy slipped out from under the rope, his face ashen gray. But Phil stood his ground. He felt that he must do something.

Then his opportunity came. The beast’s great silken tail popped out through the bars against which he was backing.

Phil Forrest, without an instant’s thought of the danger into which he was placing himself, sprang forward.

His hands closed over the tail, which he twisted about his right arm in a flash, at the same time throwing up his feet and bracing them against a wheel of the wagon.

No sooner had he done so than Bengal, uttering a frightful roar, whirled. The force of the jerk as the brute turned hurled Phil Forrest against the bars of the cage with a crash, and Bengal’s sharp-clawed feet made a vicious sweep for the body of the lad pressed so tightly against the bars.

CHAPTER XII

A Thrilling Rescue

“Open the door and let the man out!” shouted Phil, with great presence of mind. But no one seemed to have the power to move.

One sweep of the powerful claw and one side of the lad’s clothes was literally stripped from him, though he had managed to shrink back just far enough to save himself from the needle like claws of the tiger.

At this moment men came rushing from other parts of the tent. Some bore iron rods, while two or three carried tent poles and sticks—anything that the circus men could lay their hands upon.

Mr. Sparling was in the lead of the procession that dashed through the crowd, hurling the people right and left as they ran.

With every spring of the tiger Phil was being thrown against the bars with terrific force, but still he clung to the tail that was wrapped about his arm, hanging on with desperate courage.

Though the lad was getting severe punishment, he was accomplishing just what he had hoped for—to keep Bengal busy until help arrived to liberate the unconscious trainer, who lay huddled against the bars on the opposite side of the cage.

“Poke one of the tent poles in to him and let him bite it!” roared Mr. Sparling. “Half a dozen of you get around behind the cage and when we have his attention one of you pull Bob out. Keep your poles in the opening when you open the door, so Bengal doesn’t jump out. Everybody stand back!”

The commands of the showman came out like so many explosions of a pistol. But it had its effect. His men sprang to their work like machines.

In the meantime Mr. Sparling himself had grabbed the tail of the beast, taking a hold higher up than Phil’s.

“Pull the boy off. He’s hanging on like a bull dog. If you had half his sense you’d have put a stop to this mix-up minutes ago.”

Teddy by this time had gotten in under the ropes again, and, grasping his companion about the waist, he held on until he had untwisted the tiger’s tail from his companion’s arm and released Phil, staggering back with his burden against the rope.

Phil’s limp body, the moment Teddy let go of him, collapsed in a heap.

The circus men were too busy at the moment to notice him. One of the men had thrust a short tent pole between the bars. Bengal was upon it like an avalanche.

Biting, clawing, uttering fierce growls, he tore the hard wood into shreds, the man at the other end poking at the beast with all his might.

Cautiously the rear door of the cage was opened. Two men grasped Bob by the shoulders and hauled him out with a quick pull.

The crowd shouted in approval.

“All out! Let go!” shouted Mr. Sparling.

It took the strength of two men to pull the tent pole from Bengal’s grip. The instant he lost the pole the beast whirled and pounced upon the spot where he had left his victim.

Finding that he had lost his prey, the savage beast uttered roar upon roar, that made every spectator in the tent tremble and draw back, fearing the animal would break through the bars and attack them.

“Where’s that boy?”

“Here he is, and I guess he’s hurt,” answered Teddy.

“Give him to me. I’ll get him outside where we can get some decent air into him. Is he much hurt?”

“I—I don’t know.”

The showman grabbed Phil, and as a helper lifted the bottom of the tent’s side wall, Mr. Sparling ran to his own small tent with the unconscious Phil.

“Fetch a pail of water.”

Teddy ran for the cook tent to get the water. He was amazed to find no cook tent there. Instead, there remained only the open plot of grass, trampled down, with a litter of papers and refuse scattered about.

By the time he had dashed back to the tent to inquire where he could find a pail, one of the showmen had brought some water and Mr. Sparling was bathing Phil’s face with it.

He had made a hasty examination of the unconscious boy’s wounds, which he did not believe were serious.

Phil soon came to, and by that time the show’s doctor had arrived, having been in attendance on the wounded animal trainer.

“No; he’ll be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing dangerous about those scratches, I should say. I’ll dress the wounds and he can go on about his business,” was the surgeon’s verdict.

“I’ve got to ride Emperor in tonight,” objected Phil.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll get into my wagon and go to bed. That’s what you will do, and right quick, at that.”

“But,” urged the lad, “the people will all think I am seriously hurt if they see no more of me. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for me to show myself? They are liable to be uneasy all through the performance. If I show myself they will settle down and forget all about it in a few minutes.”

Mr. Sparling turned to his assistant with a significant nod.

“I told you that boy was a natural born showman. You can’t stop that kind with a club. Can you stand up alone?”

“Yes.”

Phil scrambled to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the table.

“I’ll be all right after I walk about a bit. How long before the elephants go in?”

“You’ve got fifteen minutes yet.”

“Then I may go on?”

“Yes, yes, go on. You’ll never be satisfied if you don’t. But I ought to take you over my knee and give you a sound walloping.”

“Thank you. How is Mr.—Mr.—the trainer?”

“He isn’t badly hurt, thanks to your presence of mind, young man,” answered the surgeon.

“That makes two people you’ve saved today, Forrest,” emphasized Mr. Sparling. “We will call that a day’s work. You have earned your meal ticket. Better run back to the dressing tent and ask them to fix up some clothes for you. Ask for Mrs. Waite, the wardrobe woman. Teddy Tucker, you run in and tell Mr. Kennedy, who has charge of the elephants, that Phil will ride tonight, and to wait until he gets in.”

Both boys hurried away on their respective missions. All that Mrs. Waite had that would come anywhere near fitting Phil was a yellow robe that looked like a night gown. Phil grinned as he tucked it under his arm and hurried back to the menagerie tent. As he passed through the “big top” he saw that it was filling up rapidly.

“I guess we are going to have a good house tonight,” muttered the lad with a pleased smile. It did not occur to him that he himself was responsible for a large part of the attendance—that the part he had played in the exciting incidents of the day had done more to advertise the Great Sparling Combined Shows than any other one factor.

“I am all ready, Mr. Kennedy,” announced Phil, running to the elephant quarters. The horns were blowing the signal for the grand entry, so the lad grasped the head harness, as Emperor stooped, and was quickly hoisted to the position in which he would enter the ring.

When the people saw that it was indeed Phil they set up a great shout. The lad was pale but resolute. As he went through the performance, his wounds smarted frightfully. At times the pain made him dizzy.

But Phil smiled bravely, waving his hands to the cheering people.

After the finish of the act Mr. Kennedy headed the elephants into the concourse, the open space between the rings and the seats, making a complete circuit of the tent, so that all might see Phil Forrest.

“This is a kind of farewell appearance, you know,” grinned Kennedy. And so the audience took it.

The lad’s former companions shouted all manner of things to him.

“Good-bye, Phil!”

“Don’t stick your head in the lion’s mouth.”

“Be careful when you twist the tiger’s tail. Better put some salt on it before you do.”

“We’ll look out for Uncle Abner.”

Phil was grinning broadly as he rode back into the menagerie tent. Everybody in town now knew that he had joined the circus, which brought forth a variety of comments. Some said it would be the end of the boy, but Phil Forrest knew that a boy could behave himself with a circus just as well as in any other occupation, and so far as his observations went, the circus people were much better than some folks he knew at home.

No sooner had they gotten into the menagerie tent than a sudden bustle and excitement were apparent. Confused shouts were heard on all sides. Teams, fully harnessed, were being led into the tent, quarter-poles were coming down without regard to where they struck, everybody appearing to have gone suddenly crazy.

“They’re striking the tent,” nodded Mr. Kennedy, noting the boy’s wonderment. “You had better look out for yourself. Don’t stand in the way or you may get hurt,” he warned.

“Get the bulls out!” called a man, hurrying by.

“They’re getting,” answered Kennedy.

“What do they mean by that?”

“In circus parlance, the ‘bulls’ are the elephants. Where you going to ride tonight?”

“I don’t know. Hello, there’s my friend Teddy. I guess I had better attach myself to him or he may get lost.”

As a matter of fact, Phil was not sure where he was himself, activities were following each other with such surprising rapidity.

But the lads stuck to their ground until it was no longer safe to do so. Phil was determined to see all there was to be seen, and what he saw he remembered. He had no need to be told after that, providing he understood the meaning of a certain thing at first.

Observing that one man was holding to the peak rope, and that it was rapidly getting the best of him, both lads sprang to his assistance.

“That’s right, boys. That’s the way to do it. Always be ready to take advantage of every opening. You’ll learn faster that way, and you’ll both be full-fledged showmen before you know it.”

“O Mr. Sparling,” exclaimed Phil, after others had relieved them on the rope.

“Yes? What is it?”

“I have been wanting to see you, to ask what you wish us to do tonight—where we are to travel?”

“You may sleep in my wagon. I’ll take a horse for tonight.”

“I could not think of doing such a thing. No, Mr. Sparling, if I am to be a circus man, I want to do just as the rest of them do. Where do the other performers sleep?”

“Wherever they can find places. Some few of the higher paid ones have berths in wagons. Others sleep in the band wagon. The rest, I guess, don’t sleep at all, except after we get into a town. The menagerie outfit will be leaving town very soon now. You may go through with them if you wish.”

“If you do not object, I think I should prefer to remain until the rest of the show goes out.”

“Suit yourself.”

Mr. Sparling understood how the lads felt, and perhaps it would be better to let them break in at once, he reasoned. They would become seasoned much sooner.

The tent was taken down and packed away in the wagons in an almost incredibly short time.

“Come on; let’s go into the circus tent and see what’s going on there,” suggested Teddy.

Phil agreed, and the lads strolled in. They found the performance nearly over. When it was finished quite a large number remained to see the “grand concert” that followed.

While this was going on there was a crash and a clatter as the men ripped up and loaded the seats, piling them into waiting wagons that had been driven into the tent from the rear so as not to be in the way of the people going out.

“It’s more fun to watch the men work than it is to see the concert. That concert’s a bum show,” averred Teddy, thrusting his hands in his pockets and turning his back on the “grand concert.”

“I agree with you,” laughed Phil. “There’s nothing but the freaks there, and we’ll see them, after this, every time we go for our meals.”

“Have you been in the dressing tent yet?” asked Teddy.

“No, I haven’t had time. We’ll have to look in there tomorrow, though I don’t think they care about having people visit them unless they belong there. Just now we don’t. Do you start work in the cook tent tomorrow?”

“Yes. I am to be the champion coffee drawer. I expect they will have my picture on the billboards after a little. Wouldn’t I look funny with a pitcher of hot, steaming coffee in my hand leaping over a table in the cook tent?” and Teddy laughed heartily at the thought. “I’ll bet I’d make a hit.”

“You mean you would get hit.”

“Well, maybe.”

The boys hung about until the big top had disappeared from the lot. The tent poles and boxes of properties were being loaded on the wagons, while out on the field, the ring horses, performing ponies and the like stood sleeping, waiting for the moment when they should be aroused for the start.

“Come on, Teddy; let’s you and I go make up our beds.”

“Where are they?”

“We’ll have to ask the porter,” laughed Phil, who had traveled a little with his parents years before.

“It’s a shame that that old tiger has to have a cage all to himself. We could make up a fine bed if we had half of his cage and some blankets,” complained Teddy.

“Thank you. I should prefer to walk. I have had all the argument I want with that beast. Let’s go try the band wagon.”

“All right; that would be fine to sleep way up there.”

Laughing and chattering, the lads hunted about on the lot until they found the great glittering band wagon. Being now covered with canvas to protect it from the weather, they had difficulty in making it out, but finally they discovered it, off near the road that ran by the grounds. Four horses were hitched to it, while the driver lay asleep on the high seat.

“Where will we get in?”

“I don’t know, Teddy; we will climb up and find out.”

Getting on the rear wheel they pulled themselves up, and finding the canvas covering loose, threw it open. Teddy plumped in feet first.

Immediately there followed such a howling, such a snarling and torrent of invective that, startled as he was, Phil lost his balance on the wheel and fell off.

No sooner had he struck the ground than a dark figure came shooting from above, landing on him and nearly knocking all the breath out of his body.

Phil threw off the burden, which upon investigation proved to be Teddy Tucker.

“Wha—what happened?” stammered Phil. “Sounds as if we had gotten into a wild animal cage.”

“I—I walked on somebody’s face and he threw me out,” answered Teddy ruefully. Phil leaned against the wagon wheel and laughed until his throat ached.

“Get out of here! What do you mean?” bellowed an angry voice over their heads. “Think my face is a tight rope to be walked on by every Rube that comes along?”

“Come—come on away, Teddy. We made a mistake. We got into the wrong berth.”

“Here’s another wagon, Phil. They’re just hitching the horses. Let’s try this.”

“All right, it’s a canvas wagon. Go ahead, we’ll try it.”

“I’ve tried one wagon. It’s your turn now,” growled Teddy.

“I guess you’re right. If I get thrown out you catch me the same as I did you,” laughed Phil.

“Yes, you caught me, didn’t you?”

Phil climbed up, but with more caution than Teddy had exercised in the case of the band wagon.

“Anybody living in this bedroom tonight?” questioned Phil of the driver.

“Guess you are. First come first served. Pile in. You’re the kid that rode the bull, ain’t you?”

“And twisted the tiger’s tail,” added Teddy.

“All right. Probably some others will be along later, but I’ll see to it that they don’t throw you out.”

“Thank you. Come on up, Teddy; it’s all right.”

Teddy Tucker hastily scrambled up into the wagon which proved to be a canvas wagon—an open wagon, over which a canvas cover was stretched in case of storm only.

“Where’s the bed clothes?” demanded Teddy.

“I guess the skies will have to be our quilts tonight,” answered Phil.

The boys succeeded in crawling down between the folds of the canvas, however, and, snuggling close together, settled down for their first night on the road with a circus. Soon the wagons began to move in response to a chorus of hoarse shouts. The motion of the canvas wagon very soon lulled the lads to sleep, as the big wagon show slowly started away and disappeared in the soft summer night.

CHAPTER XIII

The Dawning of a New Day

“Hi! Stop the train! Stop the train!” howled Teddy, as he landed flat on his back on the hard ground.

“Here, here! What are you fellows doing?” shouted Phil, scrambling to his feet.

“I dreamed I was in a train of cars and they ran off the track,” said Teddy, struggling to his feet and rubbing his shins gingerly. “Did you do that?”

“You bet. Think I can wait for you kids to take your beauty sleep? Don’t you suppose this show’s got something else to do besides furnish sleeping accommodations for lazy kids? Take hold here, and help us get this canvas out if you want any breakfast.”

“Take it out yourself,” growled Teddy, dodging the flat of the canvasman’s hand.

The lads had been hurled from their sleeping place by a rough tentman in a hurry to get at his work. The chill of the early dawn was in the air. The boys stood, with shoulders hunched forward, shivering, their teeth chattering, not knowing where they were and caring still less. They knew only that they were most uncomfortable. The glamor was gone. They were face to face with the hardships of the calling they had chosen, though they did not know that it was only a beginning of those hardships.

“B-r-r-r!” shivered Teddy.

“T-h-h-h-at’s what I say,” chattered Phil.

“Say, are you kids going to get busy, or do you want me to help you to?”

Phil did not object to work, but he did not like the way the canvasman spoke to them.

“I guess you’ll have to do your own work. Come on, Teddy; let’s take a run and warm ourselves up.”

Hand in hand the lads started off across the field. The field was so dark that they could scarcely distinguish objects about them. Here and there they dodged wagons and teams that stood like silent sentinels in the uncertain light.

“Turn a little, Teddy. We’ll be lost before we know it, if we don’t watch out—”

“Ouch! We’re lost already!”

The ground seemed suddenly to give way beneath them. Both lads were precipitated into a stream of water that stretched across one end of the circus lot.

Shouting and struggling about they finally floundered to the bank, drenched from head to foot. If they had been shivering before, they were suffering from violent attacks of ague now.

“Whew! I’m freezing to death!” cried Phil.

“I feel like the North Pole on Christmas morning,” added Teddy. “I wish I was home, so I could thaw out behind the kitchen stove.”

“Brace up, Teddy. This is only the beginning of the fun. We shall have worse experiences than this, late in the fall, when the weather gets cool; that is, if they do not get enough of us in the meantime and send us away.”

“I—I wish they would send us home now.”

“Come now; we’ve got to run again. We shall surely take our death of cold, if we stand here much longer.”

“Run? No, thank you. I’ve had one run.”

“And you don’t want another? Is that it?”

“Not I.”

“Don’t know as I blame you. Well, if you don’t want to run, just stand in one place and jump up and down. Whip your hands, and you’ll see how soon it will start your blood to circulating,” advised Phil, who immediately proceeded to put his own theory into execution. “That feel better?”

“Yes, some,” replied Teddy, rather doubtfully. “But I could be warmer. I wonder what time the cook tent will be up.”

“That’s an idea. Suppose we go over and find out?”

“Yes, but where is it?”

“I don’t know. But we won’t find it if we stand here.”

They started off again, this time exercising more caution as to where their feet touched. They had not gone far before they came upon some men who were driving small stakes in the ground, marking out the spot where one of the tents was to be pitched.

“Can you tell us where the cook tent is going up?” asked Phil politely.

“North side of the field,” grunted the man, not very good-naturedly.

“Which way is north?”

“Get a compass, get a compass,” was the discourteous answer.

“He’s a grouch. Come along,” urged Teddy Tucker.

A few moments later, attracted by a light that looked like a fire, the lads hurried toward it.

“Where will we find the cook tent?” questioned Phil again.

“Right here,” was the surprising answer.

“What time will it be ready?”

“About seven o’clock. What’s the matter, hungry?”

“More cold than hungry,” replied Phil, his teeth chattering.

“Got to get used to that. Come here. I’ve got something that will doctor you up in no time,” announced the man in a cheerful voice, so different from the answers the lads had received to their questions that morning, that they were suddenly imbued with new courage.

“What is it?” asked Phil.

“Coffee, my lad. We always make coffee the first thing when we get in, these chilly mornings. The men work much better after getting something warm inside them. Got a cup?”

They had not.

“Wait, I’ll get you one,” said the accommodating showman.

Never had anything tasted so good as did the coffee that morning. It was excellent coffee, too, and the boys drank two cups apiece.

“We mustn’t drink any more,” warned Phil.

“Why not?” wondered Teddy.

“Because we shall be so nervous that we shall not be able to work today. And, by the way, were I in your place, I should get busy here and help in the cook tent until you are told to do something else. I think it will make a good impression on Mr. Sparling.”

Teddy consented rather grudgingly.

“I’ll turn in and do something at the same time. What can we do to help you, sir? That coffee was very good.”

“Might get busy and unpack some dishes from those barrels. Be careful that you don’t break any of them.”

“All right. Where shall we put them?”

“Pile them on the ground, all the dishes of the same size together. Be sure to set a lantern by them so nobody falls over them in the dark.”

The boys, glad of some task to perform, began their work with a will. With something to do it was surprising how quickly they forgot their misfortunes. In a short time they were laughing and joking with the good-natured cooktent man and making the dishes fairly fly out of the barrels.

“Guess I’ll have to keep you two boys with my outfit,” grinned the showman.

“I think Mr. Sparling said my friend, Teddy here, was to work in the cook tent for the present.”

“All right, Mr. Teddy. There’s one thing about working in the cook tent that ought to please you.”

“What’s that?”

“You can piece between meals all you want to. If you are like most boys, you ought to have a good healthy appetite all the time, except when you are sleeping.”

“That’s right. I could eat an elephant steak now—right this minute. How long before breakfast?”

“Seven o’clock, I told you.”

“What time does Mr. Sparling get up?” inquired Phil.

“Up? Ask me what time he goes to bed. I can answer one question as well as the other. Nobody knows. He’s always around when you least expect him. There he is now.”

The owner was striding toward the cook tent for his morning cup of coffee.

“Good morning, sir,” greeted the boys, pausing in their work long enough to touch their hats, after which they continued unpacking the dishes.

“Morning, boys. I see you are up early and getting right at it. That’s right. No showman was ever made out of a sleepy-head. Where did you sleep last night?”

“In a wagon on a pile of canvas,” answered Phil.

“And they threw us out of bed this morning,” Teddy informed him, with a grimace.

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

“And we fell in a creek,” added Teddy.

“Well, well, you certainly are having your share of experiences.”

“Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Mr. Sparling?” asked Phil.

“Of course. You need not ask that question. What is it?”

“I think I ought to have some sort of a costume if I am to continue to ride Emperor in the grand entry.”

“H-m-m-m. What kind do you think you want?”

“Could I wear tights?”

Mr. Sparling was about to laugh, but one glance into the earnest eyes of Phil Forrest told him that the boy’s interest was wholly in wishing to improve the act—not for the sake of showing himself, alone.

“Yes, I think perhaps it might not be a bad idea. You go tell Mrs. Waite to fix you up with a suit. But I would prefer to have you wear your own clothes today.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

“I’ll tell you why. I telegraphed on to my advance man all about you last night, and what you did yesterday will be spread all over town here today. It will be a rattling good advertisement. You and the tiger are my best drawing cards today,” smiled Mr. Sparling.

“Glad I have proved of some use to you, sir.”

“Use? Use?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t be a fool!” exploded the showman, almost brutally.

Phil’s countenance fell.

“Don’t you understand, yet, that you already have been worth several thousand dollars to me?”

“I—I—”

“Well, don’t get a swelled head about it, for—”

“There is no danger of that, sir.”

“And you don’t have to potter around the cook tent working, either. That is, not unless you want to.”

“But, I do, Mr. Sparling. I want to learn everything there is to be learned about the show business,” protested Phil.

Mr. Sparling regarded him quizzically.

“You’ll do,” he said, turning away.

As soon as the dressing tent had been erected and the baggage was moved in, Phil hurried to the entrance of the women’s dressing tent and calling for Mrs. Waite, told her what was wanted.

She measured his figure with her eyes, and nodded understandingly.

“Think I’ve got something that will fit you. A young fellow who worked on the trapeze fell off and broke a leg. He was just about your size, and I guess his tights will be about right for you. Not superstitious, are you?”

Phil assured her he was not.

“You will be, after you have been in the show business a while. Wait, I’ll get them.”

Phil’s eyes glowed as he saw her returning with a suit of bright red tights, trunk and shirt to match.

“Oh, thank you ever so much.”

“You’re welcome. Have you a trunk to keep your stuff in?”

“No; I have only a bag.”

“I’ve got a trunk in here that’s not in use. If you want to drag it over to the men’s dressing tent you’re welcome to it.”

Phil soon had the trunk, which he hauled across the open paddock to the place where the men were settling their belongings. He espied Mr. Miaco, the head clown.

“Does it make any difference where I place my trunk, Mr. Miaco?”

“It does, my lad. The performers’ trunks occupy exactly the same position every day during the show year. I’ll pick out a place for you, and every morning when you come in you will find your baggage there. Let me see. I guess we’ll place you up at the end, next to the side wall of the dressing room. You will be more by yourself there. You’ll like that, won’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Going in in costume, today?”

“No, sir. Mr. Sparling thought I had better wear my own clothes today, for advertising purposes.”

Miaco nodded understandingly.

“Then you’ll want to fix up again. Been in the gutter?”

“I fell into a ditch in the darkness this morning,” grinned Phil.

“You’ll get used to that. Mr. Ducro, the ringmaster, carries a lantern with him so he won’t fall in, but none of the rest of us do. We call him Old Diogenes because he always has a lantern in his hand. If you’ll take off that suit I’ll put it in shape for you.”

“Undress—here?”

“Sure. You’ll have to get used to that.”

Phil retired to the further end of the tent where his trunk had been placed in the meantime, and there took off his clothes, handing them to the head clown. Mr. Miaco tossed the lad a bath robe, for the morning was still chilly.

“After you get broken in you will have to do all this for yourself. There’s nothing like the show business to teach a fellow to depend upon himself. He soon becomes a jack-of-all-trades. As soon as you can you’ll want to get yourself a rubber coat and a pair of rubber boots. We’ll get some beastly weather by-and-by.”

The good-natured clown ran on with much good advice while he was sponging and pressing Phil’s clothes. When he had finished, the suit looked as if it had just come from a tailor shop.

Phil thanked him warmly.

“Now, you and I will see about some breakfast.”

Reaching the cook tent, the first person Phil set eyes on was his chum, Teddy Tucker. Teddy was presiding over the big nickel coffeepot, his face flushed with importance. He was bossing the grinning waiters, none of whom found it in his heart to get impatient with the new boy.

CHAPTER XIV

An Unexpected Hit

“Another turn-away,” decided a ticket taker, casting his eyes over the crowds that had gathered for the afternoon performance.

“I guess Mr. Sparling knows his business pretty well,” mused Phil. “He knows how to catch the crowd. I wonder how many of them have come here to see me. How they would look and stare if they knew I was the kid that twisted the tiger’s tail.”

Phil’s color rose.

It was something for a boy who had been a circus performer for less than two days to have his name heralded ahead of the show as one of the leading attractions.

But Phil Forrest had a level head. He did not delude himself with any extravagant idea of his own importance. He knew that what he had done was purely the result of accident.

“I’ll do something, someday, that will be worthwhile,” he told himself.

Phil’s act that afternoon was fully as successful as it had been on the previous day back in his home town. Besides, he now had more confidence in himself. He felt that in a very short time he might be able to keep his feet on the elephant’s head without the support of Emperor’s trunk. That would be an achievement.

On this particular afternoon he rode with as much confidence as if he had been doing it all the season.

“You’ll make a performer,” encouraged Kennedy. “You’ve got the poise and everything necessary to make you a good one.”

“What kind, do you think?”

“Any old kind. Do you get dizzy when up in the air?”

“I don’t remember that I have ever been up much further than Emperor hoists me,” laughed Phil.

For the next two minutes the man and the boy were too busy with their act to continue their conversation. The audience was enthusiastic, and they shouted out Phil Forrest’s name several times, which made him smile happily.

“What would you advise me to do, Mr. Kennedy?” he asked as the elephants started to leave the ring, amid the plaudits of the spectators.

“Ever try the rings?”

“Yes, but not so high up as those that Rod and his partners perform on.”

“Height doesn’t make much difference. Get them to let the rings down so you can reach them, then each day raise them a little higher, if you find you can work on them.”

“Thank you. Perhaps I’ll try it this afternoon. I am anxious to be a real performer. Anybody could do this. Though it’s easy, I think I might work up this act of ours to make it rather funny.”

It will be observed that Phil was rapidly falling into the vernacular of the showman.

“If you’ve got any ideas we’ll thresh them out. Emperor will be willing. He’ll say yes to anything you suggest. What is it?”

“Don’t you think Mr. Sparling would object?”

“Not he. Wait till I get the bulls chained; then we’ll talk.”

After attending to his charges, Mr. Kennedy and Phil stepped behind the elephants and sat down on a pile of straw against the side walls of the menagerie tent.

Phil confided at length what he had in mind, Kennedy nodding from time to time as Phil made points that met with the trainer’s approval.

“Boy, you’ve got a head on you a yard wide. You’ll make your everlasting fortune. Why, I’d never even thought of that before.”

“Don’t you think I had better speak to Mr. Sparling?”

Kennedy reflected for a moment.

“Perhaps you had better do so. But you needn’t tell him what it is. We’ll give them a surprise. Let’s go see the property man and the carpenter. We’ll find out what they can do for us.”

Slipping out under the canvas, the two hurried back to the property room, an enclosure where all the costumes were kept, together with the armor used in the grand entry, and the other trappings employed in the show, known as properties.

Mr. Kennedy explained to the property man what was wanted. The latter called in the carpenter. After consulting for a few minutes, they decided that they could give the elephant trainer and his assistant what they sought.

“When will you have it ready?”

“Maybe in time for tonight’s performance, but I can’t promise for sure.”

“Thank you,” exclaimed Phil, hurrying away to consult with Mr. Sparling.

“I have been thinking out a plan to work up my part of the elephant act,” announced Phil, much to the owner’s surprise.

“You have, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What is it?”

“I was in hopes you wouldn’t ask me that. I wanted to surprise you.”

Mr. Sparling shook his head doubtfully.

“I’m afraid you haven’t had experience enough to warrant my trusting so important a matter to you,” answered the showman, knowing how serious a bungled act might be, and how it would be likely to weaken the whole show.

Phil’s face showed his disappointment.

“Mr. Kennedy says it will be a fine act. I have seen the property man and the carpenter, and they both think it’s great. They are getting my properties ready now.”

“So, so?” wondered the owner, raising his eyebrows ever so little. “You seem to be making progress, young man. Let’s see, how long have you been in the show business?” he reflected.

“Twenty-four hours,” answered Phil promptly.

Mr. Sparling grinned.

“M-m-m-m. You’re certainly getting on fast. Who told you you might give orders to my property man and my carpenter, sir?” the proprietor demanded, somewhat sternly.

“I took that upon myself, sir. I’m sure it would improve the act, even though I have not had as much experience as I might have. Will you let me try it?” demanded the boy boldly.

“I’ll think about it. Yes, I’ll think about it. H-m-m-m! H-m-m-m!”

Thus encouraged, Phil left his employer, going in to watch some of the other acts.

About that time Mr. Sparling found it convenient to make a trip back to the property man’s room, where he had quite a long talk with that functionary. The proprietor came away smiling and nodding.

About an hour later Phil sauntered out and passed in front of Mr. Sparling’s tent, hoping the showman would see him and call him in.

Phil was not disappointed. Mr. Sparling did that very thing.

“How’s that new act of yours coming along, young man?” he demanded.

“I have done no more than think it over since talking with you a little while ago. If the props are ready Mr. Kennedy and I will have a quiet rehearsal this afternoon. That is, if we can shoo everybody out of the tent and you are willing we should try it. How about it, sir?”

“I must say you are a most persistent young man.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And what if this act falls down flat? What then?”

“It mustn’t.”

“But if it does?”

“Then, sir, I’ll give up the show business and go back to Edmeston, where I’ll hire out to work on a farm. If I can’t do a little thing like this I guess the farm will be the best place for me.”

Phil was solemn and he meant every word he said. Mr. Sparling, however, unable to maintain his serious expression, laughed heartily.

“My boy, you are all right. Go ahead and work up your act. You have my full permission to do that in your own way, acting, of course, under the approval of Mr. Kennedy. He knows what would go with his bulls.”

“Thank you, thank you very much,” exclaimed Phil, impulsively. “I hope you will be pleasantly surprised.”

“I expect to be.”

Phil ran as fast as his legs would carry him to convey the good news to Mr. Kennedy. Active preparations followed, together with several hurried trips to the property room. The property man was getting along famously with his part of the plan, and both Phil and Mr. Kennedy approved of what had been done thus far.

According to programme, after the afternoon show had been finished and all the performers had gone to the cook tent the rehearsal took place in the menagerie tent. Faithful to his promise, Mr. Sparling kept away, but a pair of eyes representing him was peering through a pin-hole in the canvas stretched across the main opening where the ticket takers stood when at work.

“That’s great, kid! Great, you bet!” shouted Mr. Kennedy after a successful trial of their new apparatus.

With light heart, an expansive grin overspreading his countenance, the lad ran to the cook tent for his supper. He came near missing it as it was, for the cook was about to close the tent. Mr. Sparling, who was standing near the exit, nodded to the chief steward to give Phil and Mr. Kennedy their suppers.

“Well, did the rehearsal fall down?” he asked, with a quizzical smile on his face.

“It fell down, but not in the way you think,” laughed Phil happily.

No further questions were asked of him.

That night, when the grand entry opened the show to a packed house, a shout of laughter from the great assemblage greeted the entrance of old Emperor. Emperor was clad in a calico gown of ancient style, with a market basket tucked in the curl of his trunk. But the most humorous part of the long-suffering elephant’s makeup was his head gear.

There, perched jauntily to one side was the most wonderful bonnet that any of the vast audience ever had gazed upon. It was tied with bright red ribbons under Emperor’s chops with a collection of vari-colored, bobbing roses protruding from its top. Altogether it was a very wonderful piece of head gear.

The further the act proceeded the more the humor of Emperor’s makeup appeared to impress the audience. They laughed and laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks, while the elephant himself, appearing to share in the humor of the hour, never before had indulged in so many funny antics.

Mr. Kennedy, familiar with side-splitting exhibitions, forgot himself so far as actually to laugh out loud.

But where was Phil Forrest? Thus far everybody had been too much interested in the old lady with the trunk and the market basket to give a thought to the missing boy, though some of the performers found themselves wondering if he had closed with the show already.

Those of the performers not otherwise engaged at the moment were assembled inside the big top at one side of the bandstand, fairly holding their sides with laughter over old Emperor’s exhibition.

Standing back in the shadow of the seats, where the rays from the gasoline lamps did not reach, stood Mr. Sparling, a pleased smile on his face, his eyes twinkling with merriment. It was a good act that could draw from James Sparling these signs of approval.

The act was nearing its close.

The audience thought they had seen the best of it. But there was still a surprise to come—a surprise that they did not even dream of.

The time was at hand for the elephants to rear in a grand finale. An attendant quietly led Jupiter from the ring and to his quarters, Emperor making a circuit of the sawdust arena to cover the going of the other elephant and that there might be no cessation of action in the exhibition.

Emperor and his trainer finally halted, standing facing the reserved seats, as motionless as statues.

The audience sat silent and expectant. They felt that something still was before them, but what they had not the least idea, of course.

“Up, Emperor!” commanded Mr. Kennedy in a quiet voice. “All ready, Phil.”

The elephant reared slowly on its hind legs, going higher and higher, as it did in its regular performance.

As he went up, the bonnet on Emperor’s head was seen to take on sudden life. The old calico gown fell away from the huge beast at the same time, leaving him clothed in a brilliant blanket of white and gold.

But a long drawn “a-h-h-h,” rippled over the packed seats as the old elephant’s bonnet suddenly collapsed.

Out of the ruins rose a slender, supple figure, topping the pyramid of elephant flesh in a graceful poise. The figure, clad in red silk tights, appeared to be that of a beautiful girl.

The audience broke out into a thunder of approval, their feet drumming on the board seats sounding not unlike the rattle of musketry.

The girl’s hand was passed around to the back of her waist, where it lingered for an instant, then both hands were thrown forward just as a diver does before taking the plunge.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

“Fly!”

The young girl floated out and off from the elephant’s back, landing gently on her feet just outside the sawdust ring.

Emperor, at this juncture, threw himself forward on his forelegs, stretched out his trunk, encircling the performer’s waist and lifting her clear off the ground.

At that moment the supposed young woman stripped her blonde wig from her head, revealing the fact that the supposed girl was no girl at all. It was a boy, and that boy was Phil Forrest.

Emperor, holding his young friend at full length ahead of him, started rapidly for his quarters, Phil lying half on his side, appearing to be floating on the air, save for the black trunk that held him securely in its grip.

At this the audience fairly howled in its surprise and delight, but Phil never varied his pose by a hair’s breadth until Emperor finally set him down, flushed and triumphant, in the menagerie tent.

At that moment Phil became conscious of a figure running toward him.

He discovered at once that it was Mr. Sparling.

Grasping both the lad’s hands, the showman wrung them until it seemed to Phil as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets.

“Great, great, great!” cried the owner of the show.

“Did you like it?” questioned the blushing Phil.

“Like it? Like it? Boy, it’s the greatest act I ever saw. It’s a winner. Come back with me.”

“What, into the ring?”

“Yes.”

“But what shall I do?”

“You don’t have to do anything. You’ve done it already. Show yourself, that’s all. Hurry! Don’t you hear them howling like a band of Comanche Indians?”

“Y-yes.”

“They want you.”

By this time Mr. Sparling was fairly dragging Phil along with him. As they entered the big top the cheering broke out afresh.

Phil was more disturbed than ever before in his life. It seemed as though his legs would collapse under him.

“Buck up! Buck up!” snapped the showman. “You are not going to get an attack of stage fright at this late hour, are you?”

That was exactly what was the matter with Phil Forrest. He was nearly scared out of his wits, but he did not realize the nature of his affliction.

“Bow and kiss your hand to them,” admonished the showman.

Phil did so, but his face refused to smile. He couldn’t have smiled at that moment to save his life.

All at once he wrenched himself loose from Mr. Sparling’s grip, and ran full speed for the dressing tent. He had not gone more than a dozen feet before he tripped over a rope, landing on head and shoulders. But Phil was up like a rubber man and off again as if every animal in the menagerie was pursuing him.

The spectators catching the meaning of his flight, stood up in their seats and howled lustily.

Phil Forrest had made a hit that comes to few men in the sawdust arena.

CHAPTER XV

A Stroke of Good Fortune

“That was a knockout, kid,” nodded Mr. Miaco, with emphasis. “I’m laughing on the inside of me yet. I don’t dare let my face laugh, for fear the wrinkles will break through my makeup.”

“Thank you,” smiled Phil, tugging at his silk tights, that fitted so closely as to cause him considerable trouble in stripping them off.

“You’ll have the whole show jealous of you if you don’t watch out. But don’t get a swelled head—”

“Not unless I fall off and bump it,” laughed Phil. “Where do I wash?”

“You always want to get a pail of water before you undress.”

“Say, Phil, did you really fly?” queried Teddy, who was standing by eyeing his companion admiringly.

“Sure. Didn’t you see me?”

“I did and I didn’t. Will you show me how to fly like that?”

“ ’Course I will. You come in under the big top tomorrow after the show and I’ll give you a lesson.”

Teddy had not happened to observe the simple mechanical arrangement that had permitted the young circus performer to carry out his flying act.

“I reckon you ought to get a dollar a day for that stunt,” decided Teddy.

“Yes, I think so myself,” grinned Phil.

Teddy now turned his attention to Mr. Miaco, who, made up for his clown act in the ring, presented a most grotesque appearance.

“How do I look?” asked the clown, noting the lad’s observant gaze.

“You look as if you’d stuck your head in a flour barrel,” grunted Teddy.

“Ho ho,” laughed the clown. “I’ll have to try that on the audience. That’s a good joke. To look at you, one wouldn’t think it of you, either.”

“Oh, that’s nothing. I can say funnier things than that when I want to. Why—”

But their conversation was cut short by the band striking up the tune to which Mr. Miaco always entered the ring.

“Listen to me, kid. You’ll hear them laugh when I tell ’em the story,” he called back. And they did. The audience roared when the funny man told them what his young friend had said.

His work for the day having been finished, Phil bethought himself of his trunk, which had not yet been packed. His costume was suspended from a line in the dressing tent where many other costumes were hanging to air and dry after the strenuous labors of their owners.

Phil took his slender belongings down, shook them out well and laid them in the trunk that Mrs. Waite had given him. It was too late for Phil to get his bag from the baggage wagon, so with a grin he locked his tights and his wig in the trunk.

“Guess they won’t break their backs lifting that outfit,” he mused.

Phil then strolled in to watch the show. He found many new points of interest and much that was instructive, as he studied each act attentively and with the keenness of one who had been in the show business all his life.

“Someday I’ll have a show like this myself,” nodded the boy. He did not know that he expressed his thoughts aloud until he noticed that the people sitting nearest to him were regarding him with amused smiles.

Phil quickly repressed his audible comments.

The show was soon over; then came the noise and the confusion of the breaking up. The illusion was gone—the glamor was a thing of the past. The lad strolled about slowly in search of his companion, whom he eventually found in the dressing tent.

“Teddy, isn’t it about time you and I went to bed?” he asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Circus people sleep when there isn’t anything else to do. Where we going to sleep?”

“Same place, I presume, if no one gets ahead of us.”

“They’d better not. I’ll throw them out if they do.”

Phil laughed good-naturedly.

“If I remember correctly, somebody was thrown out last night and this morning, but it didn’t happen to be the other fellow. I’m hungry; wish I had something to eat.”

“So am I,” agreed Teddy.

“You boys should get a sandwich or so and keep the stuff in your trunk while we are playing these country towns. When we get into the cities, where they have restaurants, you can get a lunch downtown after you have finished your act and then be back in time to go out with the wagons,” Mr. Miaco informed them. “You’ll pick up these little tricks as we go along, and it won’t be long before you are full-fledged showmen. You are pretty near that point already.”

The lads strolled out on the lot and began hunting for their wagon. They found nothing that looked like it for sometime and had about concluded that the canvas wagon had gone, when they chanced to come across the driver of the previous night, who directed them to where they would find it.

“The wagon isn’t loaded yet. You’ll have to wait half an hour or so,” he said.

They thanked him and went on in the direction indicated, where they soon found that which they were in search of.

“I think we had better wait here until it is loaded,” advised Phil, throwing himself down on the ground.

“This having to hunt around over a ten-acre lot for your bedroom every night isn’t as much fun as you would think, is it?” grinned Teddy.

“Might be worse. I have an idea we haven’t begun to experience the real hardships of the circus life.” And indeed they had not.

Soon after that the wagon was loaded, and, bidding the driver a cheery good night, the circus boys tumbled in and crawled under the canvas.

They were awakened sometime before daylight by a sudden heavy downpour of rain. The boys were soaked to the skin, the water having run in under the canvas until they were lying in a puddle of water.

There was thunder and lightning. Phil scrambled out first and glanced up at the driver, who, clothed in oilskins, was huddled on his seat fast asleep. He did not seem to be aware that there was anything unusual about the weather.

“I wish I was home,” growled Teddy.

“Well, I don’t. Bad as it is, it’s better than some other things that I know of. I’ll tell you what I’ll do—I’ll get rubber coats for us both when we get in in the morning.”

“Got the money?”

“That’s so. I had forgotten that,” laughed Phil. “I never thought that I should need money to buy a coat with. We’ll have to wait until payday. I wonder when that is?”

“Ask Mr. Sparling.”

“No; I would rather not.”

“All right; get wet then.”

“I am. I couldn’t be any more so were I to jump in the mill pond at home,” laughed Phil.

Home! It seemed a long way off to these two friendless, or at least homeless, boys, though the little village of Edmeston was less than thirty miles away.

The show did not get in to the next town until sometime after daylight, owing to the heavy condition of the roads. The cook tent was up when they arrived and the lads lost no time in scrambling from the wagon. They did not have to be thrown out this morning.

“Come on,” shouted Phil, making a run for the protection of the cook tent, for the rain was coming down in sheets.

Teddy was not far behind.

“I’m the coffee boy. Where’s the coffee?” he shouted.

“Have it in a few minutes,” answered the attendant who had been so kind to them the previous morning. “Here, you boys, get over by the steam boiler there and dry out your clothes,” he added, noting that their teeth were chattering.

“Wish somebody would pour a pail of water over me,” shivered Teddy.

“Water? What for?”

“To wash the rain off. I’m soaked,” he answered humorously.

They huddled around the steam boiler, the warmth from which they found very comforting in their bedraggled condition.

“I’m steaming like an engine,” laughed Phil, taking off his coat and holding it near the boiler.

“Yes; I’ve got enough of it in my clothes to run a sawmill,” agreed Teddy. “How about that coffee?”

“Here it is.”

After helping themselves they felt much better. Phil, after a time, walked to the entrance of the cook tent and looked out. The same bustle and excitement as on the previous two days was noticeable everywhere, and the men worked as if utterly oblivious of the fact that the rain was falling in torrents.

“Do we parade today?” called Phil, observing Mr. Sparling hurrying past wrapped in oilskins and slouch hat.

“This show gives a parade and two performances a day, rain, shine, snow or earthquake,” was the emphatic answer. “Come over to my tent in half an hour. I have something to say to you.”

Phil ran across to Mr. Sparling’s tent at the expiration of half an hour, but he was ahead of time evidently, for the showman was not there. Nice dry straw had been piled on the ground in the little tent to take up the moisture, giving it a cosy, comfortable look inside.

“This wouldn’t be a half bad place to sleep,” decided Phil, looking about him. “I don’t suppose we ever play the same town two nights in succession. I must find out.”

Mr. Sparling bustled in at this point, stripping off his wet oilskins and hanging them on a hook on the tent pole at the further end.

“Where’d you sleep?”

“In wagon No. 10.”

“Get wet?”

“Very.”

“Humph!”

“We dried out in the cook tent when we got in. It might have been worse.”

“Easily satisfied, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know about that. I expect to meet with some disagreeable experiences.”

“You won’t be disappointed. You’ll get all that’s coming to you. It’ll make a man of you if you stand it.”

“And if I don’t?” questioned Phil Forrest, with a smile.

Mr. Sparling answered by a shrug of the shoulders.

“We’ll have to make some different arrangements for you,” he added in a slightly milder tone. “Can’t afford to have you get sick and knock your act out. It’s too important. I’ll fire some lazy, good-for-nothing performer out of a closed wagon and give you his place.”

“Oh, I should rather not have you do that, sir.”

“Who’s running this show?” snapped the owner.

Phil made no reply.

“I am. I’ll turn out whom I please and when I please. I’ve been in the business long enough to know when I’ve got a good thing. Where’s your rubber coat?” he demanded, changing the subject abruptly.

“I have none, sir. I shall get an outfit later.”

“No money, I suppose?”

“Well, no, sir.”

“Humph! Why didn’t you ask for some?”

“I did not like to.”

“You’re too modest. If you want a thing go after it. That’s my motto. Here’s ten dollars. Go downtown and get you a coat, and be lively about it. Wait a minute!” as Phil, uttering profuse thanks, started away to obey his employer’s command.

“Yes, sir.”

“About that act of yours. Did you think it out all yourself?”

“The idea was mine. Of course the property man and Mr. Kennedy worked it out for me. I should not have been able to do it alone.”

“Humph! Little they did. They wouldn’t have thought of it in a thousand years. Performers usually are too well satisfied with themselves to think there’s anything worthwhile except what they’ve been doing since they came out of knickerbockers. How’d you get the idea?”

“I don’t know—it just came to me.”

“Then keep on thinking. That act is worth real money to any show. How much did I say I’d pay you?”

“Ten dollars a week, sir.”

“Humph! I made a mistake. I won’t give you ten.”

Phil looked solemn.

“I’ll give you twenty. I’d give you more, but it might spoil you. Get out of here and go buy yourself a coat.”

CHAPTER XVI

His First Setback

“Tha—thank—”

“Out with you!”

Laughing, his face flushed with pride and satisfaction, Phil did move. Not even pausing to note what direction he should go, he hurried on toward the village, perhaps more by instinct than otherwise. He was too full of this wonderful thing that had come to him—success—to take note of his surroundings.

To Phil there was no rain. Though he already was drenched to the skin he did not know it.

All at once he pulled himself up sharply.

“Phil Forrest, you are getting excited,” he chided. “Now, don’t you try to make yourself believe you are the whole show, for you are only a little corner of it. You are not even a side show. You are a lucky boy, but you are going to keep your head level and try to earn your money. Twenty dollars a week! Why, it’s wealth! I can see Uncle Abner shaking his stick when he hears of it. I must write to Mrs. Cahill and tell her the good news. She’ll be glad, though I’ll warrant the boys at home will be jealous when they hear about how I am getting on in the world.”

Thus talking to himself, Phil plodded on in the storm until he reached the business part of the town. There he found a store and soon had provided himself with a serviceable rubber coat, a pair of rubber boots and a soft hat. He put on his purchases, doing up his shoes and carrying them back under his arm.

The parade started at noon. It was a dismal affair—that is, so far as the performers were concerned, and the clowns looked much more funny than they felt.

Mr. Miaco enlivened the spirits of those on the hayrack by climbing to the back of one of the horses drawing the clowns’ wagon, where he sat with a doll’s parasol over his head and a doll in his arms singing a lullaby.

The people who were massed along the sidewalks of the main street did not appear to mind the rain at all. They were too much interested in the free show being given for their benefit.

The show people ate dinner with their feet in the mud that day, the cook tent having been pitched on a barren strip of ground.

“This is where the Armless Wonder has the best of us today,” nodded Teddy, with his usual keen eye for humor.

“How is that?” questioned Mr. Miaco.

“ ’Cause he don’t have to put his feet in the mud like the rest of us do. He keeps them on the table. I wish I could put my feet on the table.”

Everybody within hearing laughed heartily.

In the tents there was little to remind one of the dismal weather, save for the roar of the falling rain on the canvas overhead. Straw had been piled all about on the ground inside the two large tents, and only here and there were there any muddy spots, though the odor of fresh wet grass was everywhere.

The afternoon performance went off without a hitch, though the performers were somewhat more slow than usual, owing to the uncertainty of the footing for man and beast. Phil Forrest’s exhibition was even more successful than it had been in the last show town. He was obliged to run back to the ring and show himself after having been carried from the tent by Emperor. This time, however, his stage fright had entirely left him, never to return. He was now a seasoned showman, after something less than three days under canvas.

The afternoon show being finished, and supper out of the way, Phil and Teddy returned to the big top to practice on the flying rings, which they had obtained permission to use.

Mr. Miaco, himself an all around acrobat, was on hand to watch their work and to offer suggestions. He had taken a keen interest in Phil Forrest, seeing in the lad the making of a high-class circus performer.

The rings were let down to within about ten feet of the sawdust ring, and one at a time the two lads were hoisted by the clown until their fingers grasped the iron rings.

With several violent movements of their bodies they curled their feet up, slipping them through the rings, first having grasped the ropes above the rings.

“That was well done. Quite professional,” nodded the clown. “Take hold of this rope and I will swing you. If it makes you dizzy, tell me.”

“Don’t worry; it won’t,” laughed Phil.

“Give me a shove, too,” urged Teddy.

“In a minute.”

Mr. Miaco began swinging Phil backwards and forwards, his speed ever increasing, and as he went higher and higher, Phil let himself down, fastening his hands on the rings that he might assist in the swinging.

“Now, see if you can get back in the rings with your legs.”

“That’s easy,” answered Phil, his breath coming sharp and fast, for he never had taken such a long sweep in the rings before.

The feat was not quite so easy as he had imagined. Phil made three attempts before succeeding. But he mastered it and came up smiling.

“Good,” cried the clown, clapping his hands approvingly.

“Give me another swing. I want to try something else.”

Having gained sufficient momentum, the lad, after reaching the point where the rings would start on their backward flight, permitted his legs to slip through the rings, catching them with his feet.

He swept back, head and arms hanging down, as skillfully as if he had been doing that very thing right along.

“You’ll do,” emphasized the clown. “You will need to put a little more finish in your work. I’ll give you a lesson in that next time.”

Teddy, not to be outdone, went through the same exhibition, though not quite with the same speed that Phil had shown.

It being the hour when the performers always gathered in the big top to practice and play, many of them stood about watching the boys work. They nodded their heads approvingly when Phil finished and swung himself to the ground.

Teddy, on his part, overrated his ability when it came to hanging by his feet.

“Look out!” warned half a dozen performers at once.

He had not turned his left foot into the position where it would catch and hold in the ring. Their trained eyes had noted this omission instantly.

The foot, of course, failed to catch, and Teddy uttered a howl when he found himself falling. His fall, however, was checked by a sharp jolt. The right foot had caught properly. As he swept past the laughing performers he was dangling in the air like a huge spider, both hands and one foot clawing the air in a desperate manner.

There was nothing they could do to liberate him from his uncomfortable position until the momentum of his swing had lessened sufficiently to enable them to catch him.

“Hold your right steady!” cautioned Miaco. “If you twist it you’ll take a beauty tumble.”

Teddy hadn’t thought of that before. Had Miaco known the lad better he would not have made the mistake of giving that advice.

Teddy promptly turned his foot.

He shot from the flying rings as if he had been fired from a cannon.

Phil tried to catch him, but stumbled and fell over a rope, while Teddy shot over his head, landing on and diving head first into a pile of straw that had just been brought in to bed down the tent for the evening performance.

Nothing of Teddy save his feet was visible.

They hauled him out by those selfsame feet, and, after disentangling him from the straws that clung to him, were relieved to find that he had not been hurt in the least.

“I guess we shall have to put a net under you. Lucky for you that that pile of straw happened to get in your way. Do you know what would have happened to you had it not been?” demanded Mr. Miaco.

“I—I guess I’d have made a hit,” decided Teddy wisely.

“I guess there is no doubt about that.”

The performers roared.

“I’m going to try it again.”

“No; you’ve done enough for one day. You won’t be able to hold up the coffeepot tomorrow morning if you do much more.”

“Do you think we will be able to accomplish anything on the flying rings, Mr. Miaco?” asked Phil after they had returned to the dressing tent.

“There is no doubt of it. Were I in your place I should take an hour’s work on them every day. Besides building you up generally, it will make you surer and better able to handle yourself. Then, again, you never know what minute you may be able to increase your income. People in this business often profit by others’ misfortunes,” added the clown significantly.

“I would prefer not to profit that way,” answered Phil.

“You would rather do it by your own efforts?”

“Yes.”

“It all amounts to the same thing. You are liable to be put out any minute yourself, then somebody else will get your job, if you are a performer of importance to the show.”

“You mean if my act is?”

“That’s what I mean.”

The old clown and the enthusiastic young showman talked in the dressing tent until it was time for each to begin making up for the evening performance.

The dressing tent was the real home of the performers. They knew no other. It was there that they unpacked their trunks—there that during their brief stay they pinned up against the canvas walls the pictures of their loved ones, many of whom were far across the sea. A bit of ribbon here, a faded flower drawn from the recess of a trunk full of silk and spangles, told of the tender hearts that were beating beneath those iron-muscled breasts, and that they were as much human beings as their brothers in other walks of life.

Much of this Phil understood in a vague way as he watched them from day to day. He was beginning to like these big-hearted, big-muscled fellows, though there were those among them who were not desirable as friends.

“I guess it’s just the same as it is at home,” decided Phil. “Some of the folks are worthwhile, and others are not.”

He had summed it up.

Sometime before the evening performance was due to begin Phil was made up and ready for his act. As his exhibition came on at the very beginning he had to be ready early. Then, again, he was obliged to walk all the way to the menagerie tent to reach his elephant.

Throwing a robe over his shoulders and pulling his hat well down over his eyes, the lad pushed the silken curtains aside and began working his way toward the front, beating against the human tide that had set in against him, wet, dripping, but good natured.

“Going to have a wet night,” observed Teddy, whom he met at the entrance to the menagerie tent.

“Looks that way. But never mind; I’ll share my rubber coat with you. We can put it over us and sit up to sleep. That will make a waterproof tent. Perhaps we may be able to find a stake or something to stick up in the middle of the coat.”

“But the canvas under us will be soaked,” grumbled Teddy. “We’ll be wetter than ever.”

“We’ll gather some straw and tie it up in a tight bundle to put under us when we get located. There goes the band. I must be off, or you’ll hear Emperor screaming for me.”

“He’s at it now. Hear him?”

“I couldn’t well help hearing that roar,” laughed Phil, starting off on a run.

The grand entry was made, Phil crouching low in the bonnet on the big beast’s head. It was an uncomfortable position, but he did not mind it in the least. The only thing that troubled Phil was the fear that the head gear might become disarranged and spoil the effect of his surprise. There were many in the tent who had seen him make his flight at the afternoon performance, and had returned with their friends almost solely to witness the pretty spectacle again.

The time had arrived for Emperor to rise for his grand salute to the audience. Mr. Kennedy had given Phil his cue, the lad had braced himself to straighten up suddenly. A strap had been attached to the elephant’s head harness for Phil to take hold of to steady himself by when he first straightened up. Until his position was erect Emperor could not grasp the boy’s legs with his trunk.

“Right!” came the trainer’s command.

The circus boy thrust out his elbows, and the bonnet fell away, as he rose smiling to face the sea of white, expectant faces before him.

While they were applauding he fastened the flying wire to the ring in his belt. The wire, which was suspended from above, was so small that it was wholly invisible to the spectators, which heightened the effect of his flight. So absorbed were the people in watching the slender figure each time that they failed to observe an attendant hauling on a rope near the center pole, which was the secret of Phil’s ability to fly.

Throwing his hands out before him the little performer dove gracefully out into the air.

There was a slight jolt. Instantly he knew that something was wrong. The audience, too, instinctively felt that the act was not ending as it should.

Phil was falling. He was plunging straight toward the ring, head first. He struck heavily, crumpling up in a little heap, then straightening out, while half a dozen attendants ran to the lad, hastily picking him up and hurrying to the dressing tent with the limp, unconscious form.

CHAPTER XVII

Left Behind

“Is he hurt much?”

“Don’t know. Maybe he’s broken his neck.”

This brief dialogue ensued between two painted clowns hurrying to their stations.

In the meantime the band struck up a lively air, the clowns launched into a merry medley of song and jest and in a few moments the spectators forgot the scene they had just witnessed, in the noise, the dash and the color. It would come back to them later like some long-past dream.

Mr. Kennedy, with grim, set face, uttered a stern command to Emperor, who for a brief instant had stood irresolute, as if pondering as to whether he should turn and plunge for the red silk curtains behind which his little friend had disappeared in the arms of the attendants.

The trainer’s voice won, and Emperor trumpeting loudly, took his way to his quarters without further protest.

In the dressing tent another scene was being enacted. On two drawn-up trunks, over which had been thrown a couple of horse blankets, they had laid the slender, red-clad figure of Phil Forrest.

The boy’s pale face appeared even more ashen than it really was under the flickering glare of the gasoline torches. His head had been propped up on a saddle, while about him stood a half circle of solemn-faced performers in various stages of undress and makeup.

“Is he badly hurt?” asked one.

“Can’t say. Miaco has gone for the doc. We’ll know pretty soon. That was a dandy tumble he took.”

“How did it happen?”

“Wire broke. You can’t put no faith on a wire with a kink in it. I nearly got my light put out, out in St. Joe, Missouri, by a trick like that. No more swinging wire for me. Guess the kid, if he pulls out of this, will want to hang on to a rope after this. He will if he’s wise.”

“What’s this? What’s this?” roared Mr. Sparling, who, having heard of the accident, came rushing into the tent. “Who’s hurt?”

“The kid,” informed someone.

“What kid? Can’t you fellows talk? Oh, it’s Forrest, is it? How did it happen?”

One of the performers who had witnessed the accident related what he had observed.

“Huh!” grunted the showman, stepping up beside Phil and placing a hand on the boy’s heart.

“Huh!”

“He’s alive, isn’t he, Mr. Sparling?”

“Yes. Anybody gone for the doctor?”

“Miaco has.”

“Wonder any of you had sense enough to think of that. I congratulate you. Somebody will suffer when I find out who was responsible for hanging that boy’s life on a rotten old piece of wire. I presume it’s been kicking around this outfit for the last seven years.”

“Here comes the doc,” announced a voice.

There was a tense silence in the dressing tent, broken only by the patter of the rain drops on the canvas roof, while the show’s surgeon was making his examination.

“Well, well! What about it?” demanded Mr. Sparling impatiently.

The surgeon did not answer at once. His calm, professional demeanor was not to be disturbed by the blustering but kind-hearted showman, and the showman, knowing this from past experience, relapsed into silence until such time as the surgeon should conclude to answer him.

“Did he fall on his head?” he questioned, looking up, at the same time running his fingers over Phil’s dark-brown hair.

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?”

“I should say so.”

“What’s the matter with him?”

“I shall be unable to decide definitely for an hour or so yet, unless he regains consciousness in the meantime. It may be a fracture of the skull or a mere concussion.”

“Huh!”

Mr. Sparling would have said more, but for the fact that the calm eyes of the surgeon were fixed upon him in a level gaze.

“Any bones broken?”

“No; I think not. How far did he fall?”

“Fell from Emperor’s head when the bull was up in the air. He must have taken all of a twenty-foot dive, I should say.”

“Possible? It’s a great wonder he didn’t break his neck. But he is very well muscled for a boy of his age. I don’t suppose they have a hospital in this town?”

“Of course not. They never have anything in these tank towns. You ought to know that by this time.”

“They have a hotel. I know for I took dinner there today. If you will get a carriage of some sort I think we had better take him there.”

“Leave him, you mean?” questioned Mr. Sparling.

“Yes; that will be best. We can put him in charge of a local physician here. He ought to be able to take care of the boy all right.”

“Not by a jug full!” roared Mr. James Sparling. “We’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“It will not be safe to take him with us, Sparling.”

“Did I say it would? Did I? Of course, he shan’t be moved, nor will he be left to one of these know-nothing sawbones. You’ll stay here with him yourself, and you’ll take care of him if you know what’s good for you. I’d rather lose most any five men in this show than that boy there.”

The surgeon nodded his approval of the sentiment. He, too, had taken quite a fancy to Phil, because of the lad’s sunny disposition and natural brightness.

“Get out the coach some of you fellows. Have my driver hook up and drive back into the paddock here, and be mighty quick about it. Here, doc, is a head of lettuce (roll of money). If you need any more, you know where to reach us. Send me a telegram in the morning and another tomorrow night. Keep me posted and pull that boy out of this scrape or you’ll be everlastingly out of a job with the Sparling Combined Shows. Understand?”

The surgeon nodded understandingly. He had heard Mr. Sparling bluster on other occasions, and it did not make any great impression upon him.

The carriage was quickly at hand. Circus people were in the habit of obeying orders promptly. A quick drive was made to the hotel, where the circus boy was quickly undressed and put to bed.

All during the night the surgeon worked faithfully over his little charge, and just as the first streaks of daylight slanted through the window and across the white counterpane, Phil opened his eyes.

For only a moment did they remain open, then closed again.

The surgeon drew a long, deep breath.

“Not a fracture,” he announced aloud. “I’m thankful for that.” He drew the window shades down to shut out the light, as it was all important that Phil should be kept quiet for a time. But the surgeon did not sleep. He sat keen-eyed by the side of the bed, now and then noting the pulse of his patient, touching the lad’s cheeks with light fingers.

After a time the fresh morning air, fragrant with the fields and flowers, drifted in, and the birds in the trees took up their morning songs.

“I guess the storm must be over,” muttered the medical man, rising softly and peering out from behind the curtain.

The day was dawning bright and beautiful.

“My, it feels good to be in bed!” said a voice from the opposite side of the room. “Where am I?”

The surgeon wheeled sharply.

“You are to keep very quiet. You had a tumble that shook you up considerably.”

“What time is it?” demanded Phil sharply.

“About five o’clock in the morning.”

“I must get up; I must get up.”

“You will lie perfectly still. The show will get along without you today, I guess.”

“You don’t mean they have gone on and left me?”

“Of course; they couldn’t wait for you.”

The boy’s eyes filled with tears.

“I knew it couldn’t last. I knew it.”

“See here, do you want to join the show again?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Well, then, lie still. The more quiet you keep the sooner you will be able to get out. Try to go to sleep. I must go downstairs and send a message to Mr. Sparling, for he is very much concerned about you.”

“Then he will take me back?” asked Phil eagerly.

“Of course he will.”

“I’ll go to sleep, doctor.”

Phil turned over on his side and a moment later was breathing naturally.

The doctor tip-toed from the room and hastened down to the hotel office where he penned the following message:

James Sparling,

Sparling Combined Shows,

Boyertown.

Forrest recovers consciousness. Not a fracture. Expect him to be all right in a few days. Will stay unless further orders.

Irvine.

“I think I’ll go upstairs and get a bit of a nap myself,” decided the surgeon, after having directed the sleepy clerk to see to it that the message was dispatched to its destination at once.

He found Phil sleeping soundly. Throwing himself into a chair the surgeon, used to getting a catnap whenever and wherever possible, was soon sleeping as soundly as was his young patient.

Neither awakened until the day was nearly done.

CHAPTER XVIII

A Startling Discovery

Phil’s recovery was rapid, though four days passed before he was permitted to leave his bed. As soon as he was able to get downstairs and sit out on the front porch of the hotel he found himself an object of interest as well as curiosity.

The story of his accident had been talked of until it had grown out of all proportion to the real facts in the case. The boys of the village hung over the porch rail and eyed him wonderingly and admiringly. It did not fall to their lot every day to get acquainted with a real circus boy. They asked him all manner of questions, which the lad answered gladly, for even though he had suffered a severe accident, he was not beyond enjoying the admiration of his fellows.

“It must be great to be a circus boy,” marveled one.

“It is until you fall off and crack your head,” laughed Phil. “It’s not half so funny then.”

After returning to his room that day Phil pondered deeply over the accident. He could not understand it.

“Nobody seems to know what really did happen,” he mused. “Dr. Irvine says the wire broke. That doesn’t seem possible.”

Off in the little dog tent of the owner of the show, Mr. James Sparling, on the day following the accident, was asking himself almost the same questions.

He sent for Mr. Kennedy after having disposed of his early morning business. There was a scowl on the owner’s face, but it had not been caused by the telegram which lay on the desk before him, informing him that Phil was not seriously hurt. That was a source of keen satisfaction to the showman, for he felt that he could not afford to lose the young circus boy.

Teddy was so upset over it, however, that the boss had about made up his mind to let Phil’s companion go back and join him.

While the showman was thinking the matter over, Mr. Kennedy appeared at the opening of the dog tent.

“Morning,” he greeted, which was responded to by a muttered “Huh!” from James Sparling.

“Come in. What are you standing out there for?”

Kennedy was so used to this form of salutation that he paid no further attention to it than to obey the summons.

He entered and stood waiting for his employer to speak.

“I want you to tell me exactly what occurred last night, when young Forrest got hurt, Kennedy.”

“I can’t tell you any more about it than you heard last night. He had started to make his dive before I noticed that anything was wrong. He didn’t stop until he landed on his head. They said the wire snapped.”

“Did it?”

“I guess so,” grinned Kennedy.

“Who is responsible for having picked out that wire?”

“I guess I am.”

“And you have the face to stand there and tell me so?”

“I usually tell the truth, don’t I?”

“Yes, yes; you do. That’s what I like about you.”

“Heard from the kid this morning?”

“Yes; he’ll be all right in a few days. Concussion and general shaking up; that’s all, but it’s enough. How are the bulls this morning?”

“Emperor is sour. Got a regular grouch on.”

“Misses that young rascal Phil, I suppose?”

“Yes.”

“H-m-m-m!”

“Didn’t want to come through last night at all.”

“H-m-m-m. Guess we’d better fire you and let the boy handle the bulls; don’t you think so?”

The trainer grinned and nodded.

“Kennedy, you’ve been making your brags that you always tell me the truth. I am going to ask you a question, and I want you to see if you can make that boast good.”

“Yes, sir.”

Perhaps the trainer understood something of what was in his employer’s mind, for his lips closed sharply while his jaw took on a belligerent look.

“How did that wire come to break, Kennedy?”

The question came out with a snap, as if the showman already had made up his mind as to what the answer should be.

“It was cut, sir,” answered the trainer promptly.

The lines in Mr. Sparling’s face drew hard and tense. Instead of a violent outburst of temper, which Kennedy fully expected, the owner sat silently contemplating his trainer for a full minute.

“Who did it?”

“I couldn’t guess.”

“I didn’t ask you to guess. I can guess for myself. I asked who did it?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t the least idea who would do a job like that in this show. I hope the mean hound will take French leave before I get him spotted, sir.”

Mr. Sparling nodded with emphasis.

“I hope so, Kennedy. What makes you think the wire was cut?”

With great deliberation the trainer drew a small package from his inside coat pocket, carefully unwrapped it, placing the contents on the table in front of Mr. Sparling.

“What’s this—what’s this?”

“That’s the wire.”

“But there are two pieces here—”

“Yes. I cut off a few feet on each side of where the break occurred. Those are the two.”

Mr. Sparling regarded them critically.

“How can you tell that the wire has been cut, except where you cut it yourself?”

“It was cut halfway through with a file, as you can see, sir. When Forrest threw his weight on it, of course the wire parted at the weakened point.”

“H-m-m-m.”

“If you will examine it, an inch or two above the cut, you will find two or three file marks, where the file started to cut, then was moved down. Probably slipped. Looks like it. Don’t you think I’m right, sir?”

Mr. Sparling nodded reflectively.

“There can be no doubt of it. You think it was done between the two performances yesterday?”

“Oh, yes. That cut wouldn’t have held through one performance. It was cut during the afternoon.”

“Who was in the tent between the shows?”

“Pretty much the whole crowd. But, if you will remember, the day was dark and stormy. There was a time late in the afternoon, before the torches were lighted, when the big top was almost in darkness. It’s my idea that the job was done then. Anybody could have done it without being discovered. It’s likely there wasn’t anybody in the tent except himself at the time.”

“Kennedy, I want you to find out who did that. Understand?”

CHAPTER XIX

Teddy Distinguishes Himself

“The boss has an awful grouch on.”

“Yes; I wonder what’s the matter with him,” pondered the clown.

His brother fun-maker shrugged his shoulders.

“Guess he’s mad because of young Forrest’s accident. Just got a good act started when he had to go and spoil it.”

Not a hint of the suspicion entertained by the owner and his elephant trainer had been breathed about the show. Nearly a week had passed since Phil’s narrow escape from death; yet, despite all the efforts of Kennedy or the shrewd observation of his employer, they were no nearer a solution of the mystery than before. The days passed, and with them the anger of James Sparling increased.

“That chum of Forrest’s is a funny fellow,” continued the first speaker. “He’d make a good clown?”

“Make? He’s one already. Look at him.”

Teddy was perched on the back of Jumbo, the trick mule of the show, out in the paddock, where the performers were indulging in various strange antics for the purpose of limbering themselves up prior to entering the ring for their acts.

The bright, warm sunlight was streaming down, picking up little flames from the glistening spangles sprinkled over the costumes of many of the circus folks.

Teddy and Jumbo had become fast friends—a strangely assorted pair, and whenever the opportunity presented itself Teddy would mount the ugly looking mule, riding him about the paddock or the ring when there was nothing going on under the big top. Every time the pair made their appearance it was the signal for a shout of merriment from the performers.

Teddy had perched himself on Jumbo’s back while the mule was awaiting his turn to enter the ring, which he did alone, performing his act with nothing save the crack of the ringmaster’s whip to guide him.

Somebody had jammed a clown’s cap on Teddy’s head, while someone else had hit it a smash with the flat of his hand, until the peak of the cap lopped over to one side disconsolately.

Teddy’s face wore an appreciative grin, Jumbo’s long ears lying as far back on his head as they would reach. To the ordinary observer it might have been supposed that the mule was angry about something. On the contrary, it was his way of showing his pleasure. When a pan of oats was thrust before Jumbo, or he chanced upon a patch of fresh, tender grass, the ears expressed the animal’s satisfaction.

Jumbo could do pretty much everything except talk, but occasionally the stubbornness of his kind took possession of him. At such times the trick mule was wont to do the most erratic things.

“How’d you like to ride him in?” chuckled Miaco, who stood regarding the lad with a broad smile.

“If I had a saddle I wouldn’t mind it,” grinned Teddy’s funny face as an accompaniment to his words.

Jumbo’s equipment consisted of a cinch girth and a pair of bridle reins connected with a headstall. There was no bit, but the effect was to arch his neck like that of a proud stallion.

“You’d make the hit of your life if you did,” laughed Miaco. “Wonder the boss don’t have you do it.”

“Would if he knew about it,” spoke up a performer. “The really funny things don’t get into the ring in a circus, unless by accident.”

In the meantime the ringmaster was making his loud-voiced announcement out under the big top.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he roared, after a loud crack of his long-lashed whip, to attract the attention of the people to him, “we are now about to introduce the wonderful performing mule Jumbo, the only broncho-bucking, bobtailed mule in the world. You will notice that he performs without a rider, without human interference. Please do not speak to Jumbo while he is going through his act. Ladies and gentlemen, Jumbo, the great educated mule, will now make his appearance unaided by human hand.”

The audience applauded the announcement.

At that moment the band struck up the tune by which Jumbo always made his entrance. At the first blare of the brass a fun-loving clown jabbed Jumbo with a pin. The mule did the rest.

“Here! Here! Get off that mule!” shouted the animal’s trainer. “He’s going on!”

“Let him go!” roared clowns and other performers.

Jumbo had never made as quick a start in all his circus career as he did that day. He fairly leaped into the air, though only one man understood the reason for the mule’s sudden move.

With a bray that was heard all over the big top Jumbo burst through the red curtains like a tornado. There he paused for one brief instant, as if uncertain whether to do a certain thing or not.

Recalling the ringmaster’s words, the spectators at first were at a loss to account for the odd-looking figure that was clinging to the back of the educated mule.

Suddenly they broke out into roars of laughter, while the performers peering through the red curtain fairly howled with delight.

Teddy was hanging to the cinch girth uncertain what to do. The ringmaster, amazed beyond words, stood gaping at the spectacle, for the moment powerless to use his usually ready tongue.

Jumbo launched into the arena.

“Get off!” thundered the ringmaster, suddenly recovering himself.

“I can’t!” howled Teddy, though from present indications it appeared as if he would dismount without any effort on his own part.

Jumbo’s heels flew into the air, then began a series of lunges, bucking and terrific kicking such as none among the vast audience ever had witnessed in or out of a show ring.

One instant Teddy would be standing on his head on the mule’s back, the next lying on his back with feet toward the animal’s head. Next he would be dragged along the ground, to be plumped back again at the next bounce.

No feat seemed too difficult for Jumbo to attempt that day.

“Stop him! Stop him!” howled the ringmaster.

Ring attendants rushed forward to obey his command, but they might as well have tried to stop a tornado. Jumbo eluded them without the least trouble, but their efforts to keep out of range of his flying hoofs were not so easy. Some of them had narrow escapes from being seriously injured.

Mr. Sparling, attracted by the roars of laughter of the audience and the unusual disturbance, had hurried into the big top, where he stood, at first in amazement, then with a broad grin overspreading his countenance.

Now Jumbo began a race with himself about the arena, following the concourse, now and then sending his heels into the air right over the heads of the spectators of the lower row of seats, sending them scrambling under the seats for protection.

A clown ran out with half a dozen paper covered hoops, which he was holding in readiness for the next bareback act.

He flaunted them in the face of the runaway mule.

Jumbo ducked his head under them and Teddy Tucker’s head went through the paper with a crash, the mule’s heels at that instant being high in the air.

With the rings hung about his neck, Teddy cut a more ridiculous figure than ever. The audience went wild with excitement.

Now the ringmaster, angered beyond endurance, began reaching for Teddy with the long lash of his whip. The business end of the lash once brushed the boy’s cheek.

It stung him.

“Ouch!” howled Teddy as he felt the lash.

“Stop that!” exploded Mr. Sparling, who, by this time, had gotten into the ring to take a hand in the performance himself. He grabbed the irate ringmaster by the collar, giving him a jerk that that functionary did not forget in a hurry.

Jumbo, however, was no respecter of persons. He had taken a short cut across the ring just as the owner had begun his correction of the ringmaster. Jumbo shook out his heels again. They caught the owner’s sombrero and sent it spinning into the air.

Mr. Sparling, in his excitement, forgot all about the ringmaster. Picking up a tent stake, he hurled it after the educated mule, missing him by a full rod.

The audience by this time was in a tempest of excitement. At first they thought it was all a part of the show. But they were soon undeceived, which made their enjoyment and appreciation all the greater.

Jumbo took a final sprint about the arena, Teddy’s legs and free arm most of the time in the air. He had long since lost his clown’s cap, which Jumbo, espying, had kicked off into the audience.

“You fool mule! You fool mule!” bellowed Mr. Sparling.

Jumbo suddenly decided that he would go back to the paddock. With him, to decide was to act. Taking a fresh burst of speed, he shot straight at the red curtains. To reach these he was obliged to pass close to the bandstand, where the band was playing as if the very existence of the show depended upon them.

Teddy’s grip was relaxing. His arm was so benumbed that he could not feel that he had any arm on that side at all.

His fingers slowly relaxed their grip on the cinch girth. In a moment he had bounced back to the educated mule’s rump. In another instant he would be plumped to the hard ground with a jolt that would shake him to his foundations.

But Jumbo had other plans—more spectacular plans—in mind. He put them into execution at once. The moment he felt his burden slipping over his back that active end grew busy again. Jumbo humped himself, letting out a volley of kicks so lightning-like in their swiftness that human eye could not follow.

Teddy had slipped half over the mule’s rump when the volley began.

“Catch him! He’ll be killed!” shouted someone.

All at once the figure of Teddy Tucker shot straight up into the air, propelled there by the educated mule. The lad’s body described what somebody afterwards characterized as “graceful somersault in the air,” then began its downward flight.

He landed right in the midst of the band.

Crash!

There was a yell of warning, a jingle and clatter of brass, several chairs went down under the impact, the floor gave way and half the band, with Teddy Tucker in the middle of the heap, sank out of sight.

CHAPTER XX

The Return to the Sawdust Life

“Is he dead?”

“No; you can’t kill a thick-head like that,” snarled the ringmaster.

The audience was still roaring.

With angry imprecations the members of the band who had fallen through were untangling themselves as rapidly as possible. Teddy, in the meantime, had dragged himself from beneath the heap and slunk out from under the broken platform. He lost no time in escaping to the paddock, but the bandmaster, espying him, started after the lad, waving his baton threateningly.

No sooner had Teddy gained the seclusion of the dressing tent than James Sparling burst in.

“Where’s that boy? Where’s that boy?”

“Here he is,” grinned a performer, thrusting Teddy forward, much against the lad’s inclinations.

Mr. Sparling surveyed him with narrow eyes.

“You young rascal! Trying to break up my show, are you?”

“N-no—sir.”

“Can you do that again, do you think?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“That’s the greatest Rube mule act that ever hit a sawdust ring. I’ll double your salary if you think you can get away with it every performance,” fairly shouted the owner.

“I—I’m willing if the mule is,” stammered Teddy somewhat doubtfully.

As a result the lad left his job in the cook tent, never to return to it. After many hard knocks and some heavy falls he succeeded in so mastering the act that he was able to go through with it without great risk of serious injury to himself. The educated mule and the boy became a feature of the Sparling Combined Shows from that moment on, but after that Teddy took good care not to round off his act by a high dive into the big bass horn.

No one was more delighted at Teddy Tucker’s sudden leap to fame than was his companion, Phil Forrest. Phil and Dr. Irvine returned to the show, one afternoon, about a week after the accident. They had come on by train.

Phil, though somewhat pale after his setback, was clear-eyed, and declared himself as fit as ever. He insisted upon going on with his act at the evening performance, but Mr. Sparling told him to wait until the day following. In the meantime Phil could get his apparatus in working order.

“I’ll look it over myself this time,” announced the showman. “I don’t want any more such accidents happening in this show. Your friend Teddy nearly put the whole outfit to the bad—he and the fool mule.”

That afternoon Phil had an opportunity to witness for himself the exhibition of his companion and the “fool mule.” He laughed until his sides ached.

“O Teddy, you’ll break your neck doing that stunt one of these times,” warned Phil, hastening back to the dressing tent after Teddy and the mule had left the ring.

“Don’t you think it’s worth the risk?”

“That depends.”

“For two dollars a day?”

“Is that what you are getting?”

“Yep. I’m a high-priced performer,” insisted Teddy, snapping his trousers pocket significantly. “I’d jump off the big top, twice every day, for that figure.”

“What are you going to do with all your money? Spend it?”

“I—rather thought I’d buy a bicycle.”

Phil shook his head.

“You couldn’t carry it, and, besides, nobody rides bicycles these days. They ride in automobiles.”

“Then I’ll buy one of them.”

“I’ll tell you what you do, Teddy.”

“Lend the money to you, eh?”

“No; I am earning plenty for myself. But every week, now, I shall send all my money home to Mrs. Cahill. I wrote to her about it while I was sick. She is going to put it in the bank for me at Edmeston, with herself appointed as trustee. That’s necessary, you see, because I am not of age. Then no one can take it away from me.”

“You mean your Uncle Abner?” questioned Teddy.

“Yes. I don’t know that he would want to; but I’m not taking any chances. Now, why not send your money along at the same time? Mrs. Cahill will deposit it in the same way, and at the end of the season think what a lot of money you will have?”

“Regular fortune?”

“Yes, a regular fortune.”

“What’ll I do with all that money?”

“Do what I’m going to do—get an education.”

“What, and leave the show business? No, siree!”

“I didn’t mean that. You can go to school between seasons. I don’t intend to leave the show business, but I’m going to know something besides that.”

“Well, I guess it would be a good idea,” reflected Teddy.

“Will you do it?”

“Yes; I’ll do it,” he nodded.

“Good for you! We’ll own a show of our own, one of these days. You mark me, Teddy,” glowed Phil.

“Of our own?” marveled Teddy, his face wreathing in smiles. “Say, wouldn’t that be great?”

“I think so. Have you been practicing on the rings since I left?”

“No.”

“That’s too bad. You and I will begin tomorrow. We ought to be pretty expert on the flying rings in a few weeks, if I don’t get hurt again,” added the boy, a shadow flitting across his face.

“Then, you’d better begin by taking some bends,” suggested Mr. Miaco, who, approaching, had overheard Phil’s remark.

“Bends?” questioned Teddy

“What are they?” wondered Phil. “Oh, I know. I read about them in the papers. It’s an attack that fellows working in a tunnel get when they’re digging under a river. I don’t want anything like that.”

“No, no, no,” replied Mr. Miaco in a tone of disgust. “It’s no disease at all.”

“No?”

“What I mean by bends is exercises. You have seen the performers do it—bend forward until their hands touch the ground, legs stiff, then tipping as far backwards as possible. Those are bending exercises, and the best things to do. The performers limber up for their act that way. If you practice it slowly several times a day you will be surprised to see what it will do for you. I’d begin today were I in your place, Phil. You’ll find yourself a little stiff when you go on in your elephant act tonight—”

“I’m not going on tonight—not until tomorrow. Mr. Sparling doesn’t wish me to.”

“All right. All the better. Exercise! I wouldn’t begin on the rings today either. Just take your bends, get steady on your feet and start in in a regular, systematic way tomorrow,” advised the head clown.

“Thank you, Mr. Miaco; I shall do so. I am much obliged to you. You are very kind to us.”

“Because I like you, and because you boys don’t pretend to know more about the circus business than men who have spent their lives in it.”

“I hope I shall never be like that,” laughed Phil. “I know I shall always be willing to learn.”

“And there always is something to learn in the circus life. None of us knows it all. There are new things coming up every day,” added the clown.

Phil left the dressing tent to go around to the menagerie tent for a talk with Mr. Kennedy and Emperor. Entering the tent the lad gave his whistle signal, whereat Emperor trumpeted loudly.

The big elephant greeted his young friend with every evidence of joy and excitement. Phil, of course, had brought Emperor a bag of peanuts as well as several lumps of sugar, and it was with difficulty that the lad got away from him after finishing his chat with Mr. Kennedy.

Phil was making a round of calls that afternoon, so he decided that he would next visit Mr. Sparling, having seen him only a moment, and that while others were around.

“May I come in?” he asked.

“Yes; what do you want?”

“To thank you for your kindness.”

“Didn’t I tell you never to thank me for anything?” thundered the showman.

“I beg your pardon, sir; I’ll take it all back,” twinkled Phil.

“Oh, you will, will you, young scapegrace? What did you come here for anyway? Not to palaver about how thankful you are that you got knocked out, stayed a week in bed and had your salary paid all the time. I’ll bet you didn’t come for that. Want a raise of salary already?”

“Hardly. If you’ll give me a chance, I’ll tell you, Mr. Sparling.”

“Go on. Say it quick.”

“I have been thinking about the fall I got, since I’ve been laid up.”

“Nothing else to think about, eh?”

“And the more I think about it, the more it bothers me.”

“Does, eh?” grunted Mr. Sparling, busying himself with his papers.

“Yes, sir. I don’t suppose it would be possible for me to get the broken wire now, would it? No doubt it was thrown away.”

The showman peered up at the boy suspiciously.

“What do you want of it?”

“I thought I should like to examine it.”

“Why?”

“To see what had been done to it.”

“Oh, you do, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What do you think happened to that wire? It broke, didn’t it?”

“Yes, I guess there is no doubt about it but somebody helped to break it.”

“Young man, you are too confoundedly smart. Mark my words, you’ll die young. Yes; I have the wire. Here it is. Look at it. You are right; something happened to it, and I’ve been tearing myself to pieces, ever since, to find out who it was. I’ve got all my amateur sleuths working on the case, this very minute, to find out who the scoundrel is who cut the wire. Have you any idea about it? But there’s no use in asking you. I—”

“I’ve got this,” answered Phil, tossing a small file on the table in front of Mr. Sparling.

“What, what, what? A file?”

“Yes, will you see if it fits the notch in the wire there?”

The showman did so, holding file and wire up to the light for a better examination of them.

“There can be no doubt of it,” answered the amazed showman, fixing wondering eyes on the young man. “Where did you get it?”

“Picked it up.”

“Where?”

“In the dressing tent.”

“Pooh! Then it doesn’t mean anything,” grunted Mr. Sparling.

“If you knew where I picked it up you might think differently.”

“Then where did you get it?”

“Found it in my own trunk.”

“In your trunk?”

Phil nodded.

“How did it get there?”

“I had left my trunk open after placing some things in it. When I went out to watch Teddy’s mule act I was in such a hurry that I forgot all about the trunk. When I came back, there it lay, near the end—”

“Somebody put it there!” exploded the showman.

“Yes.”

“But who? Find that out for me—let me know who the man is and you’ll hear an explosion in this outfit that will raise the big top right off the ground.”

“Leave it to me, Mr. Sparling, I’ll find him.”

The owner laughed harshly.

“How?”

“I think I know who the man is at this very minute,” was Phil Forrest’s startling announcement, uttered in a quiet, even tone.

Mr. Sparling leaped from his chair so suddenly that he overturned the table in front of him, sending his papers flying all over the place.

CHAPTER XXI

An Elephant in Jail

“Who is he?”

“I would not care to answer that question just now, Mr. Sparling,” answered Phil calmly. “It would not be right—that is, not until I am sure about it.”

“Tell me, or get out.”

“Remember, Mr. Sparling, it is a serious accusation you ask me to make against a man on proof that you would say was not worth anything. It may take some time, but before I get through I’m going either to fasten the act on someone—on a particular one—or else prove that I am wholly mistaken.”

The showman stormed, but Phil was obdurate. He refused to give the slightest intimation as to whom he suspected.

“Am I to go, Mr. Sparling?” he asked after the interview had come to an end.

“No! I expect you’ll own this show yet.”

He watched Phil walking away from the tent. There was a scowl on the face of James Sparling.

“If I thought that young rascal really thought he knew, I’d take him across my knee and spank him until he told me. No; he’s more of a man than any two in the whole outfit. I’d rather lose a horse than have anything happen to that lad.”

Days followed each other in quick succession. The show had by this time swung around into Pennsylvania, and was playing a circuit of small mining towns with exceptionally good attendance. The owner of the show was in high good humor over the profits the show was earning. The acts of Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker had proved to be among the best drawing cards in the circus performance proper. So important did the owner consider them that the names of the two circus boys were now prominently displayed in the advertisements, as well as on the billboards.

During all this time, Phil and Teddy had worked faithfully on the rings under the instruction of Mr. Miaco. On the side they were taking lessons in tumbling as well. For this purpose what is known as a “mechanic” was used to assist them in their schooling. This consisted of a belt placed about the beginner’s waist. From it a rope led up over a pulley, the other end of the rope being securely held by someone.

When all was ready the pupil would take a running start, jump into the air and try to turn. At the same time, the man holding the free end of the rope would give it a hard pull, thus jerking the boy free of the ground and preventing his falling on his head.

After a few days of this, both boys had progressed so far that they were able to work on a mat, made up of several layers of thick carpet, without the aid of the “mechanic.” Of course their act lacked finish. Their movements were more or less clumsy, but they had mastered the principle of the somersault in remarkably quick time.

Mr. Miaco said that in two more weeks they ought to be able to join the performers in their general tumbling act, which was one of the features of the show.

There was not an hour of the day that found the two boys idle, now, and all this activity was viewed by Mr. Sparling with an approving eye.

But one day there came an interruption that turned the thoughts of the big show family in another direction.

An accident had happened at the morning parade that promised trouble for the show. A countryman, who had heard that the hide of an elephant could not be punctured, was struck by the happy thought of finding out for himself the truth or falsity of this theory. He had had an argument with some of his friends, he taking the ground that an elephant’s hide was no different from the hide of any other animal. And he promised to show them that it was not.

All he needed was the opportunity. With his friends he had followed along with the parade, keeping abreast of the elephants, until finally the parade was halted by the crossing gates at a railroad.

Now was the man’s chance to prove the theory false. The crowd closed in on the parade to get a closer view of the people, and this acted as a cover for the man’s experiment.

Taking his penknife out he placed the point of it against the side of Emperor, as it chanced.

“Now watch me,” he said, at the same time giving the knife a quick shove, intending merely to see if he could prick through the skin. His experiment succeeded beyond the fellow’s fondest expectations. The point of the knife had gone clear through Emperor’s hide.

Emperor, ordinarily possessed of a keen sense of humor, coupled with great good nature, in this instance failed to see the humor of the proceeding. In fact, he objected promptly and in a most surprising manner.

Like a flash, his trunk curled back. It caught the bold experimenter about the waist, and the next instant the fellow was dangling in the air over Emperor’s head, yelling lustily for help. The elephant had been watching the man, apparently suspecting something, and therefore was ready for him.

“Put him down!” thundered Kennedy.

The elephant obeyed, but in a manner not intended by the trainer when he gave the command.

With a quick sweep of his trunk, Emperor hurled his tormentor from him. The man’s body did not stop until it struck a large plate glass window in a store front, disappearing into the store amid a terrific crashing of glass and breaking of woodwork, the man having carried most of the window with him in his sudden entry into the store.

This was a feature of the parade that had not been advertised on the bills.

The procession moved on a moment later, with old Emperor swinging along as meekly as if he had not just stirred up a heap of trouble for himself and his owner.

The man, it was soon learned, had been badly hurt.

But Mr. Sparling was on the ground almost at once, making an investigation. He quickly learned what had caused the trouble. And then he was mad all through. He raved up and down the line threatening to get out a warrant for the arrest of the man who had stuck a knife into his elephant.

Later in the afternoon matters took a different turn. A lawyer called on the showman, demanding the payment of ten thousand dollars damages for the injuries sustained by his client, and which, he said, would in all probability make the man a cripple for life.

If the showman had been angry before, he was in a towering rage now.

“Get off this lot!” he roared. “If you show your face here again I’ll set the canvasmen on you! Then you won’t be able to leave without help.”

The lawyer stood not upon the order of his going, and they saw no more of him. They had about concluded that they had heard the last of his demands, until just before the evening performance, when, as the cook tent was being struck, half a dozen deputy sheriffs suddenly made their appearance.

They held papers permitting them to levy on anything they could lay their hands upon and hold it until full damages had been fixed by the courts.

There was no trifling with the law, at least not then, and Mr. Sparling was shrewd enough to see that. However, he stormed and threatened, but all to no purpose.

The intelligent deputies reasoned that Emperor, having been the cause of all the trouble, would be the proper chattel to levy upon. So they levied on him.

The next thing was to get Emperor to jail. He would not budge an inch when the officers sought to take him. Then a happy thought struck them. They ordered the trainer to lead the elephant and follow them under pain of instant arrest if he refused.

There was nothing for it but to obey. Protesting loudly, Kennedy started for the village with his great, hulking charge.

Phil Forrest was as disconsolate as his employer was enraged. The boy’s act was spoiled, perhaps indefinitely, which might mean the loss of part of his salary.

“That’s country justice,” growled the owner. “But I’ll telegraph my lawyer in the city and have him here by morning. Maybe it won’t be such a bad speculation tomorrow, for I’ll make this town go broke before it has fully settled the damages I’ll get out of it. Don’t be down in the mouth, Forrest. You’ll have your elephant back, and before many days at that. Go watch the show and forget your troubles.”

It will be observed that, under his apparently excitable exterior, Mr. James Sparling was a philosopher.

“Emperor’s in jail,” mourned Phil.

The moment Mr. Kennedy returned, sullen and uncommunicative, Phil sought him out. He found the trainer in Mr. Sparling’s tent.

“Where did they take him?” demanded Phil, breaking in on their conversation.

“To jail,” answered Kennedy grimly. “First time I ever heard of such a thing as an elephant’s going to jail.”

“That’s the idea. We’ll use that for an advertisement,” cried the ever alert showman, slapping his thighs. “Emperor, the performing elephant of the Great Sparling Combined Shows, jailed for assault. Fine, fine! How’ll that look in the newspapers? Why, men, it will fill the tent when we get to the next stand, whether we have the elephant or not.”

“No; you’ve got to have the elephant,” contended Kennedy.

“Well, perhaps that’s so. But I’ll wire our man ahead, just the same, and let him use the fact in his press notices.”

“But how could they get him in the jail?” questioned Phil.

“Jail? You see, they couldn’t. They wanted to, but the jail wouldn’t fit, or the elephant wouldn’t fit the jail, either way you please. When they discovered that they didn’t know what to do with him. Somebody suggested that they might lock him up in the blacksmith shop.”

“The blacksmith shop?” exploded the owner.

“I hope they don’t try to fit him with shoes,” he added, with a grim smile.

“Well, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they did. We’d have our elephant right quick. Yes, they tried the blacksmith shop on, and it worked, but it was a close fit. If Emperor had had a bump on his back as big as an egg he wouldn’t have gone in.”

“And he’s there now?”

“Yes. I reckon I’d better stay here and camp at the hotel, hadn’t I, so’s to be handy when your lawyer comes on? Emperor might tear up the town if he got loose.”

Mr. Sparling reflected for a moment.

“Kennedy, you’ll go with the show tonight. I don’t care if Emperor tears this town up by the roots. If none of us is here, then we shall not be to blame for what happens. We didn’t tell them to lock him up in the blacksmith shop. You can get back after the lawyer has gotten him out. That will be time enough.”

“Where is the blacksmith shop?” questioned Phil.

“Know where the graveyard is?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just the other side of that,” said Kennedy. “Church on this side, blacksmith shop on the other. Why?”

“Oh, nothing. I was just wondering,” answered Phil, glancing up and finding the eyes of Mr. Sparling bent keenly upon him.

The lad rose hastily, went out, and climbing up to the seat of a long pole wagon, sat down to ponder over the situation. He remained there until a teamster came to hook to the wagon and drive it over to be loaded. Then Phil got down, standing about with hands in his pockets.

He was trying to make up his mind about something.

“Where do we show tomorrow?” he asked of an employee.

“Dobbsville, Ohio. We’ll be over the line before daybreak.”

“Oh.”

The circus tent was rapidly disappearing now. “In another state in the morning,” mused Phil.

One by one the wagons began moving from the circus lot.

“Get aboard the sleeping car,” called the driver of the wagon that Phil and Teddy usually slept in, as he drove past.

“Hey, Phil!” called Teddy, suddenly appearing above the top of the box.

“Hello, Teddy!”

“What are you standing there for?”

“Perhaps I’m getting the night air,” laughed Phil. “Fine, isn’t it?”

“It might be better. But get in; get in. You’ll be left.”

“Never mind me. I am not going on your wagon tonight. You may have the bed all to yourself. Don’t forget to leave your window open,” he jeered.

“I have it open already. I’m going to put the screen in now to keep the mosquitoes out,” retorted Teddy, not to be outdone.

“Has Mr. Sparling gone yet do you know?”

“No; he and Kennedy are over yonder where the front door was, talking.”

“All right.”

Teddy’s head disappeared. No sooner had it done so than Phil Forrest turned and ran swiftly toward the opposite side of the lot. He ran in a crouching position, as if to avoid being seen.

Reaching a fence which separated the road from the field, he threw himself down in the tall grass there and hid.

“In Ohio tomorrow. I’m going to try it,” he muttered. “It can’t be wrong. They had no business, no right to do it,” he decided, his voice full of indignation.

He heard the wagons rumbling by him on the hard road, the rattle of wheels accompanied by the shouts of the drivers as they urged their horses on.

And there Phil lay hidden until every wagon had departed, headed for the border, and the circus lot became a barren, deserted and silent field.

CHAPTER XXII

Emperor Answers the Signal

Making sure that everybody had left, Phil Forrest ran swiftly toward the village. He knew the way, having been downtown during the day.

A light twinkled here and there in a house, where the people, no doubt, were discussing the exciting events of the day. As Phil drew near the cemetery he heard voices.

It would not do to be discovered, so the lad climbed the fence and crept along the edge of the open plot. He was nearing the blacksmith shop and it was soon apparent to him that quite a number of men had gathered in front of the shop itself.

Skulking up to the corner, the last rod being traversed on all fours, the circus boy flattened himself on the ground to listen, in an effort to learn if possible what were the plans of the villagers. If they had any he did not learn them, for their conversation was devoted principally to discussing what they had done to the Sparling show and what they would do further before they had finished with this business.

Phil did learn, however, that the man who had been hurled through the store window was not fatally injured, as had been thought at first. Someone announced that the doctor had said the man would be about again in a couple of weeks.

“I’m glad of that,” muttered Phil. “I shouldn’t like to think that Emperor had killed anyone. I wonder how he likes it in there.”

Evidently the elephant was not well pleased, for the lad could hear him stirring restlessly and tugging at his chains.

“Won’t he be surprised, though?” chuckled Phil. “I shouldn’t be surprised if he made a lot of noise. I hope he doesn’t, for I don’t want to stir the town up. I wonder if those fellows are going to stay there all night?”

The loungers showed no inclination to move, so there was nothing for the boy to do but to lie still and wait.

After a little he began to feel chilled, and began hopping around on hands and feet to start his blood moving. A little of this warmed him up considerably. This time he sat down in the fence corner. The night was moonless, but the stars were quite bright, enabling Phil to make out objects some distance away. He could see quite plainly the men gathered in front of the blacksmith shop.

After a wait of what seemed hours to Phil, one of the watchers stirred himself.

“Well, fellows, we might as well go home. The brute’s settled down for the night, I reckon.”

“What time is it?”

“Half past two,” announced the first speaker.

“Well, well, I should say it was time to go. Not going to stay with him, are you, sheriff?”

“Not necessary. He can’t get out.”

After listening at the closed door, the one whom Phil judged to be an officer joined his companions and all walked leisurely down the road.

The lad remained in the fence corner for sometime, but he stood up after they had gone. He did not dare move about much, fearing that Emperor might hear and know him and raise a great tumult.

Phil waited all of half an hour; then he climbed the fence and slipped cautiously to the door of the shop.

It was securely locked.

“Oh, pshaw! That’s too bad,” grumbled the lad. “How am I going to do it?”

Phil ran his fingers lightly over the fastening, which consisted of a strong hasp and a padlock.

“What shall I do? I dare not try to break the lock. I should be committing a crime if I did. Perhaps I am already. No; I’m not, and I shall not. I’ll just speak to Emperor, then start off on foot after the show. It was foolish of me to think I could do anything to help Mr. Sparling and the elephant out of his trouble. I ought to be able to walk to the next stand and get there in time for the last breakfast call, providing I can find the way.”

Perhaps Phil’s conscience troubled him a little, though he had done nothing worse than to follow the dictates of his kind heart in his desire to be of assistance to his employer and to befriend old Emperor.

Placing his lips close to the door, Phil called softly.

“Emperor!” he said.

The restless swaying and heavy breathing within ceased suddenly.

“Emperor!” repeated the lad, at the same time uttering the low whistle that the big elephant had come to know so well.

A mighty cough from the interior of the blacksmith shop answered Phil Forrest’s signal.

“Be quiet, Emperor. Be quiet! We are going to get you out as soon as we can, old fellow! You just behave yourself now. Do you hear?”

Emperor emitted another loud cough.

“Good old Emperor. I’ve got some peanuts for you, but I don’t know how I am going to give them to you. Wait a minute. Perhaps there is a window somewhere that I can toss them through.”

Phil, after looking around, found a window with the small panes of glass missing. The window was so high that he could not reach it, so he stood on the ground and tossed the peanuts in, while the big elephant demonstrated the satisfaction he felt, in a series of sharp intakes of breath.

“Now I’m going,” announced Phil. “Goodbye, Emperor. Here’s a lump of sugar. That’s all I have for you.”

Phil turned away sorrowfully. His purpose had failed. Not because he doubted his ability to carry it out, but he was not sure that he would be right in doing so.

A few rods down the road he paused, turned and uttered his shrill signal whistle, with no other idea in mind than to bring some comfort to the imprisoned beast.

Emperor interpreted the signal otherwise, however. He uttered a loud, shrill trumpet; then things began to happen with a rapidity that fairly made the circus boy’s head whirl.

A sudden jingle of metal, a crashing and rending from within the shop, caused Phil to halt sharply after he had once more started on his way.

Crash! Bang!

Emperor had brought his wonderful strength to bear on his flimsily constructed prison with disastrous results to the latter. First he had torn the blacksmith’s bellows out by the roots and hurled it from him. Next he set to work to smash everything within reach. A moment of this and the elephant had freed himself from the light chains with which the keeper had secured him.

“Wha—oh, what is he doing?” gasped Phil Forrest.

The boards on one side of the shop burst out as from a sudden explosion. Down came half a dozen of the light studdings that supported the roof on that side.

By this time Emperor had worked himself into a fine temper. He turned his attention to the other side of the shop with similar disastrous results. The interior of the blacksmith shop was a wreck. It could not have been in much worse condition had it been struck by a cyclone.

All of a sudden the elephant threw his whole weight against the big sliding door. It burst out with a report like that of a cannon.

Emperor came staggering out into the open. There he paused, with twitching ears and curling trunk, peering into the darkness in search of Phil Forrest.

Phil recovered from his surprise sufficiently to realize what had happened and that old Emperor was free once more.

The lad uttered a shrill whistle. Emperor responded by a piercing scream. He then whirled, facing up the road in Phil’s direction, though unable to see the lad.

Once more the boy whistled. Emperor was off in a twinkling.

“Steady, steady, Emperor!” cautioned the lad, as he saw the huge hulk bearing swiftly down on him. “Easy, old boy!”

But the elephant did not lessen his speed one particle. Phil felt sure, however, that he himself would not be harmed. He knew Emperor too well. With perfect confidence in the great animal, the lad threw both hands above his head, standing motionless in the center of the street right in the path of the oncoming beast.

“Steady, steady, steady!” cautioned Phil. “Now up, Emperor!”

The elephant’s long, sinuous trunk uncurled, coiled about the lad’s waist and the next instant Phil felt himself being lifted to the big beast’s head.

“I’ve got him!” shouted Phil, carried away by the excitement of the moment. “Now, go it! Emperor! Go faster than you ever have since you chased lions in the jungle.”

And Emperor did go it! As he tore down the village street he woke the echoes with his shrill trumpetings, bringing every man and woman in the little village tumbling from their beds.

“The elephant is escaping!” cried the people, as they threw up their windows and gazed out. As they looked they saw a huge, shadowy shape hurling itself down the street, whereat they hastily withdrew their heads. In a few moments the men of the village came rushing out, all running toward the blacksmith shop to learn what had happened there. There followed a perfect pandemonium of yells when they discovered the wrecked condition of the place.

In the meantime Phil had guided Emperor into the road that led to the show grounds of the previous day. The elephant was about to turn into the lot, when a sharp slap from his rider caused him to swing back into the highway on the trail of the wagons that had passed on some hours before.

Once he had fairly started Emperor followed the trail, making the turns and following the twists of the road as unerringly as an Indian follows the trail of his enemy.

“Hurrah!” shouted Phil, after they had got clear of the village. “I’ve won, I’ve won! But, oh, won’t there be a row back there when they find out what has happened, I wonder if they will follow us.”

The thought startled him.

“If they do they are liable to arrest me, believing that I let him out. Go it, Emperor! Go faster!”

Emperor flapped his ears in reply and swung off at an increased gait. The darkness of early morn was soon succeeded by the graying dawn, and Phil felt a certain sense of relief as he realized that day was breaking. On they swept, past hamlets, by farm houses, where here and there men with milkpails in hand paused, startled, to rub their eyes and gaze upon the strange outfit that was rushing past them at such a pace.

Phil could not repress a chuckle at such times, at thought of the sensation he was creating.

The hours drew on until seven o’clock had arrived, and the sun was high in the heavens.

“I must be getting near the place,” decided Phil. He knew he was on the right road, for he could plainly see the trail of the wagons and of the stock in the dust of the road before him. “Yes; there is some sort of a village way off yonder. I wonder if that is it?”

A fluttering flag from the top of a far away center-pole, which he caught sight of a few minutes later, told the boy that it was.

“Hurrah!” shouted Phil, waving his hat on high.

At that moment a distant chorus of yells smote his ears. The lad listened intently. The shout was repeated. Holding fast to the headstall, he glanced back over the road. There, far to his rear, he discovered a cloud of dust, which a few minutes later resolved itself into a party of horsemen, riding at top speed.

“They’re after me! Go faster! Go faster!” shouted the lad. As he spoke a rifle cracked somewhere behind him, but as Phil heard no bullet the leaden missile must have fallen far short of the mark.

CHAPTER XXIII

The Mystery Solved

As he neared the village Phil began to shout and wave his hat. After a time his shouts attracted the attention of some of the people on the circus lot, which was on his side of the village.

“It’s Emperor coming back!” cried someone. “There’s somebody on him,” added another.

“I’ll bet the day’s receipts that it’s that rascally Phil Forrest,” exclaimed Mr. Sparling, examining the cloud of dust with shaded eyes. “How in the world did it ever happen? I’ve been hunting all over the outfit for that boy this morning. Young Tucker said he thought Phil had remained behind, and I was afraid something had happened to the boy or that he had skipped the show. I might have known better. What’s that back of him?”

“Somebody chasing them, boss,” a tentman informed him.

“And they’re going to catch old Emperor sure.”

“Not if I know it,” snapped Mr. Sparling. “Hey, Rube!” he howled.

Canvasmen, roustabouts, performers and everybody within reach of his voice swarmed out into the open, armed with clubs, stones and anything they could lay their hands upon.

“There’s a posse trying to catch Phil Forrest and old Emperor. Get a going! Head them off and drive them back!”

Every man started on a run, some leaping on horses, clearing the circus lot, riding like so many cowboys. As they approached the lad perched on the bobbing head of the elephant the showmen set up a chorus of wild yells, to which Phil responded by waving his hat. He tried to stand up on Emperor’s head, narrowly missing a tumble, which he surely would have taken had not the elephant given him quick support with the ever-handy trunk.

“They’re shooting at me,” cried Phil, as he swept by the showmen.

“Line up!” commanded Mr. Sparling.

His men stretched across the highway, with the mounted ones in front, his infantry behind. Soon the horsemen of the pursuing party came dashing up and brought their horses to a sudden stop.

“What do you want?”

“We demand the turning over of the elephant which one of your men stole from us. They’ve wrecked the blacksmith shop and there’ll be a pretty bill of damages to pay! Come now, before we take you back with us.”

Mr. Sparling grinned.

“Perhaps you don’t know that you are in the State of Ohio at the present moment, eh? If you’ll take my advice you’ll turn about and get home as fast as horseflesh will carry you. My lawyer will be in your town today, and he will arrange for the payment of all just damages. We decline to be robbed, however. We’ve got the elephant and we’re going to keep him.”

“And we’re going to have the boy that broke in and released him.”

“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Mr. Sparling jovially. “I guess you’ll have the liveliest scrimmage you ever had in all your lives if you attempt to lay hands on that boy. Come, now, get out of here! If you attempt to raise the slightest disturbance I’ll have the bunch of you in the cooler, and we’ll be the boys to put you there if the town officials don’t act quickly enough.”

“Boys, I guess it’s up to us,” decided the leader of the party.

“Looks that way.”

“Then what do you say if we stop and see the show?”

“Good idea!”

“I don’t care how many of you go to the show; but, mark me, it will cost you fifty cents a head, and at the first sign of disturbance you’ll see the biggest bunch of trouble headed your way!”

“It’s all right, Mr. Sparling. We admit we’ve been done.”

And that was the end of it. Mr. Sparling’s lawyer visited the town where the disturbance had occurred on the previous day, and at his client’s direction made a settlement that should have been wholly satisfactory to the injured parties. Ordinarily the showman would not have settled the case, in view of the fact that neither he nor any of his employees was directly responsible for the series of disasters. He did it almost wholly on account of Phil Forrest, who had asked him to.

“Well, young man, I’ve paid the bills,” announced Mr. Sparling that afternoon before the evening performance.

“Thank you,” glowed Phil.

“Stop that! If there’s any thanks in it, they’re coming to you. Between you and the elephant we’ll have another turn-away today. You have already put a good bit of money in my pocket, and I’m not forgetting it. I have made definite arrangements for you and your chum to have a berth in a closed wagon after this. You will be good enough to offer no objections this time. What I say goes.”

“I hope I did not do anything wrong in taking Emperor away. I’m afraid my conscience has troubled me ever since. But I didn’t intend to do anything wrong or to cause any further damage than already had been done.”

“You did perfectly right, Forrest. That was a stroke of genius. As for damage, I tell you I have settled all of that. One of these days you come in when I’m not busy and we’ll talk about next season. I want you to stay with me.”

Phil left his employer, the lad’s face flushed and his eyes sparkling. Altogether, he was a very happy boy. The only real cloud that had darkened his horizon was that anyone should feel such an enmity toward him as to desire to take his life; or, at least, to cause him so serious an injury as to put an end to the career that now seemed so promising.

“I know why, of course,” mused the lad. “It was jealousy. I am more sure than ever as to the identity of the man who did it. When I get a good opportunity I am going to face him with it. I’m not afraid of the man. As it is, he might try it again; but if he understands that I know he will not dare try it, fearing I may have told someone else.”

Having come to this wise conclusion, Phil proceeded to the big top, where he and Teddy Tucker were to take their afternoon practice on the flying rings, pausing on the way to pass a handful of peanuts to Emperor, who was again in his place, and give the elephant’s trainer a happy nod.

“I’ve noticed of late that Signor Navaro acts rather grouchy over you boys working on his apparatus. You want to look out for these foreigners. Some of them are revengeful,” cautioned Mr. Miaco.

Signor Navaro was the leading performer in the flying-rings act. With him was his young son, Rodney Palmer and a young girl performer, whose father was a clown in the show.

Phil shot a sharp glance at Mr. Miaco, then dropped his eyes.

“I guess nobody would be jealous of me,” laughed the lad. “I’m only a beginner, and a clumsy one at that. All I can do is to ride an elephant and fall off, nearly killing myself.”

“Nevertheless, you take my advice.”

“I will, thank you.”

The boys began their work after putting on their working clothes, consisting of old silk undershirts and linen trunks. This left them free for the full play of their muscles, which, by this time, were of exceptionally fine quality. Not big and bunchy, but like thin bands of pliable steel. Both Phil and Teddy appeared to have grown half a head taller since they joined out with the circus.

“Put a little more finish in that cutoff movement,” directed their instructor. “The way you do it, Teddy, you remind me of a man trying to kick out a window. There, that’s better.”

And so it went on. Days came and went and the steady practice of the two circus boys continued, but if Mr. Sparling knew what they were doing he made no reference to it. He probably did know, for little went on in the Sparling Combined Shows that he was not aware of.

Nothing out of the routine occurred, until, late in the season, they pitched their tents in Canton, Ohio, when something happened that brought to a climax the certainty of the careers of the circus boys.

All day long the clouds had been threatening. But, though keen eyes were watching the scudding clouds, no apprehension was felt, as it was believed to be but a passing thunderstorm that was coming up.

The storm did not break until late in the afternoon when the show was more than half over. Phil had made his grand entry on Emperor, and Teddy had nearly sent the spectators into hysterics by his funny antics on the back of Jumbo, the educated mule.

All at once the circus men glanced aloft as the shrill whistle of the boss canvasman trilled somewhere outside the big top. The audience, if they heard, gave no heed. They were too much interested in the show.

To the showmen the whistle meant that the emergency gang was being summoned in haste to stake down emergency ropes to protect the tent from a windstorm that was coming up.

Phil took a quick survey of the upper part of the tent. Two acts were just beginning up there. A trapeze act was on, and the four performers were swinging out on the flying rings.

Both sets of performers were in rather perilous positions were the wind to blow very hard, as Phil well understood. He stepped off until he found a quarter pole at his back against which he leaned that he might watch the better the lofty performers.

All at once there was a blast against the big top that sounded as if a great blow had been delivered. The audience half rose. The tent shook from end to end.

“Sit down!” bellowed the ringmaster. “It’s only a puff of wind.”

Before the words were out of his mouth a piercing scream roused the audience almost to the verge of panic.

Phil, whose attention had been drawn to the people for the moment, shot a swift glance up into the somber haze of the peak of the big top.

Something had happened. But what?

“They’re falling!” he gasped.

The blow had loosened nearly every bit of the aerial apparatus under the circus tent.

“There go the trapeze performers!”

Down they came, landing with a whack in the net with their apparatus tumbling after them. But they were out of the net in a twinkling, none the worse for their accident. Almost at the same moment there were other screams.

“There go the rings!”

There was no net under the flying ring performers. Two of them shot toward the ground. When they struck, one was on top of the other. The man at the bottom was Signor Navaro, his son having fallen prone across him. The two other performers in the act had grabbed a rope and saved themselves.

Men picked the two fallen performers up hastily and bore them to the dressing tent, where Phil hastened the moment he was sure that all danger of a panic had passed. The gust of wind had driven the clouds away and the sun flashed out brilliantly.

A moment later the performance was going on with a rush, the band playing a lively tune.

Phil, when he reached the dressing tent, learned that Signor Navaro was seriously hurt, though his son was suffering merely from shock. The father had sustained several broken bones.

Phil approached the injured performer and leaned over him. The man was conscious.

“I’m sorry, very sorry, sir,” breathed the boy sympathetically.

“You needn’t be. You’ll get what you want,” murmured the circus man.

“I don’t understand,” wondered Phil.

“You’ll get my act.”

“Is that what you think I have been working for?”

Signor Navaro nodded.

“You are mistaken. Of course, if you are not able to perform any more this season I shall try to get it, but when you are able to go to work I shall give it up willingly, even if I succeed in getting it during that time. Is that why you played that trick on me?” demanded the lad.

“You know?” questioned Signor Navaro, with a start.

Phil gave a slight nod.

“Why did you put the file in my trunk—the file you cut the wire with?”

“I thought I dropped it in my own trunk. Somebody surprised me and I was afraid they would catch me with it in my hand and suspect.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“You are sharp. And you told no one?”

“No. But I had made up my mind to tell you. I didn’t think it would have to be this way, though. I’m sorry it is.”

“Well, I have my punishment. It served me right. I was crazed with jealousy. I—how is the boy?”

“Not badly hurt, I believe. He will be all right in a few days, and I hope you will be able to join out in a short time.”

Signor Navaro extended a feeble hand, which Phil pressed softly.

“Forgive me, boy. Will you?”

“Yes,” whispered Phil.

“And you will tell no—”

“There is nothing to tell, Signor Navaro. If there is anything I can do for you, tell me, and I shall have great happiness in doing it,” breathed the lad.

A final grip of the hands of the boy and the injured performer followed, after which Phil Forrest stepped back to make way for the surgeon, who had hurried to a wagon to fetch his case.

CHAPTER XXIV

Conclusion

“You see, an accident always casts a cloud over a show and makes the performers uncertain,” said Mr. Miaco that night as he and Phil were watching the performance from the end of the band platform.

“I should think it would,” mused the boy.

Soon after that Phil went to his wagon and turned in, his mind still on Signor Navaro, who had been taken to a hospital, where he was destined to remain for many weeks.

“I guess it doesn’t pay, in the long run, to be dishonorable,” mused the lad as he was dropping off to sleep.

The next morning Phil was up bright and early, very much refreshed after a good night’s rest between his blankets in the comfortable sleeping wagon. Teddy, however, declared that he didn’t like it. He said he preferred to sleep on a pile of canvas in the open air, even if he did get wet once in a while.

Later in the morning, after Mr. Sparling had had time to dispose of his usual rush of morning business, which consisted of hearing reports from his heads of departments, and giving his orders for the day, Phil sought out his employer in the little dog tent.

“I’m very sorry about the accident, Mr. Sparling,” greeted Phil.

“Yes; it ties up one act. It will be some days before I can get another team in to take it up, and here we are just beginning to play the big towns. I have been trying to figure out if there was not someone in the show who could double in that act and get away with it,” mused the showman. “How’d you sleep?”

“Fine. Is there no one you can think of who could fill the bill, Mr. Sparling?”

“No; that’s the rub. You know of anyone?”

“How about myself.”

“What?”

Mr. Sparling surveyed the lad in surprised inquiry.

“I think I can make a pretty fair showing on the rings. Of course, if Signor Navaro gets well and comes back, I shall be glad to give the act back to him. I know something about the flying rings.”

“Young man, is there anything in this show that you can’t do?” demanded Mr. Sparling, with an attempt at sternness.

“A great many things, sir. Then, again, there are some others that I have confidence enough in myself to believe I can do. You see, I have been practicing on the rings ever since I joined out.”

“But you are only one. We shall need two performers,” objected the owner.

“Teddy Tucker has been working with me. He is fully as good on the flying rings as I am, if not better.”

“H-m-m-m!” mused the showman. “Come over to the big top and let’s see what you really can do,” he said, starting up.

Phil ran in search of Teddy and in a few minutes the two boys appeared in the arena, ready for the rehearsal.

Mr. Miaco, who had been called on and informed of the news, accompanied them. It was he who hauled the boys up to the rings far up toward the top of the tent.

“Get a net under there! We don’t want to lose any more performers this season,” the clown commanded.

After some little delay the net was spread and the showman motioned for the performance to proceed, walking over and taking his seat on the boards so that he might watch the performance from the viewpoint of the audience.

With the utmost confidence the boys went through the act without a slip. They did everything that Signor Navaro had done in his performance, adding some clever feats of their own that had been devised with the help of Mr. Miaco. Mr. Sparling looked on with twinkling eyes and frequent nods of approval.

“Fine! Fine! One of the best flying-ring acts I ever saw,” he shouted, when finally the lads rounded out their act by a series of rapid evolutions commonly known as “skinning the cat.” Even in this their act was attended with variations.

The boys concluded by a graceful drop into the net, from which they bounded into the air, swung themselves to the ground, each throwing a kiss to the grinning manager.

A number of performers who had been a witness to the performance clapped their hands and shouted “bravo!”

Mr. Sparling called the lads to him.

“The act is yours,” he said. “It is better than Navaro’s. Each of you will draw twenty five dollars a week for the rest of the season,” he announced to the proud circus boys, who thereupon ran to the dressing tent to take a quick bath and get into their costumes ready for the parade.

“See to it that they have the net spread, Mr. Ducro,” he directed. “Never permit them to perform without it.”

That afternoon the boys made their first appearance in the flying-ring exhibition, and their act really proved a sensation. Mr. Sparling, who was observing it from the side, kept his head bobbing with nods of approval and muttered comments.

After the show Phil suggested that thereafter Teddy be allowed to use a clown makeup, because his funny antics in the air were more fitted to the character of a clown than to that of a finished performer.

To this the owner readily agreed, and that night they tried it with tremendous success.

The days that followed were bright ones for the circus boys. Each day seemed an improvement over the previous one. The season drew rapidly to a close and they looked forward to the day with keen regret.

One day Mr. Sparling summoned them to his tent.

“Are you boys ready to sign up for next season?” he asked.

“I should like to,” answered Phil.

“This will be a railroad show next season, the third largest show on the road, and I want you both.”

“Thank you; I shall join gladly.”

“So will I,” chorused Teddy.

“Your salaries will be fifty dollars a week next season. And if you wish a vaudeville engagement for the winter I think I shall be able to get one for you.”

“We are going to school, Mr. Sparling. Teddy and I will be hard at work over our books next week. But we are going to keep up our practice all winter and perhaps we may have some new acts to surprise you with in the spring,” laughed Phil, his face aglow with happiness.

A week later found the lads back in Edmeston, bronzed, healthy, manly and admired by all who saw them. Phil had nearly four hundred dollars in the bank, while Teddy had about one hundred less.

Phil’s first duty after greeting Mrs. Cahill was to call on his uncle, who begrudgingly allowed his nephew to shake hands with him. Next day the circus boys dropped into their old routine life and applied themselves to their studies, at the same time looking forward to the day when the grass should grow green again and the little red wagons roll out for their summer journeyings.

Here we will leave them. But Phil and his companion will be heard from again in a following volume, to be published immediately, entitled, “THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT; Or, Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark.” In this volume their thrilling adventures under the billowing canvas are to be continued, leading them on to greater triumphs and successes.

THE END

THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT

or

Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark

First Published 1911

CONTENTS

I. The Boys Hear Good News

II. On the Road Once More

III. Phil to the Rescue

IV. Renewing Old Acquaintances

V. Doing a Man’s Work

VI. The Showman’s Reward

VII. Trying the Culprit

VIII. Phil Makes a New Friend

IX. The Mule Distinguishes Himself

X. His First Bareback Lesson

XI. Summoned Before the Manager

XII. The Human Football

XIII. Ducked by an Elephant

XIV. In Dire Peril

XV. Emperor to the Rescue

XVI. An Unexpected Promotion

XVII. The Circus Boys Win New Laurels

XVIII. Doing a Double Somersault

XIX. Marooned in a Freight Car

XX. The Barnyard Circus

XXI. When the Crash Came

XXII. What Happened to a Pacemaker

XXIII. Searching the Train

XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

The Boys Hear Good News

“You never can guess it—you never can guess the news, Teddy,” cried Phil Forrest, rushing into the gymnasium, his face flushed with excitement.

Teddy Tucker, clad in a pair of linen working trunks and a ragged, sleeveless shirt, both garments much the worse for their winter’s wear, was lazily swinging a pair of Indian clubs.

“What is it, some kind of riddle, Phil?” he questioned, bringing the clubs down to his sides.

“Do be serious for a minute, won’t you?”

“Me, serious? Why, I never cracked a smile. Isn’t anything to smile at. Besides, do you know, since I’ve been in the circus business, every time I want to laugh I check myself so suddenly that it hurts?”

“How’s that?”

“Because I think I’ve still got my makeup on and that I’ll crack it if I laugh.”

“What, your face?”

“My face? No! My makeup. By the time I remember that I haven’t any makeup on I’ve usually forgotten what it was I wanted to laugh about. Then I don’t laugh.”

Teddy shied an Indian club at a rat that was scurrying across the far end of their gymnasium, missing him by half the width of the building.

“If you don’t care, of course I shan’t tell you. But it’s good news, Teddy. You would say so if you knew it.”

“What news? Haven’t heard anything that sounds like news,” his eyes fixed on the hole into which the rat had disappeared.

“You can’t guess where we are going this summer?”

“Going? Don’t have to guess. I know,” answered the lad with an emphasizing nod.

“Where do you think?”

“We’re going out with the Great Sparling Combined Shows, of course. Didn’t we sign out for the season before we closed with the show last fall?”

“Yes, yes; but where?” urged Phil, showing him the letter he had just brought from the post office. “You couldn’t guess if you tried.”

“No. Never was a good guesser. That letter from Mr. Sparling?” he questioned, as his eyes caught the familiar red and gold heading used by the owner of the show.

“Yes.”

“What’s he want?”

“You know I wrote to him asking that we be allowed to skip the rehearsals before the show starts out, so that we could stay here and take our school examinations?”

Teddy nodded.

“I’d rather join the show,” he grumbled. “Never did see anything about school to go crazy over.”

“You’ll thank me someday for keeping you at it,” said Phil. “See how well you have done this winter with your school work. I’m proud of you. Why, Teddy, there are lots of the boys a long way behind you. They can’t say circus boys don’t know anything just because they perform in a circus ring.”

“H-m-m-m!” mused Teddy. “You haven’t told me yet where we are going this summer. What’s the route?”

“Mr. Sparling says that, as we are going to continue our last year’s acts this season, there will be no necessity for rehearsals.”

The announcement did not appear to have filled Teddy Tucker with joy.

“We do the flying rings again, then?”

“Yes. And we shall be able to give a performance that will surprise Mr. Sparling. Our winter’s practicing has done a lot for us, as has our winter at school.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“You probably will ride the educated mule again, while I expect to ride the elephant Emperor in the grand entry, as I did before. I’ll be glad to get under the big top again, with the noise and the people, the music of the band and all that. Won’t you, Teddy?” questioned Phil, his eyes glowing at the picture he had drawn.

Teddy heaved a deep sigh.

“Quit it!”

“Why?”

“ ’Cause you make me think I’m there now.”

Phil laughed softly.

“I can see myself riding the educated mule this very minute, kicking up the dust of the ring, making everybody get out of the way, and—”

“And falling off,” laughed Phil. “You certainly are the most finished artist in the show when it comes to getting into trouble.”

“Yes; I seem to keep things going,” grinned the lad.

“But I haven’t told you all that Mr. Sparling says in the letter.”

“What else does he say?”

“That the show is to start from its winter quarters, just outside of Germantown, Pennsylvania, on April twenty-second—”

“Let’s see; just two weeks from today,” nodded Teddy.

“Yes.”

“I wish it was today.”

“He says we are to report on the twenty-first, as the show leaves early in the evening.”

“Where do we show first?”

“Atlantic City. Then we take in the Jersey Coast towns—”

“Do we go to New York?”

“New York? Oh, no! The show isn’t big enough for New York quite yet, even if it is a railroad show now. We’ve got to grow some before that. Mighty few shows are large enough to warrant taking them into the big city.”

“How do you know?”

“All the show people say that.”

“Pshaw! I’d sure make a hit in New York with the mule.”

“Time enough for that later. You and I will yet perform in Madison Square Garden. Just put that down on your route card, Teddy Tucker.”

“Humph! If we don’t break our necks before that! Where did you say we were—”

“After leaving New Jersey, we are to play through New York State, taking in the big as well as the small towns, and from Buffalo heading straight west. Mr. Sparling writes that we are going across the continent.”

“What?”

“Says he’s going to make the Sparling Shows known from the Atlantic to the Pacific—”

“Across the continent!” exclaimed Teddy unbelievingly. “No; you’re fooling.”

“Yes; clear to the Pacific Coast. We’re going to San Francisco, too. What do you think of that, Teddy?”

“Great! Wow! Whoop!” howled the boy, hurling his remaining Indian Club far up among the rafters of the gymnasium, whence it came clattering down, both lads laughing gleefully.

“We’re going to see the country this time, and we shan’t have to sleep out in an open canvas wagon, either.”

“Where shall we sleep?”

“Probably in a car.”

“It won’t be half so much fun,” objected Teddy.

“I imagine the life will be different. Perhaps we shall not have so much fun, but we’ll have the satisfaction of knowing that we are part of a real show. It will mean a lot to us to be with an organization like that. It will give us a better standing in the profession, and possibly by another season we may be able to get with one of the really big ones. Next spring, if we have good luck, we shall have finished with our school here. If they’ll have us, we’ll try to join out with one of them. In the meantime we must work hard, Teddy, so we shall be in fine shape when we join out two weeks from today. Come on; I’ll wrestle you a few falls.”

“Done,” exclaimed Teddy.

Phil promptly threw off his coat and vest. A few minutes later the lads were struggling on the wrestling mat, their faces dripping with perspiration, their supple young figures twisting and turning as each struggled for the mastery of the other.

The readers of the preceding volume in this series, entitled, THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS, will recognize Phil and Teddy at once as the lads who had so unexpectedly joined the Sparling Combined Shows the previous summer. It was Phil who, by his ready resourcefulness, saved the life of the wife of the owner of the show as well as that of an animal trainer later on. Then, too, it will be remembered how the lad became the fast friend of the great elephant Emperor, which he rescued from “jail,” and with which he performed in the ring to the delight of thousands. Ere the close of the season both boys had won their way to the flying rings, thus becoming full-fledged circus performers. Before leaving the show they had signed out for another season at a liberal salary.

With their savings, which amounted to a few hundred dollars, the boys had returned to their home at Edmeston, there to put in the winter at school.

That they might lose nothing of their fine physical condition, the Circus Boys had rented an old carpenter shop, which they rigged up as a gymnasium, fitting it with flying rings, trapeze bars and such other equipment as would serve to keep them in trim for the coming season’s work.

Here Phil and Teddy had worked long hours after school. During the winter they had gained marked improvement in their work, besides developing some entirely new acts on the flying rings. During this time they had been living with Mrs. Cahill, who, it will be remembered, had proved herself a real friend to the motherless boys.

Now, the long-looked-for day was almost at hand when they should once more join the canvas city for a life in the open.

The next two weeks were busy ones for the lads, with their practice and the hard study incident to approaching examinations. Both boys passed with high standing. Books were put away, gymnasium apparatus stored and one sunlit morning two slender, manly looking young fellows, their faces reflecting perfect health and happiness, were at the railroad station waiting for the train which should bear them to the winter quarters of the show.

Fully half the town had gathered to see them off, for Edmeston was justly proud of its Circus Boys. As the train finally drew up and the lads clambered aboard, their school companions set up a mighty shout, with three cheers for the Circus Boys.

“Don’t stick your head in the lion’s mouth, Teddy!” was the parting salute Phil and Teddy received from the boys as the train drew out.

“Well, Teddy, we’re headed for the Golden Gate at last!” glowed Phil.

“You bet!” agreed Teddy with more force than elegance.

“I wonder if old Emperor will remember me, Teddy?”

“Sure thing! But, do you think that ‘fool mule,’ as Mr. Sparling calls him, will remember me? Or will he want to kick me full of holes before the season has really opened?”

“I shouldn’t place too much dependence on a mule,” laughed Phil. “Come on; let’s go inside and sit down.”

CHAPTER II

On the Road Once More

All was bustle and excitement.

Men were rushing here and there, shouting out hoarse commands. Elephants were trumpeting shrilly, horses neighing; while, from many a canvas-wrapped wagon savage beasts of the jungle were emitting roar upon roar, all voicing their angry protest at being removed from the winter quarters where they had been at rest for the past six months.

The Great Sparling Combined Shows were moving out for their long summer’s journey. The long trains were being rapidly loaded when Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker arrived on the scene late in the afternoon.

It was all new and strange to them, unused as they were to the ways of a railroad show. Their baggage had been sent on ahead of them, so they did not have that to bother with. Each carried a suitcase, however, and the boys were now trying to find someone in authority to ask where they should go and what they should do.

“Hello, Phil, old boy!” howled a familiar voice.

“Who’s that?” demanded Teddy.

“Why, it’s Rod Palmer, our working mate on the rings!” cried Phil, dropping his bag and darting across the tracks, where he had espied a shock of very red hair that he knew could belong only to Rodney Palmer.

Teddy strolled over with rather more dignity.

“Howdy?” he greeted just as Phil and the red-haired boy were wringing each other’s hands. “Anybody’d think you two were long lost brothers.”

“We are, aren’t we, Rod?” glowed Phil.

“And we have been, ever since you boys showed me the brook where I could wash my face back in that tank town where you two lived. That was last summer. Seems like it was yesterday.”

“Yes, and we work together again, I hear? I’m glad of that. I guess you’ve been doing something this winter,” decided Rodney, after a critical survey of the lads. “You sure are both in fine condition. Quite a little lighter than you were last season, aren’t you, Phil?”

“No; I weigh ten pounds more.”

“Then you must be mighty hard.”

“Hard as a keg of nails, but I hope not quite so stiff,” laughed Phil.

“What you been working at?”

“Rings, mostly. We’ve done some practicing on the trapeze. What did you do all winter?”

“Me? Oh, I joined a team that was playing vaudeville houses. I was the second man in a ring act. Made good money and saved most of it. Why didn’t you join out for the vaudeville?”

“We spent our winter at school,” answered Phil.

“That’s a good stunt at that. In the tank town, I suppose?” grinned the red-haired boy.

“You might call it that, but it’s a pretty good town, just the same,” replied Phil. “I saw many worse ones while we were out last season.”

“And you’ll see a lot more this season. Wait till we get to playing some of those way-back western towns. I was out there with a show once, and I know what I’m talking about. Where are you berthed?”

“I don’t know,” answered Phil. “Where are you?”

“Car number fourteen. Haven’t seen the old man, then?”

“Mr. Sparling? No. And I want to see him at once. Where shall I find him?”

“He was here half an hour ago. Maybe he’s in his office.”

“Where is that?”

“Private car number one. Yes; the old man has his own elegant car this season. He’s living high, I tell you. No more sleeping out in an old wagon that has no springs. It will be great to get into a real bed every night, won’t it?”

Teddy shook his head doubtfully.

“I don’t know ’bout that.”

“I should think it would be pretty warm on a hot night,” nodded Phil.

“And what about the rainy nights?” laughed Rodney. “Taking it altogether, I guess I’ll take the Pullman for mine—”

“There goes Mr. Sparling now,” interjected Teddy.

“Where?”

“Just climbing aboard a car. See him?”

“That’s number one,” advised Rodney. “Better skip, if you want to catch him. He’s hard to land today. There’s a lot for him to look after.”

“Yes; come on, Teddy. Get your grip,” said Phil, hurrying over to where he had dropped his suitcase.

“But it’s going to be a great show,” called Rodney.

“Especially the flying-ring act,” laughed Phil.

A few minutes later both boys climbed aboard the private car, and, leaving their bags on the platform, pushed open the door and entered.

Mr. Sparling was seated at a roll-top desk in an office-like compartment, frowning over some document that he held in his hand.

The boys waited until he should look up. He did so suddenly, peering at them from beneath his heavy eyebrows. Phil was not sure, from the showman’s expression, whether he had recognized them or not. Mr. Sparling answered this question almost at once.

“How are you, Forrest? Well, Tucker, I suppose you’ve come back primed to put my whole show to the bad, eh?”

“Maybe,” answered Teddy carelessly.

“Oh, maybe, eh? So that’s the way the flag’s blowing, is it? Well, you let me catch you doing it and—stand up here, you two, and let me look at you.”

He gazed long and searchingly at the Circus Boys, noting every line of their slender, shapely figures.

“You’ll do,” he growled.

“Yes, sir,” answered Phil, smiling.

“Shake hands.”

Mr. Sparling thrust out both hands toward them with almost disconcerting suddenness.

“Ouch!” howled Teddy, writhing under the grip the showman gave him, but if Phil got a pressure of equal force he made no sign.

“Where’s your baggage?”

“We sent our trunks on yesterday. I presume they are here somewhere, sir.”

“If they’re not in your car, let me know.”

“If you will be good enough to tell me where our car is I will find out at once.”

The showman consulted a typewritten list.

“You are both in car number eleven. The porter will show you the berths that have been assigned to you, and I hope you will both obey the rules of the cars.”

“Oh, yes, sir,” answered Phil.

“I know you will, but I’m not so sure of your fat friend here. I think it might be a good plan to tie him in his berth, or he’ll be falling off the platform some night, get under the wheels and wreck the train.”

“I don’t walk in my sleep,” answered Teddy.

“Oh, you don’t?”

“I don’t.”

Mr. Sparling frowned; then his face broke out into a broad smile.

“I always said you were hopeless. Run along, and get settled now. You understand that you will keep your berth all season, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir. What time do we go out?”

“One section has already gone. The next and last will leave tonight about ten o’clock. We want to make an early start, for the labor is all green. It’ll take three times as long to put up the rag as usual.”

“The rag? What’s the rag?” questioned Teddy.

“Beg pardon,” mocked Mr. Sparling. “I had forgotten that you are still a Reuben. A rag is a tent, in show parlance.”

“Oh!”

“Any orders after we get settled?” asked Phil.

“Nothing for you to do till parade time tomorrow. You will look to the same executives that you did last year. There has been no change in them.”

The lads hurried from the private car, and after searching about the railroad yard for fully half an hour they came upon car number eleven. This was a bright, orange-colored car with the name of the Sparling Shows painted in gilt letters near the roof, just under the eaves. The smell of fresh paint was everywhere, but the wagons being covered with canvas made it impossible for them to see how the new wagons looked. There were many of these loaded on flat cars, with which the railroad yard seemed to be filled.

“Looks bigger than Barnum & Bailey’s,” nodded Teddy, feeling a growing pride that he was connected with so great an organization.

“Not quite, I guess,” replied Phil, mounting the platform of number eleven.

The boys introduced themselves to the porter, who showed them to their berths. These were much like those in the ordinary sleeper, except that the upper berths had narrow windows looking out from them. Across each berth was stretched a strong piece of twine.

Phil asked the porter what the string was for.

“To hang your trousers on, sah,” was the enlightening answer. “There’s hooks for the rest of your clothes just outside the berths.”

“This looks pretty good to me,” said Phil, peering out through the screened window of his berth.

“Reminds me of when I used to go to sleep in the woodbox behind the stove where I lived last year in Edmeston,” grumbled Teddy in a muffled voice, as he rummaged about his berth trying to accustom himself to it. Teddy never had ridden in a sleeping car, so it was all new and strange to him.

“Say, who sleeps upstairs?” he called to the porter.

“The performers, sah—some of them. This heah is the performers’ car, sah.”

“How do they get up there? On a rope ladder?”

Phil shouted.

“You ninny, this isn’t a circus performance. No; of course they don’t climb up on a rope ladder as if they were starting a trapeze act.”

“How, then?”

“The porter brings out a little step ladder, and it’s just like walking upstairs, only it isn’t.”

“Huh!” grunted Teddy. “Do they have a net under them all night?”

“A net? What for?”

“Case they fall out of bed.”

“Put him out!” shouted several performers who were engaged in settling themselves in their own quarters. “He’s too new for this outfit.”

Phil drew his companion aside and read him a lecture on not asking so many questions, advising Teddy to keep his ears and eyes open instead.

Teddy grumbled and returned to the work of unpacking his bag.

Inquiry for their trunks developed the fact that they would have to look for these in the baggage car; that no trunks were allowed in the sleepers.

Everything about the car was new and fresh, the linen white and clean, while the wash room, with its mahogany trimmings, plate glass mirrors and upholstered seats, was quite the most elaborate thing that Teddy had ever seen.

He called to Phil to come and look at it.

“Yes, it is very handsome. I am sure we shall get to be very fond of our home on wheels before the season is ended. I’m going out now to see if our trunks have arrived.”

Phil, after some hunting about, succeeded in finding the baggage man of the train, from whom he learned that the trunks had arrived and were packed away in the baggage car.

By this time night had fallen. With it came even greater confusion, while torches flared up here and there to light the scene of bustle and excitement.

It was all very confusing to Phil, and he was in constant fear of being run down by switching engines that were shunting cars back and forth as fast as they were loaded, rapidly making up the circus train. The Circus Boy wondered if he ever could get used to being with a railroad show.

“I must be getting back or I shall not be able to find number eleven,” decided Phil finally. “I really haven’t the least idea where it is now.”

The huge canvas-covered wagons stood up in the air like a procession of wraiths of the night, muttered growls and guttural coughs issuing from their interiors. All this was disturbing to one not used to it.

Phil started on a run across the tracks in search of his car.

In the meantime Teddy Tucker, finding himself alone, had sauntered forth to watch the loading, and when he ventured abroad trouble usually followed.

The lad soon became so interested in the progress of the work that he was excitedly shouting out orders to the men, offering suggestions and criticisms of the way they were doing that work.

Now, most of the men in the labor gang were new—that is, they had not been with the Sparling show the previous season, and hence did not know Teddy by sight. After a time they tired of his running fire of comment. They had several times roughly warned him to go on about his business. But Teddy did not heed their advice, and likewise forgot all about that which Phil had given him earlier in the evening. He kept right on telling the men how to load the circus, for, if there was one thing in the world that Teddy Tucker loved more than another it was to “boss” somebody.

All at once the lad felt himself suddenly seized from behind and lifted off his feet. At the same time a rough hand was clapped over his mouth.

The Circus Boy tried to utter a yell, but he found it impossible for him to do so. Teddy kicked and fought so vigorously that it was all his captor could do to hold him.

“Come and help me. We’ll fix the fresh kid this time,” called the fellow in whose grip the lad was struggling.

“What’s the matter, Larry? Is he too much for you?” laughed the other man.

“He’s the biggest little man I ever got my fists on. Gimme a hand here.”

“What are you going to do with him?”

“I’ll show you in a minute.”

“Maybe he’s with the show. He’s slippery enough to be a performer.”

“No such thing. And I don’t care if he is. I’ll teach him not to interfere with the men. Grab hold and help me carry him.”

Together they lifted the kicking, squirming, fighting boy, carrying him on down the tracks, not putting him down until they had reached the standpipe of a nearby water tank, where the locomotives took on their supply of fresh water.

“Jerk that spout around!” commanded Larry, sitting down on Tucker with a force that made the lad gasp.

“Can’t reach the chain.”

“Then get a pike pole, and be quick about it. The foreman will be looking for us first thing we know. If he finds us here he’ll fire us before we get started.”

“See here, Larry, what are you going to do?” demanded the other suspiciously.

“My eyes, but you’re inquisitive! Going to wash the kid down. Next time mebby he won’t be so fresh.”

And “wash” they did.

Suddenly the full stream from the standpipe spurted down. Larry promptly let go of his captive. Teddy was right in the path of the downpour, and the next instant he was struggling in the flood.

The showman dropped him and started to run.

Teddy let out a choking howl, grasping frantically for his tormentor. A moment later the lad’s hands closed over Larry’s ankles, and before the man was able to free himself from the boy’s grip Teddy had pulled him down and dragged him under the stream that was pouring down in a perfect deluge. The Circus Boy, being strong and muscular, was able to accomplish this with slight exertion.

Larry’s companion was making no effort to assist his fallen comrade. Instead, the fellow was howling with delight.

No sooner, however, had Teddy raised the man and slammed him down on his back under the spout, than the lad let go of his victim and darted off into the shadows. Teddy realized that it was high time he was leaving.

The man, fuming with rage, uttering loud-voiced threats of vengeance, scrambled out of the flood and began rushing up and down the tracks in search of Teddy.

But the boy was nowhere to be found. He had hastily climbed over a fence, where he crouched, dripping wet, watching the antics of the enraged Larry.

“Guess he won’t bother another boy right away,” grinned Teddy, not heeding his own wet and bedraggled condition.

The two showmen finally gave up their quest, and all at once started on a run in the opposite direction.

“Now, I wonder what’s made them run away like that? Surely they aren’t scared of me. I wonder? Guess I’ll go over and find out.”

Leaving his hiding place, the lad retraced his steps across the tracks until finally, coming up with a man, who proved to be the superintendent of the yard, Teddy asked him where sleeping car number eleven was located.

“Eleven? The sleepers have all gone, young man.”

“G-g-gone?”

“Yes.”

“But I thought—”

“Went out regular on the 9:30 express.”

Teddy groaned. Here he was, left behind before the show had all gotten away from its winter quarters. But he noted that the train bearing the cages and other equipment was still in the yard. There was yet a chance for him.

“Wha—what time does that train go?” he asked pointing to the last section.

“Going now. Why, what’s the matter with you youngster? The train is moving now.”

“Going? The matter is that I’ve got to go with them,” cried the lad, suddenly darting toward the moving train.

“Come back here! Come back! Do you want to be killed?”

“I’ve got to get on that train!” Teddy shouted back at the superintendent.

The great stock cars were rumbling by as the boy drew near the track, going faster every moment. By the light of a switch lamp Teddy could make out a ladder running up to the roof of one of the box cars.

He could hear the yard superintendent running toward him shouting.

“He’ll have me, if I don’t do something. Then I will be wholly left,” decided Teddy. “I’m going to try it.”

As the big stock car slipped past him the lad sprang up into the air, his eyes fixed on the ladder. His circus training came in handy here, for Teddy hit the mark unerringly, though it had been considerably above his head. The next second his fingers closed over a rung of the ladder, and there he hung, dangling in the air, with the train now rushing over switches, rapidly gaining momentum as it stretched out headed for the open country.

CHAPTER III

Phil to the Rescue

Phil Forrest was in a panic of uneasiness.

No sooner had his own section started than he made the discovery that Teddy Tucker was not on board. Then the lad went through the train in the hope that his companion had gotten on the wrong car. There was no trace of Teddy.

In the meantime Teddy had slowly clambered to the roof of the stock car, where he stretched himself out, clinging to the running board, with the big car swaying beneath him. The wind seemed, up there, to be blowing a perfect gale, and it was all the boy could do to hold on. After a while he saw a light approaching him. The light was in the hands of a brakeman who was working his way over the train toward the caboose.

He soon came up to where Teddy was lying. There he stopped.

“Well, youngster, what are you doing here?” he demanded, flashing his light into the face of the uncomfortable Teddy.

“Trying to ride.”

“I suppose you know you are breaking the law and that I’ll have to turn you over to a policeman or a constable the next town we stop at?”

“Nothing of the sort! What do you take me for? Think I’m some kind of tramp?” objected the lad. “Go on and let me alone.”

The brakeman looked closer. He observed that the boy was soaking wet, but that, despite this, he was well dressed.

“What are you, if not a tramp?”

“I’m with the show.”

The brakeman laughed long and loud, but Teddy was more interested in the man’s easy poise on the swaying car than in what he said.

“Wish I could do that,” muttered the lad admiringly.

“What’s that?”

“Nothing, only I was thinking out loud.”

“Well, you’ll get off at the next stop unless you can prove that you belong here.”

“I won’t,” protested Teddy stubbornly.

“We’ll see about that. Come down here on the flat car behind this one, and we’ll find out. I see some of the show people there. Besides, you’re liable to fall off here and get killed. Come along.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I’ll fall off if I try to get up.”

“And you a showman?” laughed the brakeman satirically, at the same time grabbing Teddy by the coat collar and jerking him to his feet.

The trainman did not appear to mind the giddy swaying of the stock car. He permitted Teddy to walk on the running board while he himself stepped carelessly along on the sloping roof of the car, though not relaxing his grip on the collar of Teddy Tucker.

Bidding the boy to hang to the brake wheel, the brakeman began climbing down the end ladder, so as to catch Teddy in case he were to fall. After him came the Circus Boy, cautiously picking his way down the ladder.

“Any of you fellows know this kid?” demanded the trainman, flashing his lantern into Teddy’s face. “He says he’s with the show.”

“Put him off!” howled one of the roustabouts who had been sleeping on the flat car under a cage. “Never saw him before.”

“You sit down there, young man. Next stop, off you go,” announced the brakeman sternly.

“I’ll bet you I don’t,” retorted Teddy Tucker aggressively.

“We’ll see about that.”

“Quit your music; we want to go to sleep,” growled a showman surlily.

The brakeman put down his lantern and seated himself on the side of the flat car. He did not propose to leave the boy until he had seen him safely off the train.

“How’d you get wet?” questioned Tucker’s captor.

“Some fellows ducked me.”

The trainman roared, which once more aroused the ire of the roustabouts who were trying to sleep.

They had gone on for an hour, when finally the train slowed down.

“Here’s where you hit the ties,” advised the brakeman, peering ahead.

“Where are we?”

“McQueen’s siding. We stop here to let an express by. And I want to tell you that it won’t be healthy for you if I catch you on this train again. Now, get off!”

Teddy making no move to obey, the railroad man gently but firmly assisted him over the side of the car, dropping him down the embankment by the side of the track.

“I’ll make you pay for this if I ever catch you again,” threatened Teddy from the bottom of the bank, as he scrambled to his feet.

Observing that the trainman was holding his light over the side of the car and peering down at him, Teddy ran along on all fours until he was out of sight of the brakeman, then he straightened up and ran toward the rear of the train as fast as his feet would carry him, while the railroad man began climbing over the cars again, headed for the caboose at the rear.

Teddy had gained the rear of the train by this time, but he did not show himself just yet. He waited until the flagman had come in, and until the fellow who had put him off had disappeared in the caboose.

At that, Teddy sprang up, and, swinging to the platform of the caboose, quickly climbed the iron ladder that led to the roof of the little boxlike car. He had no sooner flattened himself on the roof than the train began to move again.

Only one more stop was made during the night and that for water. Just before daylight they rumbled into the yards at Atlantic City, and Teddy scrambled from his unsteady perch, quickly clambering down so as to be out of the way before the trainmen should discover his presence.

But quickly as he had acted, he had not been quick enough. The trainman who had put him off down the line collared the lad the minute his feet touched the platform of the caboose.

“You here again?” he demanded sternly.

Teddy grinned sheepishly.

“I told you you couldn’t put me off.”

“We’ll see about that. Here, officer.” He beckoned to a policeman. “This kid has been stealing a ride. I put him off once. I turn him over to you now.”

“All right. Young man, you come with me!”

Teddy protested indignantly, but the officer, with a firm grip on his arm, dragged the lad along with him. They proceeded on up the tracks toward the station, the lad insisting that he was with the show and that he had a right to ride wherever he pleased.

“Teddy!” shouted a voice, just as they stepped on the long platform that led down to the street.

“Phil!” howled the lad. “Come and save me! A policeman’s got me and he’s taking me to jail.”

Phil Forrest ran to them.

“Here, here! What’s this boy done?” he demanded.

CHAPTER IV

Renewing Old Acquaintances

“Well, Teddy, I must say you have made a good start,” grinned Phil, after necessary explanations had been made and the young Circus Boy had been released by the policeman who had him in tow. “A few minutes more and you would have been in a police station. I can imagine how pleased Mr. Sparling would have been to hear that.”

Teddy hung his head.

“Your clothes are a sight, too. How did—what happened? Did you fall in a creek, or something of that sort?”

The lad explained briefly how he had been captured by the two men and ducked under the standpipe of the water tank.

“But I soaked him, too,” Tucker added triumphantly.” And I’m going to soak him again. The first man I come across whose name is Larry is going to get it from me,” threatened the lad, shaking his fist angrily.

“You come over to the sleeper with me and get into some decent looking clothes. I’m ashamed of you, Teddy Tucker.”

“So am I,” grinned the boy as they turned to go, Phil leading the way to the car number eleven, from which the performers were beginning to straggle, rubbing their eyes and stretching themselves.

The change of clothing having been made, the lads started for the lot, hoping that they might find the old coffee stand and have a cup before breakfast. To their surprise, upon arriving at the lot, they found the cook tent up and the breakfast cooking.

“Why, how did you ever get this tent here and up so quickly?” asked Phil after they had greeted their old friend of the cook tent.

“Came in on the flying squadron. This is a railroad show now, you know,” answered the head steward, after greeting the boys.

“Flying squadron? What’s that?” demanded Teddy, interested at once.

“The flying squadron is the train that goes out first. It carries the cook tent and other things that will be needed first. We didn’t have that last year. You’ll find a lot of new things, and some that you won’t like as well as you did when we had the old road show. What’s your act this year?”

“Same as last.”

“Elephant?”

“Yes, and the rings. My friend Teddy I expect will ride the educated mule again.”

While they were talking the steward was preparing a pot of steaming coffee for them, which he soon handed over to the lads with a plate of wafers, of which they disposed in short order.

It was broad daylight by this time, and the boys decided to go out and watch the erection of the tents. It was all new and full of interest to them. As they caught the odor of trampled grass and the smell of the canvas their old enthusiasm came back to them with added force.

“It’s great to be a circus man, isn’t it, Phil?” breathed Teddy.

“It is unless one is getting into trouble all the time, the way you do. I expect that, some of these days, you’ll get something you don’t want.”

“What?”

“Oh, I don’t know. But I am sure it will be something quite serious.”

“You better look out for yourself,” growled Teddy. “I’ll take care of myself.”

“Yes; the way you did last night,” retorted Phil, with a hearty laugh. “Come on, now; let’s not quarrel. I want to find some of our old friends. Isn’t that Mr. Miaco over there by the dressing tent?”

“Sure.”

Both lads ran toward their old friend, the head clown, with outstretched hands, and Mr. Miaco, seeing them coming, hastened forward to greet them.

“Well, well, boys! How are you?”

“Oh, we’re fine,” glowed Phil. “And we are glad to be back again, let me tell you.”

“No more so than your old friends are to have you back. Same old act?”

“Yes.”

“What have you boys been doing this winter?”

“Studying and exercising.”

“Yes; I knew, from your condition, that you have been keeping up your work. Got anything new?”

“Not much. Trapeze.”

“Good! I’ll bet you will be in some of the flying-bar acts before the season is over. We have a lot of swell performers this season.”

“So I have heard. Who are some of them?”

“Well, there’s the Flying Four.”

“Who are they?” questioned Teddy.

“Trapeze performers. They’re great—the best in the business. And then there’s The Limit.”

“Talk United States,” demanded Teddy. “The Limit? Whoever heard of that?”

“In other words, the Dip of Death.”

Teddy shook his head helplessly.

“That is the somersaulting automobile. A pretty young woman rides in it, and some fine day she won’t. I never did like those freak acts. But the public does,” sighed the old circus man. “The really difficult feats, that require years of practice, patrons don’t seem to give a rap for. But let somebody do a stunt in which he is in danger of suddenly ending his life, then you’ll see the people howl with delight. I sometimes think they would be half tickled to death to see some of us break our necks. There’s a friend of yours, Phil.”

“Who?”

“Emperor, the old elephant that you rode last year. They are taking him to the menagerie tent.”

“Whistle to him, Phil,” suggested Teddy.

Phil uttered a low, peculiar whistle.

The big elephant’s ears flapped. The procession that he was leading came to a sudden stop and Emperor trumpeted shrilly.

“He hasn’t forgotten me,” breathed Phil happily. “Dear old Emperor!”

“Pipe him up again,” urged Teddy.

“No; I wouldn’t dare. He would be likely to break away from Mr. Kennedy and might trample some of the people about here. See, Mr. Kennedy is having his troubles as it is.”

“Done any tumbling since you closed last fall?” questioned Mr. Miaco.

“We have practiced a little. I want to learn, if you will teach me—”

“Why, you can tumble already, Phil.”

“Yes; but I want to do something better—the springboard.”

“They’ve got a leaping act this year.”

“How?”

“Performers and clowns leap over a herd of elephants. You’ve seen the act, haven’t you?”

“Oh, yes; I know what it is. I wish I were able to do it.”

“You will be. It is not difficult, only one has to have a natural bent for it. Now, your friend Teddy ought to make a fine leaper.”

“I am,” interposed Teddy pompously. “I always was.”

“Yes; you’re the whole show from your way of thinking,” laughed Mr. Miaco. “I must go see if my trunk is placed. See you later, boys.”

After leaving the clown, the lads strolled about the lot. They soon discovered that the Sparling Shows was a big organization. The tents had been very much enlarged and the canvas looked new and white.

In the menagerie tent the boys found many new cages, gorgeous in red and gold, with a great variety of animals that had not been in the show the previous summer.

Emperor’s delight at seeing his little friend again was expressed in loud trumpetings, and his sinuous trunk quickly found its way into Phil Forrest’s pocket in search of sweets. And Emperor was not disappointed. In one coat pocket he found a liberal supply of candy, while the other held a bag of peanuts, to all of which the big elephant helped himself freely until no more was left.

“Have you got my trappings ready, Mr. Kennedy?” asked Phil of the keeper.

“You’ll find the stuff in fine shape. The old man has had a new bonnet made for Emperor and a new blanket. He’ll be right smart when he enters the ring today. Been over to the cook tent yet?”

“Yes; but not for breakfast. We are going soon now. We want to see them raise the big top first.”

When the boys had passed out into the open they observed the big circus tent rising slowly from the ground where it had been laid out, the various pieces laced together by nimble fingers. Mr. Sparling was on the lot watching everything at the same time. This was the first time the tent had been pitched, and, as has been said before, most of the men were green at their work. Yet, under the boisterous prodding of the boss canvasman, the white city was going up rapidly and with some semblance of system.

As soon as the dome of the big top left the ground the boys crawled under and went inside. Here all was excitement and confusion. Men were shouting their commands, above which the voice of the boss canvasman rose distinctly.

The dome of the tent by this time was halfway up the long, green center pole, while men were hurrying in with quarter poles on their shoulders, and which they quickly stood on end and guided into place in the bellying canvas.

The eyes of the Circus Boys sparkled with enthusiasm.

“I wish we were up there on the rings,” breathed Teddy.

“We shall be soon, old fellow,” answered Phil, patting him on the shoulder. “And for many days after this, I hope. Hello, I wonder what’s wrong up there?”

Phil’s quick glance had caught something up near the half-raised dome that impressed him as not being right.

“Look out aloft!” he sang out warningly.

“The key rope’s going. Grab the other line!” bellowed the boss canvasman.

“You fools!” roared Mr. Sparling from the opposite side of the tent, as he quickly noted what was happening. “Run for your lives! You’ll have the whole outfit down on your heads!”

The men fled, letting go of ropes and poles, diving for places of safety, many of them knowing what it meant to have that big tent collapse and descend upon them.

The man who had held the key rope was the one who had been at fault. Some of the new men had called to him to give them a hand on another line, and he, a new man himself, all forgetful of the important task that had been assigned to him, dropped the key rope, as it is called, turning to assist his associate.

Instantly the dome of the big top began to settle with a grating noise as the huge iron ring in the peak began slipping down the center pole.

The key rope coiled on the ground was running out and squirming up into the air. Only a single coil of it remained when Phil suddenly darted forward. With a bound, he threw himself upon the rope, giving it a quick twist about his arm.

The instant Phil had fastened his grip upon the rope he shot up into the air so quickly that the onlookers failed to catch the meaning of his sudden flight.

One pair of eyes, however, saw and understood. They belonged to Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show.

“The boy will he killed!” he groaned. “Let go!”

CHAPTER V

Doing a Man’s Work

For one brief instant Phil Forrest’s head was giddy and his breath fairly left his body from the speed with which he was propelled upward on the key rope.

But the lad had not for a second lost his presence of mind. Below him was some eight feet of the rope dangling in the air.

With a sudden movement that could only have been executed by one with unusual strength and agility, Phil let the rope slip through his hands just enough to slacken his speed. Instantly he threw himself around the center pole, twisting the rope around and around it, each twist slackening his upward flight a little. He knew that, were his head to strike the iron ring in the dome at the speed he was traveling, he would undoubtedly be killed. It was as much to prevent this as to save the tent that Phil took the action he did, though his one real thought was to save his employer’s property.

Now the rapid upward shoot had dwindled to a slow, gradual slipping of the rope as it moved up the center pole inch by inch. But Phil’s peril was even greater than before. The moment that heavy iron ring began pressing down on his head and shoulders with the weight of the canvas behind it, there would be nothing for him to do but to let go.

A forty-foot fall to the hard ground below seemed inevitable. Yet he did not lose his presence of mind for an instant.

“Give him a hand!” yelled the boss canvasman.

“How? How?” shouted the canvasmen. “We can’t reach him.”

“Get a net under that boy, you blockheads!” thundered Mr. Sparling, rushing over from his station. “Don’t you see he’s bound to fall, and if he does he’ll break his neck?”

The boss canvasman ordered three of his men to get the trapeze performers’ big net that lay in a heap near the ring nearest the dressing tent, for there were two rings now in the Great Sparling Combined Shows.

They dragged it over as quickly as possible; then willing hands grabbed it and stretched the heavy net out. At Mr. Sparling’s direction the four corners of the net were manned and the safety device raised from the ground, ready to catch the lad should he fall.

“Now let go and drop!” roared Mr. Sparling.

They heard Phil laugh from his lofty perch.

“Jump, I say!”

“What, and let the tent down on you all?”

By this time the lad had curled his feet up over his head, and they saw that he was bracing his feet against the iron ring, literally holding the tent up with his own powerful muscles. Of course, as a matter of fact, Phil was holding a very small part of the weight of the tent, but as it was, the strain was terrific.

Hanging head down, his face flushed until it seemed as if the blood must burst through the skin, he hung there as calmly as if he were not in imminent peril of his life. Then, too, there was the danger to those below him. If the tent should collapse some of them would be killed, for there were now few quarter poles in place to break the fall of the heavy canvas.

“I say, down there!” he cried, finally managing to make himself heard above the uproar.

“Are you going to drop?” shouted Mr. Sparling.

“No; do you want me to let the tent drop on you? If you’ll all get out there’ll be fewer hurt in case I have to let go.”

“That boy!” groaned the showman.

“Toss me a line and be quick about it,” called Phil shrilly.

“What can you do with a line?” demanded the showman, now more excited than he had ever been in his life.

“Toss it!”

“Give him a line!”

“A strong one,” warned Phil, his voice not nearly as far reaching as it had been.

“A line!” bellowed Mr. Sparling. “He knows what he wants it for, and he’s got more sense than the whole bunch of us.”

A coil of rope shot up. But it missed Phil by about six feet.

Another one was forthcoming almost instantly. This time, however, Mr. Sparling snatched it from the hands of the showman who had made the wild cast.

“Idiot!” he roared, pushing the man aside.

Once more the coil sailed up, unrolling as it went. This time Phil grasped it with his free hand, which he had liberated for the purpose.

“Now, be careful,” warned Mr. Sparling. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to do; but whatever you start you’re sure to finish.”

To this Phil made no reply. He was getting too weak to talk, and his tired body trembled.

In the end of the key rope a big loop had been formed, this after the tent was up, was slipped over a cleat to prevent a possibility of the rope slipping its fastenings and letting the tent down.

Phil had discovered the loop when it finally slipped up so his one hand was pressed against the knot.

Every second the weight on his feet—on his whole body, in fact, was getting heavier.

“If I can hold on a minute longer, I’ll make it!” he muttered, his breath coming in short, quick gasps.

What he was seeking to do was to get the rope they had tossed to him, through the big loop. In his effort to do so, the coil slipped from his hands, knocking a canvasman down as it fell, but the lad had held to the other end with a desperate grip.

Now he began working it through the loop inch by inch. It was a slow process, but he was succeeding even better than he had hoped.

Mr. Sparling now saw what Phil’s purpose was. About the same time the others down there made the same discovery.

They set up a cheer of approval.

“Wait!” commanded the owner of the show. “The lad isn’t out of the woods yet. You men on the net look lively there. If you don’t catch him should he fall, you take my word for it, it’ll go mighty hard with you.”

“We’ll catch him.”

“You’d better, if you know what’s good for you. Goodness, but he’s got the strength and the grit! I never saw anything like it in all my circus experience.”

They could not help him. There was no way by which any of them could reach Phil, and all they could do was to stand by and do the best they could at breaking his fall should he be forced to let go, as it seemed that he must do soon.

Nearer and nearer crept the line toward the ground, but it was yet far above their heads. It was moving faster, however, as Phil got more weight of rope through the loop, thus requiring less effort on his part to send it along on its journey.

“Side pole! Side pole!” shouted the boy, barely making himself heard above the shouts below.

At first they did not catch the meaning of his words. Mr. Sparling, of course, was the first to do so.

“That’s it! Oh, you idiots! You wooden Indians! You thick heads! Get a side pole, don’t you understand?” and the owner made a dive at the nearest man to him, whereat the fellow quickly side-stepped and started off on a run for the pole for which Phil had asked. But, even then, some of the hands did not understand what he could want of a side pole.

The instant it was brought Mr. Sparling snatched it from the hands of the tentman. Raising the pole, assisted by the boss canvasman, he was able to reach the loop. The iron spike in the end of the pole was thrust through the loop, and by exerting considerable pressure they were able to force the loop slowly toward the ground.

“You’ll have to hurry! I can’t hang on much longer,” cried Phil weakly.

“We’ll hurry, my lad. It won’t be half a minute now,” encouraged Mr. Sparling. “Stand by here you blockheads, ready to fall on that rope the minute it gets within reach. Three of you grab hold of the coil end and pay it out gradually. Be careful. Watch your business.”

Three men sprang to do his bidding.

“Here comes the loop!”

Ready hands grasped the dangling rope.

The two strands were quickly carried together and the weight of a dozen men thrown on them, instantly relieving the strain on Phil Forrest’s body.

Phil had saved the big top, and perhaps a few lives at the same time. Now a sudden dizziness seemed to have overtaken him. Everything appeared to be whirling about him, the big top spinning like a giant top before his eyes.

“Slide down the rope!” commanded Mr. Sparling.

The lad slowly unwound the rope from his arm and feebly motioned to them that they were to walk around the pole with their end so they might hoist the iron ring to the splice of the center pole.

“Never mind anything but yourself!” ordered Mr. Sparling. “We’ll attend to this mix-up ourselves.”

Very cautiously and deliberately, more from force of habit than otherwise, the lad had let his feet down, and with them was groping for the rope.

“Swing the line between his legs!” roared the owner. “Going to let him stay up there all day?”

“That’s what we’re trying to do,” answered a tentman.

“Yes, I see you trying. That’s the trouble with you fellows. You always think you’re trying, and if you are, you never accomplish anything. Got, it, Phil?”

“Y—ye—yes.”

Twisting his legs about the rope the boy next took a weak grip on it with both hands, then started slowly to descend. This he knew how to do, so the feat was attended with no difficulty other than the strength required, and of which he had none to spare just at the present moment.

“Look out!” he called. He thought he had shouted it in a loud tone. As a matter of fact no sound issued from his lips.

But Mr. Sparling whose eyes had been fixed upon the boy, saw and understood.

“He’s falling. Catch him!”

Phil shot downward head first. Yet with the instinct of the showman he curled his head up ever so little as he half consciously felt himself going.

CHAPTER VI

The Showman’s Reward

Phil struck the net with a violent slap that was heard outside the big top, though those without did not understand the meaning of it, nor did they give it heed.

Mr. Sparling was the first to reach him. The lad had landed on his shoulders and then struck flat on his back, the proper way to fall into a net. Perhaps it was instinct that told him what to do.

The lad was unconscious when the showman lifted him tenderly from the net and laid him out on the ground.

“Up with that peak!” commanded Mr. Sparling. “Get some water here, and don’t crowd around him! Give the boy air! Tucker, you hike for the surgeon.”

A shove started Teddy for the surgeon. In the meantime Mr. Sparling was working over Phil, seeking to bring him back to consciousness, which he finally succeeded in doing before the surgeon arrived.

“Did I fall?” asked Phil, suddenly opening his eyes.

“A high dive,” nodded Mr. Sparling.

Phil cast his eyes up to the dome where he saw the canvas drawing taut. He knew that he had succeeded and he smiled contentedly.

By the time the surgeon arrived the boy was on his feet.

“How do you feel?”

“I’m a little sore, Mr. Sparling. But I guess I’ll be fit in a few minutes.”

“Able to walk over to my tent? If not, I’ll have some of the fellows carry you.”

“Oh, no; I can walk if I can get my legs started moving. They don’t seem to be working the way they should this morning,” laughed the lad. “My, that tent weighs something doesn’t it?”

“It does,” agreed the showman.

Just then the surgeon arrived. After a brief examination he announced that Phil was not injured, unless, perhaps, he might have injured himself internally by subjecting himself to the great strain of holding up the tent.

“I think some breakfast will put me right again,” decided the lad.

“Haven’t you had your breakfast yet?” demanded Mr. Sparling.

“No; I guess I’ve been too busy.”

“Come with me, then. I haven’t had mine either,” said the showman.

Linking his arm within that of the Circus Boy, Mr. Sparling walked from the tent, not speaking again until they had reached the manager’s private tent. This was a larger and much more commodious affair than it had been last year.

He placed Phil in a folding easy chair, and sat down to his desk where he began writing.

After finishing, Mr. Sparling looked up.

“Phil,” he said in a more kindly tone than the lad had ever before heard him use, “I was under a deep obligation to you last season. I’m under a greater one now.”

“I wish you wouldn’t speak of it, sir. What I have done is purely in the line of duty. It’s a fellow’s business to be looking out for his employer’s interests. That’s what I have always tried to do.”

“Not only tried, but have,” corrected Mr. Sparling. “That’s an old-fashioned idea of yours. It’s a pity young men don’t feel more that way, these days. But that wasn’t what I wanted to say. As a little expression of how much I appreciate your interest, as well as the actual money loss you have saved me, I want to make you a little present.”

“Oh, no no,” protested Phil.

“Here is a check which I have made out for a hundred dollars. That will give you a little start on the season. But it isn’t all that I am going to do for you—”

“Please, Mr. Sparling. Believe me I do appreciate your kindness, but I mustn’t take the check. I couldn’t take the check.”

“Why not?”

“Because I haven’t earned it.”

“Haven’t earned it? He hasn’t earned it!”

“No, sir.”

The showman threw his hands above his head in a hopeless sort of a way.

“I should not feel that I was doing right. I want to be independent, Mr. Sparling. I have plenty of money. I have not spent more than half of what I earned last summer. This season I hope to lay by a whole lot, so that I shall be quite independent.”

“And so you shall, so you shall, my boy,” Sparling exclaimed, rising and smiting Phil good naturedly with the flat of his hand.

Instead of tearing up the check, however, Mr. Sparling put it in an envelope which he directed and stamped, then thrust in his coat pocket.

“I—I hope you understand—hope you do not feel offended,” said Phil hesitatingly. “I should not like to have you misunderstand me.”

“Not a bit of it, my lad. I can’t say that I have any higher opinion of you because of your decision, but—”

Phil glanced up quickly.

“I already have as high an opinion of you as it is possible for me to have for any human being, and—”

“Thank you. You’ll make me have a swelled head if you keep on that way,” laughed Phil.

“No danger. You would have had one long ago, if that was your makeup. Have you seen Mrs. Sparling yet?”

“No, and I should like to. May I call on her in your car?”

“Not only may, but she has commissioned me to ask you to. I think we had better be moving over to the cook tent, now, if we wish any breakfast. I expect the hungry roustabouts have about cleaned the place out by this time.”

They soon arrived at the cook tent. Here Phil left Mr. Sparling while he passed about among the tables, greeting such of his old acquaintances as he had not yet seen that morning. He was introduced to many of the new ones, all of whom had heard pretty much everything about Phil’s past achievements before he reached their tables. The people of a circus are much like a big family, and everyone knows, or thinks he knows, the whole family history of his associates.

Even Phil’s plucky work in the big top, less than an hour before, had already traveled to the cook tent, and many curious glances were directed to the slim, modest, boy as he passed among his friends quietly, giving them his greetings.

Teddy, on the other hand, was not saying a word. He was busy eating.

“How’s your appetite this morning, Teddy?” questioned Phil, sinking down on the bench beside his companion.

“Pretty fair,” answered Teddy in a muffled voice. “I began at the top—”

“Top of what?”

“Top of the bill of fare. I’ve cleaned up everything halfway down the list, and I’m going through the whole bill, even if I have to get up and shake myself down like the miller does a bag of meal.”

“Be careful, old chap. Remember you and I have to begin our real work today. We shall want to be in the best of shape for our ring act. You won’t, if you fill up as you are doing now,” warned Phil.

“Not going to work today.”

“What’s that?”

“No flying rings today.”

“I don’t understand.”

“No flying rings, I said. Mr. Sparling isn’t going to put on our act today.”

“How do you know?” asked Phil in some surprise.

“Heard him say so.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“Why, I came in with him myself less than ten minutes ago—”

“I know. He stopped right in front of my table here to speak to the ringmaster. Heard him say you were not to be allowed to go on till tomorrow. We don’t have to go in the parade today if we don’t want to, either. But you are to ride Emperor in the Grand Entry, and I’m to do my stunt on the educated mule.”

“Pshaw, I can work today as well as I ever could,” said Phil in a disappointed tone. “And I’m going on, too, unless Mr. Sparling gives me distinct orders to the contrary.”

Phil got the orders before he had finished his breakfast.

“Believe me, Phil, I know best,” said Mr. Sparling, noting the lad’s disappointment. “You have had a pretty severe strain this morning, and to go on now with the excitement of the first day added to that, I fear might be too much for you. It might lay you up for some weeks, and we cannot afford to have that happen, you know. I need you altogether too much for that.”

“Very well, sir; it shall be as you wish. I suppose I may go on in the Grand Entry as usual?”

“Oh, yes, if you wish.”

“I do.”

“Very well; then I’ll let Mr. Kennedy know. You had better lie down and rest while the parade is out.”

“Thank you; I hardly think that will be necessary. I feel fit enough for work right now.”

“Such is youth and enthusiasm,” mused the showman, passing on out of the cook tent, once more to go over his arrangements, for there were many details to be looked after on this the first day of the show’s season on the road.

Phil called on Mrs. Sparling after breakfast, receiving from the showman’s wife a most hospitable welcome. She asked him all about how he had spent the winter, and seemed particularly interested in Mrs. Cahill, who was now the legal guardian of both the boys. Mrs. Sparling already had a letter in her pocket, with the check for one hundred dollars which the showman had drawn for Phil. It was going to Mrs. Cahill to be deposited to the lad’s credit, but he would know nothing of this until the close of the season. After he had gone home he would find himself a hundred dollars richer than he thought.

His call finished, Phil went out and rejoined Teddy. Together they started back toward the dressing tent to set their trunks in order and get out such of their costumes as they would need that afternoon and evening. Then again, the dressing tent was really the most attractive part of the show to all the performers. It was here that they talked of their work and life, occasionally practiced new acts of a minor character, and indulged in pranks like a lot of schoolboys at recess time.

As they were passing down along the outside of the big top, Phil noticed several laborers belonging to the show sitting against the side wall sunning themselves. He observed that one of the men was eyeing Teddy and himself with rather more than ordinary interest.

Phil did not give it a second thought, however, until suddenly Teddy gave his arm a violent pinch.

“What is it?”

“See those fellows sitting there?”

“Yes. What of it?”

“One of them is the fellow who ducked me under the water tank back at Germantown.”

“You don’t say? Which one?”

“Fellow with the red hair. I heard them call him Larry as I passed, or I might not have noticed him particularly. His hair is redder than Rod Palmer’s. I should think it would set him on fire.”

“It certainly would seem so.”

“Mister Larry has got something coming to him good and proper, and he’s going to get it, you take my word for that.”

Phil laughed good naturedly.

“Please, now, Teddy, forget it. Don’t go and get into any more mix-ups. You’ll be sending yourself back home first thing you know. Then it will be a difficult matter to get into any other show if you are sent away from this one in disgrace.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’ll take care of myself. I always do, don’t I?”

“I’m afraid I can’t agree to that,” laughed Phil. “I should say that quite the contrary is the case.”

Teddy fell suddenly silent as they walked on in the bright morning light, drinking in the balmy air in long-drawn breaths. Entering the paddock they turned sharply to the left and pushed their way through the canvas curtains into the dressing tent.

“Hurrah for the Circus Boys,” shouted someone. “Hello Samson, are you the strong-armed man that held the tent up by your feet?”

“Strong-footed man, you mean,” suggested another. “A strong-armed man uses his arms not his feet.”

“Come over here and show yourself,” shouted another voice.

Phil walked over and stood smilingly before them. Nothing seemed to disturb his persistent good nature.

“Huh, not so much! I guess they stretched that yarn,” grunted a new performer.

“I guess not,” interposed Mr. Miaco. “I happened to see that stunt pulled off myself. It was the biggest thing I ever saw a man—let alone a boy—get away with.” Then Mr. Miaco went over the scene with great detail, while Phil stole away to his own corner, where he busied himself bending over his trunk to hide his blushes.

But Teddy felt no such emotion. Almost as soon as he entered the dressing tent he began searching about for something. This he soon found. It was a pail, but he appeared to be in a hurry. Picking up the pail he ran with it to the water barrel, that always stands in the dressing tent, filled the pail and skulked out as if he did not desire to attract attention.

Once outside the dressing tent Teddy ran at full speed across the paddock and out into the big top. A few men were working here putting up apparatus for the performers. They gave no heed to the boy with the pail of water.

Teddy ran his eye along the inside of the tent, nodded and went on to the middle section where he turned, climbing the steps to the upper row.

Arriving there he cautiously peered out over the top of the side wall. What he saw evidently was not to his liking, for once more he picked up the pail of water and ran lightly along the top seat toward the menagerie tent.

All at once he paused, put down his pail and peered out over the side wall again. Nodding with satisfaction he picked up the pail, lifted it to the top of the side wall, once more looked out measuring the distance well, then suddenly turned the pail bottom side up.

In his course through the big top Teddy had gathered up several handfuls of sawdust and dirt which he had stirred well into the water as he ran, making a pasty mess of it.

It was this mixture that he had now poured out over the side wall. Teddy waited only an instant to observe the effect of the deluge that he had turned on. Then he fled down the rattling board seats.

Outside a sudden roar broke the stillness. No sooner had he reached the bottom of the seats than several men raised up the side wall and came tumbling in, yelling like Comanche Indians. Teddy cast one frightened look at them, then ran like all possessed. What he had seen was a red-haired man in the lead, dripping wet with hair and clothes plastered with mud and sawdust. Larry was after the lad in full cry.

CHAPTER VII

Trying the Culprit

“Stop him!” howled Larry, as he, followed by half a dozen blue-shirted fellows, bolted into the arena in pursuit of the lad who had emptied the pail of muddy water over him.

Teddy, still clinging to the pail, was sprinting down the concourse as if his very life depended upon it. A canvasman, hearing Larry’s call, and suspecting the boy was wanted for something quite serious, rushed out, heading Teddy off. It looked as if the lad were to be captured right here.

But Teddy Tucker was not yet at the end of his resources. He ran straight on as if he had not observed the canvasman. Just as he reached the man, and the latter’s hands were stretched out to intercept him, Teddy hurled the pail full in the fellow’s face. Then the lad darted to one side and fled toward the paddock.

The canvasman had joined the procession by this time. Into the dressing tent burst the boy, followed by Larry, the others having brought up sharply just before reaching the dressing room, knowing full well that they had no business there and that their presence would be quickly and effectively resented. Larry, consumed with rage, did not stop to think about this, so he dashed on blindly to his fate.

At first the circus performers in the dressing tent could not imagine what was going on. Clotheslines came down, properties were upset and in a moment the tent was in confusion.

“Stop that!” bellowed an irate performer.

Larry gave no heed to the command, and Teddy was in too big a hurry to stop to explain.

Suddenly Phil Forrest, realizing that his little companion was in danger, gave a leap. He landed on Larry’s back, pinioning the fellow’s arms to his sides.

“You stop that now! You let him alone!” commanded Phil.

Before the canvasman could make an effort to free himself, Mr. Miaco, the head clown, took a hand in the proceedings. Throwing Phil from the tentman, Miaco jerked Larry about, and demanded to know what he meant by intruding on the privacy of the dressing tent in that manner.

“I want that kid,” he growled.

“Put him out!” howled a voice.

“What do you want him for?”

“He—he dumped a pail of water over me. I’ll get even with him. I’ll—”

“How about this, Master Teddy?” questioned Mr. Miaco.

Teddy explained briefly how the fellow Larry and a companion had ducked him under the water tank, and had ruined his clothes, together with causing him to miss his train.

“This demands investigation,” decided Mr. Miaco gravely. “Fellows, it is evident that we had better try this man. That is the best way to dispose of his case.”

“Yes, yes; try him!” they shouted.

“Whom shall we have for judge?”

“Oscar, the midget!”

The Smallest Man on Earth was quickly boosted to the top of a property box.

“Vot iss?” questioned the midget, his wizened, yellow little face wrinkling into a questioning smile.

“We are going to try this fellow, Larry, and you are to be the judge.”

“Yah,” agreed Oscar, after which he subsided, listening to the proceedings that followed, with grave, expressionless eyes. It is doubtful if Oscar understood what it was all about, but his gravity and judicial manner sent the whole dressing tent into an uproar of merriment.

After the evidence was all in, the entire company taking part in testifying, amid much merriment—for the performers entered into the spirit of the trial like a lot of schoolboys—Oscar was asked to decide what should be done with the prisoner Larry.

Oscar was at a loss to know how to answer.

“Duck him,” suggested one.

This was an inspiration to Oscar. He smiled broadly.

“Yah, dat iss.”

“What iss?” demanded the Tallest Man On Earth. “Talk United States.”

“Yah,” agreed Oscar, smiling seraphically. “Duck um.”

“Larry, it is the verdict of this court that you be ducked, as the only fitting punishment for one who has committed the crime of laying hands on a Circus Boy. Are we all agreed on the punishment meted out by the dignified judge?”

“Yes, yes!” they shouted. “The rain barrel for him.”

“Men, do your duty!” cried Mr. Miaco.

“I wouldn’t do that,” interposed Phil. “You haven’t any more right to duck him than he had to put Teddy under the water tank. It isn’t right.”

But they gave no heed to his protests. Willing hands grabbed the red-headed tentman, whose kicks and struggles availed him nothing. Raising him over the barrel of water they soused him in head first, ducking him again and again.

“Take him out. You’ll drown him,” begged Phil.

Then they hauled Larry out, shaking the water out of him. As soon as his coughing ceased, he threatened dire vengeance against his assailants.

Four performers then carried their victim to the opening of the dressing tent and threw him out bodily.

Instantly Larry’s companions saw him fall at their feet, and heard his angry explanation of the indignities that had been heaped upon him. There was a lively scrambling over the ground, and the next instant a volley of stones was hurled into the dressing tent.

Phil was just coming out on his way to the main entrance as the row began. A stone just grazed his cheek. Without giving the least heed to the assailants, he turned to cross the paddock in order to slip out under the tent and go on about his business. Most lads would have run under the circumstances. Not so Phil. His were steady nerves.

“There he is! Grab him!” shouted Larry, catching sight of Phil and charging that Phil had been one of those who had helped duck him.

Such was not the case, however, for instead of having taken part in the ducking, Phil Forrest had tried to prevent it.

Larry and another man were running toward him. The lad halted, turned and faced them.

“What do you want of me?” he demanded.

“I’ll show you what I want of you. You started this row.”

“I did nothing of the sort, sir. You go on about your business and I shall do the same, whether you do or not.”

Phil raised the canvas and stepped out. But no sooner had he gotten out into the lot than the two men burst through the flapping side wall.

The boy saw them coming and knew that he was face to face with trouble.

He adopted a ruse, knowing full well that he could not hope to cope with the brawny canvasmen single handed and alone. Starting off on a run, Phil was followed instantly, as he felt sure he would be, but managing to keep just ahead of the men and no more.

“I’ve got you!”

The voice was almost at his ear.

Phil halted with unexpected suddenness and dropped on all fours.

The canvasman was too close to check his own speed. He fell over Phil, landing on his head and shoulders in the dirt.

The lad was up like a flash. Larry was close upon him now, and with a snarl of rage launched a blow full at Phil Forrest’s face. But he had not reckoned on the lad’s agility, nor did he know that Phil was a trained athlete. Therefore, Larry’s surprise was great when his fist beat the empty air.

Thrown off his balance, Larry measured his length on the ground.

“I advise you to let me alone,” warned Phil coolly, as the tentman was scrambling to his feet. Already Larry’s companion had gotten up and was gazing at Phil in a half dazed sort of way.

“Get hold of him, Bad Eye! What are you standing there like a dummy for? He’ll run in a minute.”

Phil’s better judgment told him to do that very thing, but he could not bring himself to run from danger. Much as he disliked a row, he was too plucky and courageous to run from danger.

Bad Eye was rushing at him, his eyes blazing with anger.

Phil side-stepped easily, avoiding his antagonist without the least difficulty. But now he had to reckon with Larry, who, by this time, had gotten to his feet.

It was two to one.

“Stand back unless you want to get hurt!” cried Phil, with a warning glint in his eyes.

Larry, by way of answer, struck viciously at him. Phil, with a glance about him, saw that he could not expect help, for there was no one in sight, the performers being engaged at that moment in driving off the angry laborers, which they were succeeding in doing with no great effort on their part.

The lad cleverly dodged the blow. But instead of backing away as the canvasman’s fist barely grazed his cheek, Phil, with a short arm jolt, caught his adversary on the point of his chin. Larry instantly lost all desire for fight. He sat down on the hard ground with a bump.

Now Bad Eye rushed in. Again Phil sidestepped, and, thrusting a foot between the fellow’s legs, tripped him neatly.

Half a dozen men came running from the paddock. They were the fellows whom the performers had put to rout. At that moment the bugle blew for all hands to prepare for the parade.

“I guess I have done about enough for one day,” decided Phil. “And for a sick man it wasn’t a half bad job.”

With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped under and disappeared within.

CHAPTER VIII

Phil Makes a New Friend

“Tweetle! Tweetle!”

Two rippling blasts from the ringmaster’s whistle notified the show people that the performance was on. In moved the procession for the Grand Entry, as the silken curtains separating the paddock from the big top slowly fell apart.

Phil, from his lofty perch on the head of old Emperor, peering through the opening of the bonnet in which he was concealed, could not repress an exclamation of admiration. It was a splendid spectacle—taken from a story of ancient Rome—that was sweeping majestically about the arena to the music of an inspiring tune into which the big circus band had suddenly launched.

Gayly-caparisoned, nervous horses pranced and reared; huge wagons, gorgeous under their coat of paint and gold, glistened in the afternoon sunlight that fell softly through the canvas top and gave the peculiar rattling sound so familiar to the lover of the circus as they moved majestically into the arena; elephants trumpeted shrilly and the animals back in the menagerie tent sent up a deafening roar of protest. After months of quiet in their winter quarters, this unusual noise and excitement threw the wild beasts into a tempest of anger. Pacing their cages with upraised heads, they hurled their loud-voiced protests into the air until the more timid of the spectators trembled in their seats.

It was an inspiring moment for the circus people, as well as for the spectators.

“Tweetle! Tweetle!” sang the ringmaster’s whistle after the spectacle had wound its way once around the concourse.

At this the procession wheeled, its head cutting between the two rings, slowly and majestically reaching for the paddock and dressing tent, where the performers would hurry into their costumes for their various acts to follow.

This left only the elephants in the ring. The huge beasts now began their evolutions, ponderous but graceful, eliciting great applause, as did their trainer, Mr. Kennedy. Then came the round-off of the act. This, it will be remembered, was of Phil Forrest’s own invention, the act in which Phil, secreted in the elephant’s bonnet, burst out at the close of the act, and, by the aid of wires running over a pulley above him, was able to descend gracefully to the sawdust arena.

He was just a little nervous in this, the first performance of the season, but, steadying his nerves, he went through the act without a hitch and amid thunders of applause. As in the previous season’s act, old Emperor carried the lad from the ring, holding Phil out in front of him firmly clasped in his trunk. No similar act ever had been seen in a circus until Phil and Emperor worked it out for themselves. It had become one of the features of the show last year, and it bade fair to be equally popular that season. Phil had added to it somewhat, which gave the act much more finish than before.

“Very good, young man,” approved Mr. Sparling, as the elephant bore the lad out. Mr. Sparling was watching the show with keen eyes in order to decide what necessary changes were to be made. “Coming back to watch the performance?”

“Oh, yes. I wouldn’t miss that for anything.”

As soon as the lad had thrown off his costume and gotten back into his clothes, he hurried into the big top, where he found Teddy, who did not go on in his bucking mule act until later.

“How’s the show, Teddy?” greeted Phil.

“Great. Greatest thing I ever saw. Did you see the fellows jump over the herd of elephants and horses?”

“No. Who were they?”

“Oh, most all of the crowd, I guess. I’m going to do that.”

“You, Teddy? Why, you couldn’t jump over half a dozen elephants and turn a somersault. You would break your neck the first thing.”

“Mr. Miaco says I could. Says I’m just the build for that sort of thing,” protested the lad.

“Well, then, get him to teach you. Of course we can’t know how to do too many things in this business. We have learned that it pays to know how to do almost everything. Have you made friends with the mule since you got back?”

“Yes. He spooned over me and made believe he loved me like a brother.”

Teddy paused reflectively.

“Then what?”

“Well, then he tried to kick the daylight out of me.”

“I thought so,” laughed Phil. “I’m glad I chose an elephant for my friend, instead of an educated mule. When are you going to begin on the springboard—begin practicing, I mean?”

“Mr. Miaco says he’ll teach me as soon as we get settled—”

“Settled? I never heard of a show getting settled—that is, not until the season is ended and it is once more in winter quarters. I suppose by ‘settled’ he means when everything gets to moving smoothly.”

“I guess so,” nodded Teddy. “What are you going to do?”

“The regular acts that I did last year.”

“No; I mean what are you going to learn new?”

“Oh! Well, there are two things I’m crazy to be able to do.”

“What are they?”

“One is to be a fine trapeze performer,” announced Phil thoughtfully.

“And the other?”

“To ride bareback.”

“Want to be the whole thing, don’t you?” jeered Teddy.

“No; not quite. But I should like to be able to do those two things, and to do them well. There is nothing that catches the audiences as do the trapezists and the bareback riders. And it fascinates me as well.”

“Here, too,” agreed Teddy.

“But there is one thing I want to talk with you about—to read you a lecture.”

“You needn’t.”

“I shouldn’t be surprised if there was some sort of an inquiry about the row in the dressing tent. You know Mr. Sparling won’t stand for anything of that sort.”

“He doesn’t know about it,” interposed Teddy.

“But we do. Therefore, we are just as much to blame as if he did know. And I am not so sure that he doesn’t. You can’t fool Mr. Sparling. You ought to know that by this time. There isn’t a thing goes on in this show that he doesn’t find out about, sooner or later, and he is going to find out about this.”

“I didn’t do anything. You did, when you had a scrap with those two fellows out on the lot.”

“You forget that you started the row by emptying a pail of water on Larry’s head. Don’t you call that starting doing anything? I do.”

Phil had to laugh at the comical expression on his companion’s face.

“Well, maybe.”

“And we haven’t heard the last of those fellows yet. They’re mad all through. I am sorry I had to hit them. But they would have used me badly had I not done something to protect myself. I should tell the whole matter to Mr. Sparling, were it not that I would get others into trouble. That I wouldn’t do.”

“I should think not.”

“By the way, Teddy, there come the bareback riders. Don’t you follow after their act?”

“My! That’s so. I had forgotten all about that. Thought I was watching the show just like the rest of the folks.”

“Better hustle, or you won’t get into your makeup in time to go on. There’ll be a row for certain if you are late.”

But Teddy already had started on a run for the dressing tent, bowling over a clown at the entrance to the paddock and bringing down the wrath of that individual as he hustled for the dressing tent and began feverishly getting into his ring clothes. These consisted of a loose fitting pair of trousers, a slouch hat and a coat much the worse for wear. A “Rube” act, it was called in show parlance, and it was that in very truth, more because of Teddy’s drollery than for the makeup that he wore.

Phil quickly forgot all about the lecture he had been reading to his companion as the bareback riders came trotting in. His eyes were fixed on a petite, smiling figure who tripped up to the curbing, where she turned toward the audience, and, kicking one foot out behind her, bowed and threw a kiss to the spectators.

Phil had walked over and sat down by the center pole right near the sawdust ring, so that he might get a better view of the riding.

The young woman who so attracted his attention was known on the show bills as “Little Miss Dimples, the Queen of the Sawdust Arena.” Phil, as he gazed at her graceful little figure, agreed that the show bills did not exaggerate her charms at all.

Little Dimples, using the ringmaster’s hand as a step, vaulted lightly to the back of the great gray ring horse, where she sat as the animal began a slow walk about the ring.

Phil wondered how she could stay on, for she appeared to be sitting right on the animal’s sloping hip.

The band struck up a lively tune, the gray horse began a slow, methodical gallop. The first rise of the horse bounded Little Dimples to her knees, and the next to her feet.

With a merry little “yip! yip!” she began executing a fairy-like dance, keeping time with her whip, which she held grasped in both hands.

“Beautiful!” cried Phil, bringing his hands together sharply. In fact, he had never seen such artistic riding. The girl seemed to be treading on air, so lightly did her feet touch the rosined back of the ring horse.

Little Dimples heard and understood. She flashed a brilliant smile at Phil and tossed her whip as a salute. Phil had never met her, but they both belonged to the same great family, and that was sufficient.

His face broke out into a pleased smile at her recognition and the lad touched his hat lightly, settling back against the center pole to watch Dimples’ riding, which had only just begun. It made him laugh outright to see her big picture hat bobbing up and down with the motion of the horse.

“Works just like an elephant’s ear when the flies are thick,” was the lad’s somewhat inelegant comparison.

But now Dimples removed the hat, sending it spinning to the ringmaster, who, in turn, tossed it to an attendant. The real work of the act was about to start. Phil never having seen the young woman ride, did not know what her particular specialty was. Just now he was keenly observing, that he might learn her methods.

Dimples’ next act was to jump through a series of paper hoops. This finished, she leaped to the ring, and, taking a running start, vaulted to the back of her horse.

“Bravo!” cried Phil, which brought another brilliant smile from the rider. She knew that it was not herself, but her work, that had brought this expression of approval from the Circus Boy, whom she already knew of by hearing some of the other performers tell of his achievements since he joined the circus less than a year ago.

“The ring is rough. I should have thought they would have leveled it down better,” Phil grumbled, noting the uneven surface of the sawdust circle with critical eyes. “I’ll bet Mr. Sparling hasn’t seen that, or he would have raised a row. But still Dimples seems very sure on her feet. I wonder if she does any brilliant stunts?”

As if in answer to the lad’s question, the “tweetle” of the ringmaster’s whistle brought everything to a standstill under the big top. Even the band suddenly ceased playing. Then Phil knew that something worthwhile was coming.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” announced the ringmaster, holding up his right hand to attract the eyes of the spectators to him, “Little Miss Dimples, The Queen of the Sawdust Arena, will now perform her thrilling, death-defying, unexcelled, unequaled feat of turning a somersault on the back of a running horse. I might add in this connection that Little Miss Dimples is the only woman who ever succeeded in going through this feat without finishing up by breaking her neck. The band will cease playing while this perilous performance is on, as the least distraction on the part of the rider might result fatally for her. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you Little Miss Dimples,” concluded the ringmaster, with a comprehensive wave of the hand toward the young woman and her gray ring horse.

Dimples dropped to the ring, swept a courtesy to the audience, then leaped to the animal’s back with a sharp little “yip! yip!”

During the first round of the ring she removed the bridle, tossing it mischievously in Phil’s direction. He caught it deftly, placing it on the ground beside him, then edged a little closer to the ring that he might the better observe her work.

The ring horse started off at a lively gallop, the rider allowing her elbows to rise and fall with the motion of the horse, in order that she might the more thoroughly become a part of the animal itself—that the motion of each should be the same.

Suddenly Dimples sprang nimbly to her feet, tossing her riding whip to the waiting hands of the ringmaster.

Phil half scrambled to his feet as he saw her poise for a backward somersault. He had noted another thing, too. She was going to throw herself, it seemed, just as the horse was on the roughest part of the ring. He wondered if she could make it. To him it was a risky thing to try, but she no doubt knew better than he what she was about.

The ringmaster held up his hand as a signal to the audience that the daring act was about to take place.

Phil crept a little nearer.

All at once the girl gracefully threw herself into the air. He judged she had cleared the back of the animal by at least three feet, a high jump to make straight up with unbent knees.

But just as she was leaving the back of the horse, the animal suddenly stumbled, thus turning her halfway around, and for the instant taking her mind from her work. Dimples already had begun to turn backward, but he noted that all at once she stopped turning.

Phil knew what that meant. As show people term it, she had “frozen” in the air. She was falling, head first, right toward the wooden ring curbing.

“Turn! Turn!” cried Phil sharply.

The girl was powerless to do so, while the ringmaster, being on the opposite side of the ring, could be of no assistance to her.

“Turn!” shouted Phil, more loudly this time, giving a mighty spring in the direction of the falling woman.

CHAPTER IX

The Mule Distinguishes Himself

The audience had half risen, believing that the girl would surely be killed. It did seem that it would be a miracle if she escaped without serious injury.

But the Circus Boy, his every faculty centered on the task before him, proposed to save her if he could.

He sprang up on the ring curbing, stretching both hands above his head as far as he could reach, bracing himself with legs wide apart to meet the shock.

It is not an easy task to attempt to catch a person, especially if that person be falling toward you head first. But Phil Forrest calculated in a flash how he would do it. That is, he would unless he missed.

It all happened in much less time than it takes to tell it, of course, and a moment afterwards one could not have told how it had occurred.

The Circus Boy threw both hands under Dimples’ outstretched arms with the intention of jerking her down to her feet, then springing from the curbing with her before both should topple over.

His plan worked well up to the point of catching her. But instantly upon doing so he realized that she was moving with such speed as to make it impossible for him to retain his balance.

Dimples was hurled into his arms with great force, bowling Phil over like a ninepin. Yet, in falling, he did not lose his presence of mind. He hoped fervently that he might be fortunate enough not to strike on a stake, of which there were many on that side of the ring.

“Save yourself!” gasped the girl.

Instead, Phil held her up above him at arm’s length. When he struck it was full on his back, the back of his head coming in contact with the hard ground with such force as to stun him almost to the point of unconsciousness. As he struck he gave Dimples a little throw so that she cleared his body, landing on the ground beyond him.

The girl stretched forth her hands and did a handspring, once more thorough master of herself, landing gracefully on her feet. But Phil had undoubtedly saved her life, as she well knew.

Without giving the slightest heed to the audience, which was howling its delight, Dimples ran to the fallen lad, leaning over him anxiously.

“Are you hurt?” she begged, placing a hand on his head.

“I—I guess not,” answered Phil, pulling himself together a little. “I’ll get up or they’ll think something is the matter with me.”

“Let me help you.”

“No, thank you,” he replied, brushing aside the hand she had extended to him. But his back hurt him so severely that he could only with difficulty stand upright.

Phil smiled and straightened, despite the pain.

At that Dimples grasped him by the hand, leading him to the concourse facing the reserved seats, where she made a low bow to the audience; then, throwing both arms about Phil, she gave him a hearty kiss.

Thunders of applause greeted this, the audience getting to its feet in its excitement. Had it been possible, both the boy and Miss Dimples would have been borne in triumph from the ring.

“Come back and sit down while I finish my act,” she whispered.

“You’re not going to try that again, are you?” questioned Phil.

“Of course I am. You’ll see what a hit it will make.”

“I saw that you came near making a hit a few moments ago,” answered the lad.

“There, there; don’t be sarcastic,” she chided, giving him a playful tap. “If you feel strong enough, please help me up.”

Phil did so smilingly; then he retired to his place by the center pole, against which he braced his aching back.

“Turn after you have gotten over the rough spot,” he cautioned her.

Dimples nodded her understanding.

This time Phil held his breath as he saw her crouching ever so little for her spring.

Dimples uttered another shrill “yip!” and threw herself into the air again.

He saw, with keen satisfaction, that this time she was not going to miss. Dimples turned in the air with wonderful grace, alighting far back on the broad hips of the gray horse with bird-like lightness.

Phil doffed his hat, and, getting to his feet, limped away, with the audience roaring out its applause. They had forgotten all about the boy who but a few moments before had saved Little Dimples’ life, and he was fully as well satisfied that it should be so.

Just as he was passing the bandstand the educated mule, with Teddy Tucker on its back, bolted through the curtains like a projectile. The mule nearly ran over Phil, then brought up suddenly to launch both heels at him. But the Circus Boy had seen this same mule in action before, and this time Phil had discreetly ducked under the bandstand.

Then the mule was off.

“Hi-yi-yi-yip-yi!” howled Teddy, as the outfit bolted into the arena. The old hands with the show discreetly darted for cover when they saw Teddy and his mule coming. Like Phil Forrest, they had had experience with this same wild outfit before. There was no knowing what the bucking mule might not do, while there was a reasonable certainty in their minds as to what he would do if given half a chance.

“Hi! Hi! Look out!” howled Teddy as they neared the entrance to the menagerie tent, where a number of people were standing. The boy saw that the mule had taken it into his stubborn head to enter the menagerie tent, there to give an exhibition of his contrariness.

In they swept like a miniature whirlwind, the mule twisting this way and that, stopping suddenly now and then and bracing its feet in desperate efforts to unseat its rider.

But Teddy held on grimly. This rough riding was the delight of his heart, and the lad really was a splendid horseman, though it is doubtful if he realized this fact himself.

A man was crossing the menagerie tent with a pail of water in each hand. The mule saw him. Here was an opportunity not to be lost.

Teddy’s mount swept past the fellow. Then both the beast’s heels shot out, catching both the pails at the same time. The two pails took the air in a beautiful curve, like a pair of rockets, distributing water all the way across the tent, a liberal portion of which was spilled over the water carrier as the pails left his hands.

The man chanced to be Larry, Teddy’s enemy. Teddy was traveling at such a rapid rate that he did not recognize the fellow, but Larry recognized him, and thereby another account was charged up against the Circus Boy.

But the mule, though the time limit for his act had expired, had not quite satisfied his longing for excitement. Whirling about, he plunged toward the big top again.

“Whoa! Whoa!” howled Teddy, tugging at the reins. But he might as well have tried to check the wind. Nothing short of a stone wall could stop the educated mule until he was ready to stop. The ringmaster had blown his whistle for the next act and the performers were running to their stations when Teddy and his mount suddenly made their appearance again.

“Get out of here!” yelled the ringmaster.

“I am trying to do so,” howled Teddy in a jeering voice. “Can’t go any faster than I am.”

“Stop him! You’ll run somebody down!” shouted Mr. Sparling, dodging out of the way as the mule, with ears laid back on his head, dashed straight at the showman.

“Can’t stop. In a hurry,” answered Teddy.

On they plunged past the bandstand again, the mule pausing at the paddock entrance long enough to kick the silk curtains into ribbons. Next he made a dive for the dressing tent.

In less time than it takes to tell it, the dressing tent looked as if it had been struck by a cyclone.

Clubs and side poles were brought down on the rump of the wild mule, most of which were promptly kicked through the side of the tent. Teddy, in the meantime, had landed in a performer’s trunk, smashing through the tray, being wedged in so tightly that he could not extricate himself. Added to the din was Teddy’s voice howling for help.

The performers, in all stages of dress and undress, had fled to the outside.

Then, the mule becoming suddenly meek, pricked forward his ears, ambled out into the paddock and began contentedly nibbling at the fresh grass about the edges of the enclosure.

About this time Mr. Sparling came running in. His face was red and the perspiration was rolling down it.

“Where’s that fool boy?” he bellowed. “Where is he, I say?”

“Here he is,” answered the plaintive voice of Teddy Tucker.

“Come out of that!”

“I can’t. I’m stuck fast.”

The showman jerked him out with scant ceremony, while Teddy began pulling pieces of the trunk tray out of his clothes.

“Do you want to put my show out of business? What do you think this is—a cowboy picnic? I’ll fire you. I’ll—”

“Better fire the mule. I couldn’t stop him,” answered the boy.

By this time the performers, after making sure that the mule had gone, were creeping back.

“I’ll cut that act out. I’ll have the mule shot. I’ll—Get out of here, before I take you over my knee and give you what you deserve.”

“I’m off,” grinned Teddy, ducking under the canvas.

He was seen no more about the dressing tent until just before it was time to go on for the evening performance.

CHAPTER X

His First Bareback Lesson

“Where’s that boy?”

“He’ll catch it if he ever dares show his face in this dressing tent again.”

This and other expressions marked the disapproval of the performers of the manner in which their enclosure had been entered and disrupted.

“Don’t blame him; blame the mule,” advised Mr. Miaco, the head clown.

“Yes; Teddy wasn’t to blame,” declared Phil, who had entered at that moment. “Did he do all this?” he asked, looking about at the scene of disorder.

“He did. Lucky some of us weren’t killed,” declared one. “If that mule isn’t cut out of the programme I’ll quit this outfit. Never safe a minute while he and the kid are around. First, the kid gets us into a scrimmage with the roustabouts, then he slam bangs into the dressing tent with a fool mule and puts the whole business out of the running.”

“Was Mr. Sparling—was he mad?” asked Phil, laughing until the tears started.

“Mad? He was red headed,” replied Miaco.

“Where’s Teddy?”

“He got stuck in the strong man’s trunk there. The boss had to pull him out, for he was wedged fast. Then the young man prudently made his escape. If the boss hadn’t skinned him we would have done so. He got out just in time.”

“Are you Phil Forrest?” asked a uniformed attendant entering the dressing tent.

“Yes; what is it?”

“Lady wants to see you out in the paddock.”

“Who is it?”

“Mrs. Robinson.”

“I don’t know any Mrs. Robinson.”

“He means Little Dimples,” Mr. Miaco informed him.

“Oh.”

Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property box, industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at her admiringly.

Dimples glanced down with a smile.

“Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That’s what I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every week during the show season. I don’t know what I’ll do with them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would rather I did not.”

Phil nodded.

“I don’t like to be thanked. It makes me feel—well, awkward, I guess. You froze, didn’t you?”

“I did,” and Dimples laughed merrily.

“What made you do so—the horse?”

“Yes. I thought he was going to fall all the way down, then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn’t turn to save my life. I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn’t. But let’s talk about you. You hurt your back, didn’t you?”

“Nothing to speak of. It will be all right by morning. I’m just a little lame now. Where were you—what show were you with last year?”

“The Ringlings.”

“The Ringlings?” marveled Phil. “Why, I shouldn’t think you would want to leave a big show like that for a little one such as this?”

“It’s the price, my dear boy. I get more money here, and I’m a star here. In the big shows one is just a little part of a big organization. There’s nothing like the small shows for comfort and good fellowship. Don’t you think so?”

“I don’t know,” admitted Phil. “This is the only show I have ever been with. I ‘joined out’ last season—”

“Only last season? Well, well! I must say you have made pretty rapid progress for one who has been out less than a year.”

“I have made a lot of blunders,” laughed Phil. “But I’m learning. I wish, though, that I could do a bareback act one quarter as well as you do. I should be very proud if I could.”

“Have you ever tried it?”

“No.”

“Why don’t you learn, then? You’d pick it up quickly.”

“For the reason that I have never had an opportunity—I’ve had no one to teach me.”

“Then you shall do so now. Your teacher is before you.”

“You—you mean that you will teach me?”

“Of course. What did you think I meant?”

“I—I wasn’t sure. That will be splendid.”

“I saw your elephant act. You are a very finished performer—a natural born showman. If you stay in the business long enough you will make a great reputation for yourself.”

“I don’t want to be a performer all my life. I am going to own a show some of these days,” announced the boy confidently.

“Oh, you are, are you?” laughed Dimples. “Well, if you say so, I most surely believe you. You have the right sort of pluck to get anything you set your heart on. Now if my boy only—”

“Your boy?”

“Yes. Didn’t you know that I am a married woman?”

“Oh my, I thought you were a young girl,” exclaimed Phil.

“Thank you; that was a very pretty compliment. But, alas, I am no longer young. I have a son almost as old as you are. He is with his father, performing at the Crystal Palace in London. I expect to join them over there after my season closes here.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes, and as my own boy is so far away I shall have to be a sort of mother to you this season. You have no mother, have you?”

“No. My mother is dead,” answered the lad in a low voice, lowering his eyes.

“I thought as much. Mothers don’t like to have their boys join a circus; but, if they knew what a strict, wholesome life a circus performer has to lead, they would not be so set against the circus. Don’t you think, taking it all in all, that we are a pretty good sort?” smiled Dimples.

“I wish everyone were as good as circus folks,” the boy made answer so earnestly as to bring a pleased smile to the face of his companion.

“You shall have a lesson today for that, if you wish.”

“Do I?”

“Then run along and get on your togs. As soon as the performance is over we will get out my ring horse and put in an hour’s work.”

“Thank you, thank you!” glowed Phil as Mrs. Robinson rolled up her work. “I’ll be out in a few moments.”

Full of pleasurable anticipation, Phil ran to the dressing tent and began rummaging in his trunk for his working tights. These he quickly donned and hurried back to the paddock. There he found Dimples with her ring horse, petting the broad-backed beast while he nibbled at the grass.

“Waiting, you see?” she smiled up at Forrest.

“Yes. But the performance isn’t finished yet, is it?”

“No. The hippodrome races are just going on. Come over to this side of the paddock, where we shall be out of the way, and I’ll teach you a few first principles.”

“What do you want me to do first?”

“Put your foot in my hand and I will give you a lift.”

The lad did as directed and sprang lightly to the back of the gray.

“Move over on the horse’s hip. There. Sit over just as far as you can without slipping off. You saw how I did it this afternoon?”

“Yes—oh, here I go!”

Phil slid from the sloping side of the ring horse, landing in a heap, to the accompaniment of a rippling laugh from Dimples.

“I guess I’m not much of a bareback rider,” grinned the lad, picking himself up. “How do you manage to stay on it in that position?”

“I don’t know. It is just practice. You will catch the trick of it very soon.”

“I’m not so sure of that.”

“There! Now, take hold of the rein and stand up. Don’t be afraid—”

“I’m not. Don’t worry about my being afraid.”

“I didn’t mean it that way. Move back further. It is not good to stand in the middle of your horse’s back all the time. Besides throwing too much weight on the back, you are liable to tickle the animal there and make him nervous. The best work is done by standing over the horse’s hip. That’s it. Tread on the balls of your feet.”

But Phil suddenly went sprawling, landing on the ground again, at which both laughed merrily.

Very shortly after that the show in the big top came to a close. The concert was now going on, at the end nearest the menagerie tent, so Phil and Dimples took the ring at the other end of the tent, where they resumed their practice.

After a short time Phil found himself able to stand erect with more confidence. Now, his instructor, with a snap of her little whip, started the gray to walking slowly about the ring, Phil holding tightly to the bridle rein to steady himself.

“Begin moving about now. Tread softly and lightly. That’s it. You’ve caught it already.”

“Why not put a pad on the horse’s back, as I’ve seen some performers do?” he questioned.

“No. I don’t want you to begin that way. Start without a pad, and you never will have to unlearn what you get. That’s my advice. I’m going to set him at a gallop now. Stand straight and lean back a little.”

The ring horse moved off at a slow, methodical gallop.

Phil promptly fell off, landing outside the ring, from where he picked himself up rather crestfallen.

“Never mind. You’ll learn. You are doing splendidly,” encouraged Dimples, assisting him to mount again. “There’s the press agent, Mr. Dexter, watching you. Now do your prettiest. Do you know him?”

“No; I have not met him. He’s the fellow that Teddy says blows up his words with a bicycle pump.”

“That’s fine. I shall have to tell him that. Remember, you always want to keep good friends with the press agent. He’s the man who makes or unmakes you after you have passed the eagle eyes of the proprietor,” Dimples laughed. “From what I hear I guess you stand pretty high with Mr. Sparling.”

“I try to do what is right—do the best I know how.”

She nodded, clucking to the gray and Phil stopped talking at once, for he was fully occupied in sticking to the horse, over whose back he sprawled every now and then in the most ridiculous of positions. But, before the afternoon’s practice had ended, the lad had made distinct progress. He found himself able to stand erect, by the aid of the bridle rein, and to keep his position fairly well while the animal took a slow gallop. He had not yet quite gotten over the dizziness caused by the constant traveling about in a circle in the narrow ring, but Dimples assured him that, after a few more turns, this would wear off entirely.

After finishing the practice, Dimples led her horse back to the horse tent, promising Phil that they should meet the next afternoon.

Phil had no more than changed to his street clothes before he received a summons to go to Mr. Sparling in his private tent.

“I wonder what’s wrong now?” muttered the lad. “But, I think I know. It’s about that row we had this morning out on the lot. I shouldn’t be surprised if I got fined for that.”

With a certain nervousness, Phil hurried out around the dressing tent, and skirting the two big tents, sought out Mr. Sparling in his office.

CHAPTER XI

Summoned Before the Manager

The lad was not far wrong in his surmise. That Mr. Sparling was angry was apparent at the first glance.

He eyed Phil from head to foot, a fierce scowl wrinkling his face and forehead.

“Well, sir, what have you been up to this afternoon?”

“Practicing in the ring since the afternoon performance closed.”

“H-m-m-m! And this forenoon?”

“Not much of anything in the way of work.”

“Have any trouble with any of the men?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Who?”

“A man by the name of Larry, and another whom they call Bad Eye.”

“Humph! I suppose you know it’s a bad breach of discipline in a show to have any mixups, don’t you?”

“I do. I make no apologies, except that I was acting wholly in self defense. All the same, I do not expect any favoritism. I am willing to take my punishment, whatever it may be,” replied the lad steadily.

There was the merest suspicion of a twinkle in the eyes of the showman.

“Tell me what you did.”

“I punched Larry, tripped his friend, and—well, I don’t exactly know all that did happen,” answered Phil without a change of expression.

“Knock them down?”

“I—I guess so.”

“H-m-m. I suppose you know both those fellows are pretty bad medicine, don’t you?”

“I may have heard something of the sort.”

“Larry has quite a reputation as a fighter.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you knocked him out?”

“Something like that,” answered Phil meekly.

“Show me how you did it?” demanded Mr. Sparling, rising and standing before the culprit.

“It was like this, you see,” began Phil, exhibiting a sudden interest in the inquiry. “I was chased by the two men. Suddenly I stopped and let the fellow, Larry, fall over me. During the scrimmage I tripped Bad Eye. I didn’t hit anyone until Larry crowded me so I had to do so in order to save myself, or else run away.”

“Why didn’t you run, young man?”

“I—I didn’t like to do that, you know.”

Mr. Sparling nodded his head.

“How did you hit him?”

“He made a pass at me like this,” and the lad lifted Mr. Sparling’s hand over his shoulder. “I came up under his guard with a short arm jolt like this.”

“Well, what next?”

“That was about all there was to it. The others came out, about that time, and I ducked in under the big top.”

To Phil’s surprise Mr. Sparling broke out into a roar of laughter. In a moment he grew sober and stern again.

“Be good enough to tell me what led up to this assault. What happened before that brought on the row? I can depend upon you to give me the facts. I can’t say as much for all the others.”

Phil did as the showman requested, beginning with the ducking of Teddy by the men when the show was leaving Germantown, and ending with Teddy’s having emptied a pail of muddy water over Larry’s red head that morning.

He had only just finished his narration of the difficulty, when who should appear at the entrance to the office tent but Larry himself. He was followed, a few paces behind, by Bad Eye.

Mr. Sparling’s stern, judicial eyes were fixed upon them. He demanded to hear from them their version of the affair, which Larry related, leaving out all mention of his having ducked Teddy. His story agreed in the main details with what Phil already had said, excepting that Larry’s recital threw the blame on Teddy and Phil.

Mr. Sparling took a book from his desk, making a memorandum therein.

“Is that all, sir?” questioned Larry.

“Not quite. If I hear of any further infraction of the rules of this show on the part of either of you two, you close right then. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“That’s not all; I’ll have you both jailed for assault. As it is, I’ll fine you both a week’s pay. Now get out of here!”

Larry hesitated, flashed a malignant glance at Phil Forrest; then, turning on his heel, he left the tent.

“Don’t you think you had better fine me, too, sir?” asked Phil.

“What for?”

“Because I shall have to do it again some of these days.”

“What do you mean?”

“That fellow is going to be even with me at the very first opportunity.”

Mr. Sparling eyed the lad for a moment.

“I guess you will be able to give a good account of yourself if he tries to do anything of the sort. Let me say right here, though you need not tell your friend so that I think Teddy did just right, and I am glad you gave Larry a good drubbing. But, of course, we can’t encourage this sort of thing with the show. It has to be put down with an iron hand.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Mind, I don’t expect you to be a coward.”

“I hope not. My father used to teach me not to be. He frequently said, ‘Phil, keep out of trouble, but if you get into it, don’t sneak out.’ ”

“That’s the talk,” roared Mr. Sparling, smiting his desk with a mighty fist. “You run along, now, and give your young friend some advice about what he may expect if he gets into any more difficulty.”

“I have done that already.”

“Good! Tell it to him again as coming from me. He’s going to make a good showman, though he came near putting this outfit out of business with the fool mule this afternoon. I would cut the act out, but for the fact that it is a scream from start to finish. Feeling all right?”

“Yes, thank you. I am perfectly able to go on in the ring act tonight, if you think best.”

“Wait until tomorrow; wait until tomorrow. You’ll be all the better for it.”

The cook tent was open, as Phil observed. The red flag was flying from the center pole of the tent, indicating that supper was being served. In a short time the tent would come down and be on its way in the flying squadron to the next stand.

The show was now less than a day out, but many things had happened. Not a moment had been without its interest or excitement, and Phil realized that as he walked toward the cook tent. He found Teddy there, satisfying his appetite, or rather exerting himself in that direction, for Teddy’s appetite was a thing never wholly satisfied.

After supper Phil took the boy aside and delivered Mr. Sparling’s message. Teddy looked properly serious, but it is doubtful if the warning sank very deep into his mind, for the next minute he was turning handsprings on the lot.

“Know what I’m going to do, Phil?” he glowed.

“There’s no telling what you will do, from one minute to the next, Teddy,” replied Phil.

“Going to practice up and see if I can’t get in the leaping act.”

“That’s a good idea. When do you begin taking lessons?”

“Taking ’em now.”

“From Mr. Miaco?”

“Yes. I did a turn off the springboard this afternoon with the ‘mechanic on,’ ” meaning the harness used to instruct beginners in the art of tumbling.

“How did you make out?”

“Fine! I’d have broken my neck if it hadn’t been for the harness.”

Phil laughed heartily.

“I should say you did do finely. But you don’t expect to be able to jump over ten elephants and horses the way the others do?”

“They don’t all do it. Some of ’em leap until they get half a dozen elephants in line, then they stand off and watch the real artists finish the act. I can do that part of it now. But I tell you I’m going to be a leaper, Phil.”

“Good for you! That’s the way to talk. Keep out of trouble, work hard, don’t talk too much, and you’ll beat me yet,” declared Phil. “And say!”

“What?”

“Be careful with that mule act tonight. You know Mr. Sparling will be in there watching you. It wouldn’t take much more trouble to cause him to cut that act out of the programme, and then you might not be drawing so much salary. Fifty dollars a week is pretty nice for each of us. If we don’t get swelled heads, but behave ourselves, we’ll have a nice little pile of money by the time the season closes.”

“Yes,” agreed Teddy. “I guess that’s so; but we’ll be losing a lot of fun.”

“I don’t agree with you,” laughed Phil.

The lads strolled into the menagerie tent on their way through to the dressing tent. The gasoline men were busy lighting their lamps and hauling them on center and quarter pole, while the menagerie attendants were turning the tongues of the cages about so that the horses could be hitched on promptly after the show in the big top began.

Some of the animals were munching hay, others of the caged beasts were lying with their noses poked through between the bars of their cages, blinking drowsily.

“I’d hate to be him,” announced Teddy with a comprehensive wave of the hand as they passed the giraffe, which stood silent in his roped enclosure, his head far up in the shadows.

“Why?”

“For two reasons. Keeper tells me he can’t make a sound. Doesn’t bray, nor whinny, nor growl, nor bark, nor—can’t do anything. I’d rather be a lion or a tiger or something like that. If I couldn’t do anything else, then, I could stand off and growl at folks.”

Phil nodded and smiled.

“And what’s your other reason for being glad you are not a giraffe?”

“Because—because—because when you had a sore throat think what a lot of neck you’d have to gargle!”

Phil laughed outright, and as the giraffe lowered its head and peered down into their faces, he thought, for the moment, that he could see the animal grin.

After this they continued on to the dressing tent, where they remained until time for the evening performance. This passed off without incident, Teddy and his mule doing nothing more sensational than kicking a rent in the ringmaster’s coat.

After the show was over, and the tents had begun to come down, Phil announced his intention of going downtown for a lunch.

“This fresh air makes me hungry. You see, I am not used to it yet,” he explained in an apologetic tone.

“You do not have to go down for a lunch, unless you want to,” the bandmaster informed him.

“Why, is there a lunch place on the grounds?”

“No. We have an accommodation car on our section.”

“What kind of car is that?”

“Lunch car. You can’t get a heavy meal there, but you will find a nice satisfying lunch. The boss has it served at cost. He doesn’t make any money out of the deal. You’ll find it on our section.”

“Good! Come along Teddy.”

“Will I? That’s where I’ll spend my money,” nodded Teddy, starting away at a jog trot.

“And your nights too, if they would let you,” laughed Phil, following his companion at a more leisurely gait.

As they crossed the lot they passed “Red” Larry, as he had now been nicknamed by the showmen. Larry pretended not to see the boys, but there was an ugly scowl on his face that told Phil he did, and after the lads had gone on a piece Phil turned, casting a careless look back where the torches were flaring and men working and shouting.

“Red” Larry was not working now. He was facing the boys, shaking a clenched fist at them.

“I am afraid we haven’t heard the last of our friend, Larry,” said Phil.

“Who’s afraid?” growled Teddy.

“Neither of us. But all the same we had better keep an eye on him while we are in his vicinity. We don’t want to get into any more trouble—at least not, if we can possibly avoid it.”

“Not till Mr. Sparling forgets about today? Is that it?”

“I guess it is,” grinned Phil.

“He might take it seriously?”

“He already has done that. So be careful.”

Teddy nodded. But the lads had not yet heard the last of “Red” Larry.

CHAPTER XII

The Human Football

“Ever try clowning, young man?” asked the Iron-Jawed Man.

Teddy Tucker shook his head.

“Why don’t you?”

“Nobody ever asked me.”

“Then you had better ask the boss to let you try it. Tell him you want to be a clown and that we will take you in and put you through your paces until you are able to go it alone.”

The show had been on the road for nearly two weeks now, and every department was working like a piece of well-oiled machinery. The usual number of minor disasters had befallen the outfit during the first week, but now everything was system and method. The animals had become used to the constant moving, and to the crowds and the noise, so that their growls of complaint were few.

In that time Teddy and Phil had been going through their act on the flying rings daily, having shown great improvement since they closed with the show the previous fall. Their winter’s work had proved of great benefit, and Mr. Sparling had complimented them several times lately.

Teddy was now devoting all his spare time to learning to somersault and do the leaping act from the springboard. He could, by this time, turn a somersault from the board, though his landing was less certain. Any part of his anatomy was liable to sustain the impact of his fall, but he fell in so many ludicrous positions that the other performers let it go at that, for it furnished them much amusement.

However, Teddy’s unpopularity in the dressing tent had been apparent ever since he and the educated mule had made their sensational entry into that sacred domain, practically wrecking the place. Teddy and his pet had come near doing the same thing twice since, and the performers were beginning to believe there was method in Tucker’s madness.

It had come to the point where the performers refused to remain in the dressing tent while Teddy and the mule were abroad, unless men with pike poles were stationed outside to ward off the educated mule when he came in from the ring. But Teddy didn’t care. The lad was interested in the suggestion of the Iron-Jawed Man. Had he known that the suggestion had been made after secret conference of certain of the performers, Tucker might have felt differently about it. There was something in the air, but the Circus Boy did not know it.

“What kind of clown act would you advise me to get up?” he asked.

“Oh, you don’t have to get it up. We’ll do that for you. In fact, there is one act that most all clowns start with, and it will do as well as anything else for you. You see, you have to get used to being funny, or you’ll forget yourself, and then you’re of no further use as a clown.”

“Yes, I know; but what is the act?”

“What do you say, fellows—don’t you think the human football would fit him from the sawdust up?”

“Just the thing,” answered the performers thus appealed to.

Mr. Miaco, the head clown, was bending over his trunk, his sides shaking with laughter, but Teddy did not happen to observe him, nor had he noticed that the head clown had had no part in the conversation.

“The human football?” questioned Teddy dubiously.

“Yes.”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, you dress up in funny makeup so you look like a huge ball.”

“But what do I do after I have become a football?”

“Oh, you roll around in the arena, falling all over yourself and everybody who happens to get in your way; you bounce up and down and make all sorts of funny—”

“Oh, I know,” cried Teddy enthusiastically. “I saw a fellow do that in a show once. He would fall on the ground on his back, then bounce up into the air several feet.”

“You’ve hit it,” replied a clown dryly.

“I remember how all the people laughed and shouted. I’ll bet I’d make a hit doing that.”

“You would!” shouted the performers in chorus.

The show was playing in Batavia, New York, on a rainy night, with rather a small house expected, so no better time could have been chosen for Teddy’s first appearance as a clown.

“Had I better speak to Mr. Sparling about it?”

“Well, what do you think, fellows?”

“Oh, no, no! The old man won’t care. If you make them laugh, he’ll be tickled half to death.”

“What do you say? Is it a go, Tucker?”

“Well, I’ll think about it.”

Teddy strolled out in the paddock, where he walked up and down a few times in the rain. But the more he thought about the proposition, the more enthusiastic he grew. He could see himself the center of attraction, and he could almost hear the howls of delight of the multitude.

“They’ll be surprised. But I don’t believe I had better go on without first speaking to Mr. Sparling. He might discharge me. He’s had his eye on me ever since the mule tore up the dressing tent. But I won’t tell Phil. I’ll just give him a surprise. How he’ll laugh when he sees me and finds out who I am.”

Thus deciding, the lad ran through the tents out to the front door, where he asked for Mr. Sparling, knowing that by this time the owner’s tent had been taken down and packed for shipment, even if it were not already under way on the flying squadron.

He learned that Mr. Sparling was somewhere in the menagerie tent. Hurrying back there, Teddy soon came upon the object of his search. At that moment he was standing in front of the cage of Wallace, the biggest lion in captivity, gazing at that shaggy beast thoughtfully.

“Mr. Sparling,” called Teddy.

The showman turned, shooting a sharp glance at the flushed face of the Circus Boy.

“Well, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, sir.”

“Come to kick about feed in the cook tent?”

“Oh, no, no, sir! Nothing like that. I’ve come to ask a favor of you.”

“Humph! I thought as much. Well, what is it?”

“I—I think I’d like to be a clown, sir.”

“A clown?” asked the showman, with elevated eyebrows.

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

“Why, you’re that already. You are a clown, though you may not know it. You’ve been a clown ever since you wore long dresses, I’ll wager.”

“But I want to be a real one,” urged Teddy.

“What kind of clown?”

“I thought I’d like to be a human football.” This time Mr. Sparling glanced at the boy in genuine surprise.

“A human football?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What put that idea into your head?”

“Some of the fellows suggested it.”

“Ah! I thought so,” twinkled Mr. Sparling. “Who, may I ask?”

“Well, I guess most all of them did.”

“I know, but who suggested it first?”

“I think the Iron-Jawed Man was the first to say that I ought to be a clown. He thought I would make a great hit.”

“No doubt, no doubt,” snapped the showman in a tone that led Teddy to believe he was angry about something.

“May I?”

Mr. Sparling reflected a moment, raised his eyes and gazed at the dripping roof of the menagerie tent.

“When is this first appearance to be made, if I may ask?”

“Oh, tonight. The fellows said it would be a good time, as there would not be a very big house.”

“Oh, they did, eh? Well, go ahead. But remember you do it at your own risk.”

“Thank you.”

Teddy was off for the dressing room on a run.

“I’m It,” he cried, bursting in upon them.

“Get the suit,” commanded a voice. “He’s It.”

Somebody hurried to the property room, returning with a full rubber suit, helmet and all. As yet it was merely a bundle. They bade Teddy get into it, all hands crowding about him, offering suggestions and lending their assistance.

“My, I didn’t know I was so popular here,” thought the lad, pleased with these unusual attentions. “They must think I’m the real thing. I’ll show them I am, too.”

“Get the pump,” directed the Iron-Jawed Man.

A bicycle pump was quickly produced, and, opening a valve, one of the performers began pumping air into the suit.

“Here, what are you doing?” demanded Teddy.

“Blowing you up—”

“Here, I don’t want to be blown up.”

“With a bicycle pump,” added the performer, grinning through the powder and grease paint on his face.

“Say, you ought to use that on the press agent!”

The performers howled at this sally.

Teddy began to swell out of all proportion to his natural size, as the bicycle pump inflated his costume. In a few moments he had grown so large that he could not see his own feet, while the hood about his head left only a small portion of his face visible.

“Monster!” hissed a clown, shaking a fist in Teddy’s face.

“I guess I am. I’d make a hit as the Fattest Boy on Earth in this rig, wouldn’t I? I’ll bet the Living Skeleton will be jealous when he sees me.”

“There, I guess he’s pumped up,” announced the operator of the bicycle pump.

“Try it and see,” suggested a voice.

“All right.”

Teddy got a resounding blow that flattened him on the ground. But before he could raise his voice in protest he had bounded to his feet, and someone caught him, preventing his going right on over the other way.

The performers howled with delight.

“He’ll do. He’ll do,” they shouted.

“Don’t you do that again,” warned the boy, a little dazed.

The time was at hand for the clowns to make their own grand entry.

“Come on, that’s our cue!” shouted one, as the band struck up a new tune.

“I—I can’t run. I’m too fat.”

“We’ll help you.”

And they did. With a clown on either side of him, Teddy was rushed through the silk curtains and out past the bandstand, his feet scarcely touching the ground. Part of the time the clowns were half dragging him, and at other times carrying him.

At first the audience did not catch the significance of it. Straight for ring No. 1 Tucker’s associates rushed him. But just as they reached the ring they let go of him.

Of course Teddy fell over the wooden ring curbing, and went rolling and bouncing into the center of the sawdust arena. Phil had made his change in the menagerie tent after finishing his elephant act, and was just entering the big top as Teddy made his sensational entrance. He caught sight of his companion at once.

“Who’s that?” he asked of Mr. Sparling, who was standing at the entrance with a broad grin on his face.

“That, my dear Phil, is your very good friend, Mr. Teddy Tucker.”

“Teddy? You don’t mean it?”

“Yes; he has decided to be a clown, and I guess he is on the way. The people are kicking on the seats and howling.”

“I should judge, from appearances, that the other clowns were getting even more entertainment out of his act than is the audience.”

“It certainly looks that way. But let them go. It will do Master Teddy a whole lot of good.”

A clown jumped to the ring curbing and made a speech about the wonderful human football, announcing at the same time that the championship game was about to be played.

Then they began to play in earnest. Some had slapsticks, others light barrel staves, and with these they began to belabor the human football, each blow being so loud that it could be heard all over the tent. Of course the blows did not hurt Teddy at all, but the bouncing and buffeting that he got aroused his anger.

One clown would pick the lad up and throw him to a companion, who, in turn, would drop him. Then the audience would yell with delight as the ball bounced to an upright position again. This the clowns kept up until Teddy did not know whether he were standing on his feet or his head. The perspiration was rolling down his face, getting into his eyes and blinding him.

“Quit it!” he howled.

“Maybe you’ll ride the educated mule through the dressing tent again?” jeered a clown.

“Bring the mule out and let him knock the wind out of the rubber man!” suggested another.

“How do you like being a clown?”

This and other taunts were shouted at the rubber man, Teddy meanwhile expressing himself with unusual vehemence.

Mr. Sparling had in the meantime sent a message back to the paddock. He was holding his sides with laughter, while Phil himself was leaning against a quarter pole shouting with merriment.

Suddenly there came the sound of a clanging gong, interspersed with shouts from the far end of the tent.

The spectators quickly glanced in that direction, and they saw coming at a rapid rate the little patrol wagon drawn by four diminutive ponies, the outfit so familiar to the boys who attend the circus.

The clowns were surprised when they observed it, knowing that the patrol was not scheduled to enter at this time. Their surprise was even greater when the wagon dashed up and stopped where they were playing their game of football. Three mock policemen leaped out and rushed into the thick of the mock game.

As they did so they hurled the clowns right and left, standing some of them on their heads and beating them with their clubs, which, in this instance, proved to be slapsticks, that made a great racket.

This was a part of the act that the clowns had not arranged. It was a little joke that the owner of the show was playing on them. Quick to seize an opportunity to make a hit, Sparling had ordered out the show patrol, and the audience, catching the significance of it, shouted, swinging their hats and handkerchiefs.

The three policemen, after laying the clowns low, grabbed the helpless human football by the heels, dragging him to the wagon and dumping him in. They dropped the human football in so heavily that it bounced out again and hit the ground. The next time, as they threw Teddy in, one of the officers sat on him to hold him.

The gong set up an excited clanging, and the ponies began racing around the arena the long way, and took the stretch to the paddock at a terrific speed, with the howls of the multitude sounding in their ears.

Reaching the dressing tent, the mock policemen let the air out of the rubber ball, whereat Teddy sat down heavily in a pail of water.

The performers danced around Tucker, singing an improvised song about the human football. Gradually the angry scowl on the face of the Circus Boy relaxed into a broad grin.

“How do you like being a clown now?” jeered the Iron-Jawed Man.

“Yes; how does it feel to be a football?” questioned another.

“I guess you got even with me that time,” answered Teddy good-naturedly. “But say, that’s easy compared with riding the educated mule.”

CHAPTER XIII

Ducked By an Elephant

The great white billows of the Sparling Combined Shows were moving steadily across the continent. The receipts had exceeded Mr. Sparling’s most sanguine expectations, and he was in great good humor.

Only one unpleasant incident had happened and that occurred at Franklin, Indiana. Phil and Teddy, while on their way to their car after the performance late at night, had been set upon by two men and quite severely beaten, though both lads had given a good account of themselves and finally driven off their assailants.

They did not report their experience to Mr. Sparling until the next morning, having gone directly to their car and put themselves to bed after having been fixed up with plasters and bandages by some of their companions. The next morning neither lad was particularly attractive to look at. However, bearing the taunts of the show people good-naturedly, they started for the cook tent just as they were in the habit of doing every day.

But Mr. Sparling had seen them as they passed his car on their way.

“Now, I wonder what those boys have been up to?” he scowled, watching their receding forms thoughtfully. “I’ll find out.”

And he did. He summoned the lads to his office in the tent soon after breakfast.

“I expected you would send for us,” grinned Phil, as he walked in with Teddy.

“What about it? You are both sights!”

“Grease paint and powder will cover it up, I guess, Mr. Sparling.”

“I’ll hear how it happened.”

“I can’t tell you much about it,” said Phil. “We were on our way to the car when a couple of men suddenly jumped out from a fence corner and went at us hammer and tongs. That’s when we got these beauty spots. If we had seen the fellows coming we might not have been hit at all.”

“Wait a minute; where did this occur?” demanded the showman.

“Just outside the lot at Franklin. It was very dark there, and, as you know, the sky was overcast.”

“Did you know the men—had you ever seen them before?”

“I couldn’t say as to that.”

“No, sir; we couldn’t say,” added Teddy, nodding.

Mr. Sparling turned a cold eye upon Tucker.

“I haven’t asked for remarks from you, young man. When I do you may answer.”

Teddy subsided for the moment.

“But, had it been anyone you knew, you must have recognized their voices.”

“They didn’t say a word. Just pitched into us savagely. I think they might have done us serious injury had we not defended ourselves pretty well.”

“It occurs to me that you were rather roughly handled as it was,” said the showman, with a suspicion of a grin on his face. “Doctor fixed you up, I suppose?”

“Oh, no; it wasn’t so bad as that.”

“Have you any suspicion—do you think it was any of the show people?” demanded Mr. Sparling, eyeing Phil penetratingly.

“I don’t know. Here is a button I got from the coat of one of the men. That may serve to identify him if he is one of our men. I haven’t had a chance to look around this morning.”

The showman quickly stretched forth his hand for the button, which he examined curiously.

“And here’s a collar, too,” chuckled Teddy.

“A collar? Where did you get that, young man?”

“Oh, I just yanked it off the other fellow. Guess it hasn’t been to the laundry this season.”

Mr. Sparling leaned back and laughed heartily.

“Between you, you boys will be the ruination of me. You take my mind off business so that I don’t know what I’m about half of the time. But I can’t get along without you. I’ll look into this matter,” he went on more gravely. “Tell the boss canvasman to send Larry and Bad Eye to me.”

“Yes, sir.”

The lads delivered the message.

Mr. Sparling’s eyes twinkled as these two worthies sneaked into his tent, each with a hangdog expression on his face. “Red” Larry had a black eye, while Bad Eye’s nose appeared to have listed to one side.

The showman glanced at Larry’s coat, then at the button in his own hand. He nodded understandingly. Bad Eye was collarless.

“Here’s a button that I think you lost off your coat last night, Larry,” smiled Mr. Sparling sweetly. “And, Bad Eye, here’s your collar. Better send it to the washerwoman.”

The men were speechless for the moment.

“Go to the boss, both of you, and get your time. Then I want you to clear out of here.”

“Wha—what—we ain’t done nothing,” protested Larry.

“And you had better not. If I see you about the circus lot again this season, I’ll have you both in the nearest jail quicker than you can say ‘scat!’ Understand? Get out of here!”

The showman half rose from his chair, glaring angrily at them. His good-nature had suddenly left him, and the canvasmen, knowing what they might expect from the wrathful showman, stood not upon the order of their going. They ran.

Larry had left some of his belongings behind a cage in the menagerie tent, and he headed directly for that place to get it out and foot it for the village before Mr. Sparling should discover him on the grounds.

In going after his bundle Larry was obliged to pass the elephant station, where the elephants were taking their morning baths, throwing water over their backs from tubs that had been placed before them. A pail full of water had been left near old Emperor’s tub by the keeper, because the tub would hold no more.

Emperor apparently had not observed it, nor did he seem to see the red-headed canvasman striding his way. Mr. Kennedy, the keeper, was at the far end of the line sweeping off the baby elephant with a broom, while Phil and Teddy were sitting on a pile of straw back of Emperor discussing their experience the previous evening.

“There’s Red,” said Teddy, pointing.

“Yes, and he seems to be in a great hurry about something. I’ll bet Mr. Sparling has discharged him. I’m sorry. I hate to see anybody lose his job, but I guess Red deserves it if anybody does. He’s one of the fellows that attacked us last night. I haven’t the least doubt about that.”

“Yes, and he’s got a button off his coat, too,” added Teddy, peering around Emperor. “What I want now is to see a fellow with his collar torn off. I got a tent stake here by me that I’d like to meet him with.”

“You would do nothing of the sort, Teddy Tucker! Hello, what’s going on there?”

As Larry passed swiftly in front of Emperor, the old elephant’s trunk suddenly wrapped itself about the pail of water unobserved by the discharged canvasman.

Emperor lifted the pail on high, quickly twisted it bottom side up and jammed it down over the head of Larry. The latter went down under the impact and before he could free himself from the pail and get up, Emperor had performed the same service for him with the tub of water.

Under the deluge Red Larry was yelling and choking, making desperate efforts to get up. He struggled free in a moment, and in his blind rage he hurled the empty pail full in Emperor’s face, following it with a blow over the animal’s trunk with a tent stake.

It was the elephant’s turn to be angry now. He did not take into consideration that it was he that was to blame for the assault. Stretching out his trunk, he encircled the waist of the yelling canvasman, and, raising him on high, dashed him to the ground almost under his ponderous feet.

Phil had risen about the time the tub came down. At first he laughed; but when the elephant caught his victim, the lad knew that the situation was critical.

“Emperor! Down!” he shouted.

It was then that the elephant cast Red under his feet.

Phil darted forward just as a ponderous foot was raised to trample the man to death. Without the least sense of fear the lad ran in under Emperor, and, grabbing Larry by the heels, dragged him quickly out.

The elephant was furious at the loss of his prey, and, raising his trunk, trumpeted his disapproval, straining at his chains and showing every sign of dangerous restlessness.

After getting Larry out of harm’s way, Phil sprang fearlessly toward his elephant friend.

“Quiet, Emperor, you naughty boy!” Forrest chided. “Don’t you know you might have killed him? I wouldn’t want anything to do with you if you had done a thing like that.”

Gradually the great beast grew quiet and his sinuous trunk sought out the Circus Boy’s pockets in search of sweets, of which there was a limited supply.

While this was going on Mr. Kennedy, the keeper, had hurried up and dashed a pail of water into the face of the now unconscious Larry. By this time Larry was well soaked down. He could not have been more so had he fallen in a mill pond. But the last bucketful brought him quickly to his senses.

“You—you’ll pay for this,” snarled Larry, shaking his fist at Phil Forrest.

“Why, I didn’t do anything, Larry,” answered the lad in amazement.

“You did. You set him on to me.”

“That’ll be about all from you, Mr. Red Head,” warned Kennedy. “The kid didn’t do anything but save your life. I wouldn’t let a little thing like that trouble me if I were you. You’ve been doing something to that bull, or he’d never have used you like that. Why, Emperor is as gentle as a young kitten. He wouldn’t hurt a fly unless the fly happened to bite him too hard. Phil, did you see that fellow do anything to him?”

Phil shook his head.

“Not now. He may have at some other time.”

“That’s it!”

Just then Mr. Sparling came charging down on the scene, having heard of the row out at the front door.

Larry saw him coming. He decided not to argue the question any further, but started on a run across the tent, followed by the showman, who pursued him with long, angry strides. But Larry ducked under the tent and got away before his pursuer could reach him, while Phil and Teddy stood holding their sides with laughter.

CHAPTER XIV

In Dire Peril

Two days had passed and nothing more had been seen of the discharged canvasmen. Believing they were well rid of them all hands proceeded to forget about the very existence of Larry and Bad Eye.

As Phil was passing the roped-off enclosure where the elephants were tethered, the next morning just before the parade, he saw Mr. Kennedy regarding one of the elephants rather anxiously.

“What’s the trouble? Anything gone wrong?” sang out the lad cheerily.

“Not yet,” answered the keeper without turning his head.

“Something is bothering you or else you are planning out something new for the bulls,” decided Phil promptly. “What is it?”

“I don’t like the way Jupiter is acting.”

“How?”

“He is ugly.”

Phil ducked under the ropes and boldly walked over toward the swaying beast.

“Better keep away from him. He isn’t to be trusted today.”

“Going to send him out in the parade?”

“Haven’t decided yet. I may think it best to leave Jupiter here with perhaps the baby elephant for company. He would cut up, I’m afraid, were I to leave him here alone. No; I think, upon second thought, that we had better take him out. It may take his mind from his troubles.”

“What do you think is the matter with him?” questioned the Circus Boy, regarding the beast thoughtfully.

“That’s what bothers me. He has never acted this way before. Usually there are some signs that I told you about once before that tells one an elephant is going bad.”

“You mean the tear drops that come out from the slit under the eye?”

“Yes. There has been nothing of that sort with Jupiter.”

“He acts to me as if he had a bad stomach,” suggested Phil wisely.

“That’s right. That expresses it exactly. I guess we’ll have to give him a pill to set him straight. But Jupiter never was much of a hand for pills. He’ll object if we suggest it.”

“Then don’t suggest it. Just give it to him in his food.”

“You can’t fool him,” answered Mr. Kennedy, with a shake of the head. “He’d smell it a rod away, and that would make him madder than ever. The best way is to make him open his mouth and throw the pill back as far as possible in his throat.”

“Have you told Mr. Sparling?”

“No. He doesn’t like to be bothered with these little things. He leaves that all to me. It’s a guess, though, as to just what to do under these conditions. No two cases, any more than any two elephants, are alike when it comes to disposition and treatment.”

“No; I suppose not.”

“Where are you going now, Phil?”

“Going back to the dressing tent to get ready for the parade. Hope you do not have any trouble.”

“No; I guess I shan’t. I can manage to hold him, and if I don’t, I’ll turn Emperor loose. He makes a first-rate policeman.”

Phil hurried on to the dressing tent, for he was a little late this morning, for which he was not wholly to blame, considerable time having been lost in his interview with Mr. Sparling.

In the hurry of preparation for the parade, Phil forgot all about Mr. Kennedy’s concern over Jupiter. But he was reminded of it again when he rode out to fall in line with the procession. Mr. Kennedy and his charges, all well in hand, were just emerging from the menagerie tent to take their places for the parade. Jupiter was among them. He saw, too, that Mr. Kennedy was walking by Jupiter’s side, giving him almost his exclusive attention.

Phil’s place in the parade this season was with a body of German cavalry. He wore a plumed hat, with a gaudy uniform and rode a handsome bay horse, one of the animals used in the running race at the close of the circus. Phil had become very proficient on horseback and occasionally had entered the ring races, being light enough for the purpose. He had also kept up his bareback practice, under the instruction of Dimples, until he felt quite proud of his achievements.

Vincennes, where the show was to exhibit that day, was a large town, and thousands of people had turned out to view the parade which had been extensively advertised as one of the greatest features ever offered to the public.

“They seem to like it,” grinned Phil, turning to the rider beside him.

“Act as if they’d never seen a circus parade before,” answered the man. “But wait till we get out in some of the way-back towns in the West.”

“I thought we were West now?”

“Not until we get the other side of the Mississippi, we won’t be. They don’t call Indiana West. We’ll be getting there pretty soon, too. According to the route card, we are going to make some pretty long jumps from this on.”

“We do not go to Chicago, do we?”

“No. Show’s not quite big enough for that town. We go south of it, playing some stands in Illinois, then striking straight west. Hello, what’s the row up ahead there?”

“What row, I didn’t see anything.”

“Something is going on up there. See! The line is breaking!”

The part of the parade in which Phil was located was well up toward the elephants, the animals at that moment having turned a corner, moving at right angles to Phil’s course.

“It’s the elephants!” cried the lad aghast.

“What’s happening?”

“They have broken the line!”

All was confusion at the point on which the two showmen had focused their eyes.

“It’s a stampede, I do believe!” exclaimed Phil. “I wonder where Mr. Kennedy is? I don’t see him anywhere.”

“There! They’re coming this way.”

“What, the elephants? Yes, that’s so. Oh, I’m afraid somebody will be killed.”

“If there hasn’t already been,” growled Phil’s companion. “I’m going to get out of this while I have the chance. I’ve seen elephants on the rampage before.” Saying which, the showman turned his horse and rode out of the line. His example was followed by many of the others.

People were screaming and rushing here and there, horses neighing, and the animals in the closed cages roaring in a most terrifying way.

Phil pulled his horse up short, undecided what to do. He had never seen a stampede before, but desperate as the situation seemed, he felt no fear.

The elephants, with lowered heads, were charging straight ahead. Now Phil saw that which seemed to send his heart right up into his throat.

Little Dimples had been riding in a gayly bedecked two-wheeled cart, drawn by a prancing white horse. Dressed in white from head to foot, she looked the dainty creature that she was.

Dimples, seeing what had happened, had wheeled her horse quickly out of line, intending to turn about and drive back along the line. It would be a race between the white horse and the elephants, but she felt sure she would be able to make it and turn down a side street before the stampeding herd reached her.

She might have done so, had it not been for one unforeseen incident. As she dashed along a rider, losing his presence of mind, if indeed, he had had any to lose, drove his horse directly in front of her. The result was a quick collision, two struggling horses lying kicking in the dust of the street, and a white-robed figure lying stretched out perilously near the flying hoofs.

The force of the collision had thrown Little Dimples headlong from her seat in the two wheeled cart, and there she lay, half-dazed with the herd of elephants thundering down upon her.

Phil took in her peril in one swift glance.

“She’ll be killed! She’ll be killed!” he cried, all the color suddenly leaving his face.

All at once he drove the rowels of his spurs against the sides of his mount. The animal sprang away straight toward the oncoming herd, but Phil had to fight every inch of the way to keep the horse from turning about and rushing back, away from the peril that lay before it.

The lad feared he would not be able to reach Dimples in time, but with frequent prods of spur and crop, uttering little encouraging shouts to the frightened horse, he dashed on, dodging fleeing showmen and runaway horses at almost every jump.

He forged up beside the girl at a terrific pace. But, now that he was there, the lad did not dare dismount, knowing that were he to do so, his horse would quickly break away from him, thus leaving them both to be crushed under the feet of the ponderous beasts.

It was plain to Phil that Jupiter must have gone suddenly bad, and, starting on a stampede, had carried the other bulls with him. And he even found himself wondering if anything had happened to his friend Kennedy, the elephant trainer. If Kennedy were on his feet he would be after them.

As it was, no one appeared to be chasing the runaway beasts.

Phil leaned far from the saddle grasping the woman by her flimsy clothing. It gave way just as he had begun to lift her, intending to pull her up beside him on the horse’s back.

Twice he essayed the feat, each time with the same result. The bay was dancing further away each time, and the elephants were getting nearer. The uproar was deafening, which, with the trumpetings of the frightened elephants, made the stoutest hearts quail.

With a grim determination Forrest once more charged alongside of Dimples. As he did so she opened her eyes, though Phil did not observe this, else he might have acted differently.

As it was he threw himself from the bay while that animal was still on the jump. Keeping tight hold of the saddle pommel, the reins bunched in the hand that grasped it, Phil dropped down. When he came up, Dimples was on his arm.

He then saw that she was herself again.

“Can you hold on if I get you up?”

“Yes. You’re a good boy.”

Phil made no reply, but, with a supreme effort, threw the girl into the saddle. To do so he was obliged to let go the pommel and the reins for one brief instant. But he succeeded in throwing Dimples up to the saddle safely, where she quickly secured herself.

The bay was off like a shot, leaving Phil directly in front of the oncoming elephants.

“Run! I’ll come back and get you,” shouted Dimples over her shoulder.

“You can’t. The reins are over the bay’s head,” he answered.

She was powerless to help. Dimples realized this at once. She was in no danger herself. She was such a skillful rider that it made little difference whether the reins were in her hand or on the ground, so far as maintaining her seat was concerned. With Phil, however, it was different.

“I guess I might as well stand still and take it,” muttered the lad grimly.

He turned, facing the mad herd, a slender but heroic figure in that moment of peril.

CHAPTER XV

Emperor to the Rescue

“Get back!” shouted the boy.

He had descried Teddy Tucker driving his own mount toward him. Teddy was coming to the rescue in the face of almost certain death.

“You can’t make it! Go back!”

Whether or not Teddy heard and understood, did not matter, for at that moment the view of the plucky lad was shut off by the elephants forming their charging line into crescent shape.

“Emperor!” he called in a shrill penetrating voice. But in the dust of the charge he could not make out which one was Emperor, yet he continued calling lustily.

“Emperor!”

Phil threw his hands above his head as was his wont when desirous of having the old elephant pick him up.

Right across the center of the crescent careened a great hulking figure, uttering loud trumpetings—trumpetings that were taken up by his companions until the very ground seemed to shake.

Phil’s back was half toward the big elephant, and in the noise he did not distinguish a familiar note in the call.

All at once he felt himself violently jerked from the ground. The lad was certain that his time had come. But out of that cloud of dust, in which those who looked, believed that the little Circus Boy had gone down to his death, Phil Forrest rose right up into the air and was dropped unharmed to the back of old Emperor.

For the moment he was so dizzy that he was unable to make up his mind what had happened or where he was. Then it all came to him. He was on Emperor’s back.

“Hurrah!” shouted Phil. “Good old Emperor! Steady, steady, Emperor! That’s a good fellow.”

He patted the beast’s head with the flat of his hand, crooned to him, using every artifice that he knew to quiet the nerves of his big friend.

Little by little Emperor appeared to come out of his fright, until the lad felt almost certain that the big beast would take orders. He tried the experiment.

“Left, Emperor!”

The elephant swerved sharply to the left, aided by a sharp tap of the riding crop which Phil still carried.

Phil uttered a little cry of exultation.

“Now, if I can head them off!”

With this in mind he gradually worked Emperor around until the herd had been led into a narrow street. Here, Phil began forcing his mount back and forth across the street in an effort to check the rush of the stampede, all the time calling out the command to slow down, which he had learned from Mr. Kennedy.

He was more successful than he had even dreamed he could be.

“Now, if I am not mistaken, that street beyond there leads out to the lot. I’ll see if I can make them go that way.”

All did save Jupiter, who charged straight ahead for some distance, then turning sharply tore back and joined his fellows.

“If I had a hook I believe I could lead him. He’s a very bad elephant. I hope nobody has been killed.”

It was more quiet in the street where Forrest now found himself, and by degrees the excitement that had taken possession of the huge beasts began to wear off.

Phil uttered his commands to them in short, confident tones, all the time drawing nearer and nearer to the circus lot.

Very soon the fluttering flags from the big top were seen above the intervening housetops.

“I’m going to win—oh, I hope I do!” breathed the Circus Boy.

With rapid strides, at times merging into a full run, the beasts tore along, now understanding that they were nearing their quarters, where safety and quiet would be assured.

And, beyond that, it was time for their dinners. Already bales of hay had been placed in front of their quarters, and the elephants knew it.

As the procession burst into the circus lot a dozen attendants started on a run toward them.

“Keep off!” shouted Phil. “Do you want to stampede them again? Keep away, I tell you and I’ll get them home. Drive all the people out of the way in case the bulls make another break. That’s all you can do now.”

Now young Forrest urged Emperor to the head of the line of bobbing beasts, feeling sure that the others would follow him in now.

They did. The whole line of elephants swept in through the opening that the attendants had quickly made by letting down a section of the side walls of the menagerie tent, with Phil Forrest a proud and happy boy, perched on the head of old Emperor.

“Halt!”

He went at it with all the confidence and skill of a professional elephant trainer.

“Stations!”

Each beast walked to his regular place, a dozen sinuous trunks gathering up as many wisps of hay.

“Back up! Back, Jupiter!”

As docile as if they never had left the tent, each huge beast slowly felt his way into his corner.

“Good boy, Emperor!” glowed Phil holding out a small bag of peanuts, which Emperor quickly stowed away in his mouth bag and all.

“You greedy fellow! Now get back into your own corner!”

The elephant did so.

“You fellows keep away from here,” warned Phil as the anxious tent men began crowding around him. “Don’t let anybody get these big fellows excited. We’ve had trouble enough for one day.”

Phil then began chaining down the beasts, his first care being to secure the unruly Jupiter. But Jupiter’s fit of bad temper seemed to have left him entirely. He was as peaceful as could be, and, to show that he was good, he showered a lot of hay all over Phil.

“You bad, bad boy!” chided the lad. “All this is just because you let your temper get the best of you. I think perhaps Mr. Sparling may have something to say to you if anyone has been killed or seriously hurt. Oh, you want some peanuts, do you? I haven’t any, but I’ll get you some, though goodness knows you don’t deserve any. Bring me some peanuts, will you please?”

An attendant came running with a bag of them. Phil met him halfway, not wishing the man to approach too near. With the bag in his hand the boy walked slowly down the line, giving to each of his charges a small handful.

This was the final act in subduing them. They were all thoroughly at home and perfectly contented now, and Phil had chained the last one down, except the baby elephant, that usually was left free to do as it pleased, providing it did not get too playful.

At this moment Phil heard a great shouting out on the lot.

“Go out there and stop that noise!” the boy commanded. He was as much in charge of the show at that moment as if he had been the proprietor himself.

Shortly after that Mr. Kennedy came rushing in on one of the circus ponies that he had taken from a parade rider. Phil was delighted to see that the keeper was uninjured.

“Did you do this, Phil Forrest?” he shouted bursting in.

“Yes. But I’ll have to do it all over again if you keep on yelling like that. What happened to you?”

“Jupiter threw me over a fence, into an excavation where they were digging for a new building. I thought I was dead, but after a little I came to and crawled out. It was all over but the shouting then.”

“Did you know I had them?”

“No; not until I got near the lot. I followed their tracks you see. Finally some people told me a kid was leading the herd back here. I knew that was you. Phil Forrest, you are a dandy. I can’t talk now! I’m too winded. I’ll tell you later on what I think of your kind. Now I’m going to whale the daylights out of that Jupiter.”

“Please don’t do anything of the sort,” begged Phil. “He is quiet now. He has forgotten all about it. I am afraid if you try to punish him you will only make him worse.”

“Good elephant sense,” emphasized the keeper. “You ought to be on the animals.”

“It seems to me that I have been pretty well on them today,” grinned the lad. “Oh, was anybody killed?”

“I think not. Don’t believe anyone was very seriously hurt. You see, that open lot there gave the people plenty of chance to see what was coming. They had plenty of time to get away after that.”

“I’m so glad. I hope no one was killed.”

“Reckon there would have been if you hadn’t got busy when you did.”

“Have you seen Mrs. Robinson? I’m rather anxious about her.”

“There she is now.”

Dimples had changed her torn white dress for a short riding skirt, and when Phil turned about she was running toward him with outstretched arms. He braced himself and blushed violently.

“Oh, you dear,” cried the impulsive little equestrienne, throwing both arms about Phil’s neck. “I wish my boy could have seen you do that! It was splendid. You’re a hero! You’ll see what a craze the people will make of you—”

“I—I think they are more likely to chase us out of town,” laughed Phil. “We must have smashed up things pretty thoroughly downtown.”

“Never mind; Mr. Sparling will settle the damage. The only trouble will be that he won’t have anyone to scold. You saved the day, Phil, and you saved me as well. Of course I’m not much, but I value my precious little life just as highly as the next one—I mean the next person.”

“The bay ran away with you, didn’t he?”

“I suppose that’s what some people would call it. It would have been a glorious ride if it hadn’t been that I expected you were being trampled to death back there. The bay brought me right to the lot, then stopped, of course. Circus horses have a lot of sense. I heard right away that you were not injured and that you were bringing the bulls in. Then I was happy. I’m happy now. We’ll have a lesson after the show. You—”

“When do you think I shall be fit to go in the ring?”

“Fit now! You’re ahead of a good many who have been working at it for years, and I mean just what I’m saying. There is Mr. Sparling. Come on; run along back to the paddock with me. I haven’t finished talking with you yet.”

“Perhaps he may want me,” hesitated Phil.

“Nothing very particular. He’ll want to have it out with Mr. Kennedy first. Then, if he wants you, he can go back and hunt you up, or send for you. Mr. Sparling knows how to send for people when he wants them, doesn’t he?” twinkled Dimples.

“I should say he did,” grinned Phil. “He’s not bashful. Has my friend Teddy got back yet?”

“Haven’t seen him. Why? Worried about him?”

“Not particularly. He has a habit of taking care of himself under most circumstances.”

Dimples laughed heartily.

“It will take more than a stampede to upset him. He’ll make a showman if he ever settles down to the work in earnest.”

“He has settled down, Mrs. Robinson,” answered Phil with some dignity.

“My, my! But you needn’t growl about it. I was paying him a compliment.”

Thus she chattered on until they reached the paddock. They had been there but a few moments before the expected summons for Phil was brought.

CHAPTER XVI

An Unexpected Promotion

Phil responded rather reluctantly. He would have much preferred to sit out in the paddock talking circus with Little Dimples.

He found Mr. Sparling striding up and down in front of the elephant enclosure.

“I hope nothing very serious happened, Mr. Sparling,” greeted Phil, approaching him.

“If you mean damages, no. A few people knocked down, mostly due to their own carelessness. I’ve got the claim-adjuster at work settling with all we can get hold of. But we’ll get it all back tonight, my boy. We’ll have a turn-away this afternoon, too, unless I am greatly mistaken. Why, they’re lining up outside the front door now.”

“I’m glad for both these things,” smiled Phil. “Especially so because no one was killed.”

“No. But one of our bareback riders was put out of business for a time.”

“Is that so? Who?”

“Monsieur Liebman.”

“Oh, that’s too bad. What happened to him?”

“Someone ran him down. He was thrown and sprained his ankle. He won’t ride for sometime, I reckon. But come over here and sit down. I want to have a little chat with you.”

Mr. Sparling crossed the tent, sitting down on a bale of straw just back of the monkey cage. The simians were chattering loudly, as if discussing the exciting incidents of the morning. But as soon as they saw the showman they flocked to the back of the cage, hanging by the bars, watching him to find out what he was going to do.

He made a place for Phil beside him.

“Sit down.”

“Thank you.”

“I was just running up in my mind, on my way back, that, in actual figures, you’ve saved me about ten thousand dollars. Perhaps it might be double that. But that’s near enough for all practical purposes.”

“I saved you—” marveled Phil, flushing.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Well, you began last year, and you have started off at the same old pace this season. Today you have gone and done it again. That was one of the nerviest things I ever saw. I wouldn’t have given a copper cent for your life, and I’ll bet you wouldn’t, either.”

“N-o-o,” reflected Phil slowly, “I thought I was a goner.”

“While the rest of our crowd were hiking for cover, like a lot of ‘cold feet,’ you were diving right into the heart of the trouble, picking up my principal equestrienne. Then you sent her away and stopped to face the herd of bulls. Jumping giraffes, but it was a sight!”

By this time the monkeys had gone back to finish their animated discussion.

“I do not deserve any credit for that. I was caught and I thought I might as well face the music.”

“Bosh! I heard you calling for Emperor, and I knew right away that that little head of yours was working like the wheels of a chariot in a Roman race. I knew what you were trying to do, but I’d have bet a thousand yards of canvas you never would. You did, though,” and the showman sighed.

Phil was very much embarrassed and sat kicking his heels into the soft turf, wishing that Mr. Sparling would talk about something else.

“The whole town is talking about it. I’m going to have the press agent wire the story on ahead. I told him, just before I came in, that if he’d follow you he’d get ‘copy’ enough to last him all the rest of his natural life. All that crowd out there has come because there was a young circus boy with the show, who had a head on his shoulders and the pluck to back his gray matter.”

“Have you talked with Mr. Kennedy?” asked Phil, wishing to change the personal trend of the conversation.

“Yes; why?”

“Did he say what he thought was the matter with Jupiter?”

“He didn’t know. He knew only that Jupiter had been ‘off’ for nearly two days. Kennedy said something about a bad stomach. Why do you ask that question?” demanded the showman, with a shrewd glance at the boy.

“Because I have been wondering about Jupiter quite a little since morning. I’ve been thinking, Mr. Sparling.”

“Now what are you driving at? You’ve got something in your head. Out with it!”

“It may sound foolish, but—”

“But what?”

“While Jupiter was bad, he showed none of the signs that come from a fit of purely bad temper—that is, before the stampede.”

“That’s right.”

“Then what brought it on?” asked Phil looking Mr. Sparling squarely in the eyes.

For a few seconds man and boy looked at each other without a word.

“What’s your idea?” asked the showman quietly.

“It’s my opinion that somebody doctored him—gave him something—”

The showman uttered a long, low whistle.

“You’ve hit it! You’ve hit it!” he exclaimed, bringing a hand down on the lad’s knee with such force that Phil winced. “It’s one of those rascally canvasmen that I discharged. Oh, if ever I get my hands on him it will be a sorry day for him! You haven’t seen him about, have you?”

“I thought I caught a glimpse of him on the street yesterday during the parade, but he disappeared so quickly that I could not be sure.”

Mr. Sparling nodded reflectively.

“You probably heard how Emperor ducked him and—”

“Yes; you remember I came up just after the occurrence. I’ll tell you what I want you to do.”

“Yes?”

“I’ll release you from the parade for tomorrow, and perhaps longer, and I want you to spend your time moving around among the downtown crowds to see if you can spot him. If you succeed, well you will know what to do.”

“Want me to act as a sort of detective?” grinned Phil.

“Well, you might put it that way, but I don’t. You are serving me if—”

“Yes; I know that. I am glad to serve you in any way I can.”

“I don’t have to take your word for that,” laughed Mr. Sparling. “I think you have shown me. I have been thinking of another matter. It has been in my mind for several days.”

Phil glanced up inquiringly.

“How would you like to come out front?”

“You mean?”

“To join my staff? I need someone just like you—a young man with ideas, with the force to put them into execution after he has developed them. You are the one I want.”

“But, Mr. Sparling—”

“Wait till I get through. You can continue with your acts if you wish, just the same, and give your odd moments to me.”

“In what capacity?”

“Well, for the want of a better name we’ll call it a sort of confidential man.”

“I appreciate the offer more than I can tell you, Mr. Sparling. But—but—”

“But what?”

“I want to go through the mill in the ring. I want to learn to do everything that almost anyone can do there.”

The showman laughed.

“Then you would be able to do what few men ever have succeeded in doing. You would be a wonder. I’m not saying that you are not that already, in your way. But you would be a wonder among showmen.”

“I can do quite a lot of things now.”

“I know you can. And you will. What do you say?”

“It’s funny, but since you told me of the accident to your bareback man, I was going to ask you something.”

“What?”

“Rather, I was going to suggest—”

“Well, out with it!”

“I was going to suggest that you let me fill in his place until he is able to work again. It would save you the expense of getting a new performer on, and would hold the job for the present man.”

“You, a bareback rider?”

Phil nodded.

“But you can’t ride!”

“But I can,” smiled the lad. “I’ve been at it almost ever since we started the season. I’ve been working every day.”

“Alone?”

“No. Mrs. Robinson has been teaching me. Of course, I am not much of a rider, but I can manage to stick on somehow.”

The manager was regarding him thoughtfully.

“As I have intimated strongly before this, you beat anything I ever have seen in all my circus experience. You say you can ride bareback?”

“Yes.”

“I should like to see what you can do. Mind you, I’m not saying I’ll let you try it in public. Just curious, you know, to see what you have been doing.”

“Now—will you see me ride now?”

Mr. Sparling nodded.

“Then I’ll run back and get ready. I’ll be out in a few minutes,” laughed the boy, as, with sparkling eyes and flushed face, he dashed back to the dressing tent to convey the good news to Little Dimples.

“I knew it,” she cried enthusiastically. “I knew you would be a rival soon. Now I’ve got to look out or I shall be out of a job in no time. Hurry up and get your working clothes on. I’ll have the gray out by the time you are ready.”

Twenty minutes later Phil Forrest presented himself in the ring, with Little Dimples following, leading the old gray ring horse.

“Come up to ring No. 2,” directed the owner. “They haven’t leveled No. 1 down yet. How’s this? Don’t you use the back pad to ride on?” questioned Mr. Sparling in a surprised tone.

“No, sir. I haven’t used the pad at all yet.”

“Very well; I’m ready to see you fall off.”

Phil sprang lightly to the back of the ring horse while Dimples, who had brought a ringmaster’s whip with her, cracked the whip and called shrilly to her horse. The old gray fell into its accustomed easy gallop, Phil sitting lightly on the animal’s hip, moving up and down with the easy grace of a finished rider.

After they had swept twice around the ring, the boy sprang to his feet, facing ahead, and holding his short crop in both hands, leaning slightly toward the center of the ring, treading on fairy feet from one end of the broad back to the other.

Next he varied his performance by standing on one foot, holding the other up by one hand, doing the same graceful step that he had on both feet a moment before.

Now he tried the same feats riding backwards, a most difficult performance for any save a rider of long experience.

Mrs. Robinson became so absorbed in his riding that she forgot to urge the gray along or to crack the whip. The result was that the old horse stopped suddenly.

Phil went right on. He was in a fair way to break his neck, as he was plunging toward the turf head first.

“Ball!” she cried, meaning to double oneself up into as near an approach to a round ball as was possible.

But Phil already had begun to do this very thing. And he did another remarkable feat at the same time. He turned his body in the air so that he faced to the front, and the next instant landed lightly on his feet outside the ring.

Phil blew a kiss to the amazed owner, turning back to the ring again.

By this time Mrs. Robinson had placed the jumping board in the ring—a short piece of board, one end of which was built up about a foot from the ground. Then she started the ring horse galloping again.

Phil, measuring his distance, took a running start and vaulted, landing on his feet on the animal’s back, then, urging his mount on to a lively gallop about the sawdust ring, he threw himself into a whirlwind of graceful contortions and rapid movements, adding some of his own invention to those usually practiced by bareback riders.

Phil dropped to the hip of the gray, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes sparkling.

“How is it, Mr. Sparling?” he called.

The showman was clapping his hands and clambering down the aisle from his position near the top row of seats.

“You don’t mean to tell me you have never tried bareback riding before this season?” he demanded.

“No, sir; this is my first experience.”

“Then all I have to say is that you will make one of the finest bareback riders in the world if you keep on. It is marvelous, marvelous!”

“Thank you,” glowed the lad. “But if there is any credit coming to anyone it is due to Mrs. Robinson. She taught me how to do it,” answered Phil gallantly.

Little Dimples shook a small, brown fist at him.

“He knows how to turn a pretty compliment as well as he knows how to ride, Mr. Sparling,” bubbled Dimples. “You should just hear the nice things he said to me back in the paddock,” she teased.

Phil blushed furiously.

“Shall I ride again?” he asked.

“Not necessary,” answered the owner. “But, by the way, you might get up and do a somersault. Do a backward turn with the horse at a gallop,” suggested Mr. Sparling, with a suspicion of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

“A somersault?” stammered Phil, somewhat taken back. “Why—I—I—I guess I couldn’t do that; I haven’t learned to do that yet.”

“Not learned to do it? I am surprised.”

Phil looked crestfallen.

“I am surprised, indeed, that there is one thing in this show that you are unable to do.” The manager broke out into a roar of laughter, in which Little Dimples joined merrily.

“May I go on?” asked the lad somewhat apprehensively.

“May you? May you? Why, I—”

At that moment Teddy Tucker came strolling lazily in with a long, white feather tucked in the corner of his mouth.

The showman’s eyes were upon it instantly.

“What have you there?” he demanded.

“Feather,” answered Teddy thickly.

“I see it. Where did you get it?”

“Pulled it out of the pelican’s tail. Going to make a pen of it to use when I write to the folks at Edmeston,” answered the boy carelessly.

“You young rascal!” thundered Mr. Sparling. “What do you mean by destroying my property like that? I’ll fine you! I’ll teach you!”

“Oh, it didn’t hurt the pelican any. Besides, he’s got more tail than he can use in his business, anyway.”

“Get out of here!” thundered the manager in well-feigned anger. “I’ll forget myself and discharge you first thing you know. What do you want?”

“I was going to ask you something,” answered Teddy slowly.

“You needn’t. You needn’t. It won’t do you any good. What is it you were going to ask me?”

“I was going to ask you if I might go in the leaping act.”

“The leaping act?”

“Yes, sir. The one where the fellows jump over the elephants and—”

“Ho, ho, ho! What do you think of that, Phil? What do you—”

“I can do it. You needn’t laugh. I’ve done it every day for three weeks. I can jump over four elephants and maybe five, now. I can—”

“Yes, I have seen him do it, Mr. Sparling,” vouched Phil. “He is going to make a very fine leaper.”

The showman removed his broad sombrero, wiped the perspiration from his brow, glancing from one to the other of the Circus Boys.

“May I?”

“Yes, yes. Go ahead. Do anything you want to. I’m only the hired man around here anyhow,” snapped the showman, jamming his hat down over his head and striding away, followed by the merry laughter of Little Dimples.

CHAPTER XVII

The Circus Boys Win New Laurels

“Bareback riders out!” shouted the callboy, poking his head into the dressing tent.

“Get out!” roared a clown, hurling a fellow performer’s bath brush at the boy, which the youngster promptly shied back at the clown’s head, then prudently made his escape to call Little Dimples in the women’s dressing tent.

Phil Forrest, proud and happy, bounded out into the paddock, resplendent in pink tights, a black girdle about his loins, sparkling with silver spangles.

Little Dimples ran out at about the same time.

“How do I look?” he questioned, his face wreathed in smiles.

“If you ride half as well as you look today, you will make the hit of your life,” twinkled Dimples merrily. “There, don’t blush. Run along. The band is playing our entrance tune. Mr. Ducro will be in a fine temper if we are a second behind time.”

For that day, and until Phil could break in on another animal, Little Dimples had loaned her gray to him, for Phil did not dare to try the experiment of riding a new horse at his first appearance. Altogether too much depended upon his first public exhibition as a bareback rider to permit his taking any such chances.

Dimples owned two horses, so she rode the second one this day.

As Phil walked lightly the length of the big top, which he was obliged to do to reach ring No. 1 in which he was to ride, his figure, graceful as it was, appeared almost fragile. He attracted attention because of this fact alone, for the people did not recognize in him the lad who had that morning stayed the stampede of the herd of huge elephants.

“Now keep cool. Don’t get excited,” warned Dimples as she left him to enter the ring where she was to perform. “Forget all about those people out there, and they will do the rest.”

Phil nodded and passed on smiling. Reaching his ring he quickly kicked off his pumps and leaped lightly to the back of his mount, where he sat easily while the gray slowly walked about the sawdust arena.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the equestrian director. “You see before you the hero of the day, the young man who, unaided, stopped the charge of a herd of great elephants, saving, perhaps many lives besides doing a great service for the Sparling Combined Shows.”

“What did you do that for?” demanded Phil, squirming uneasily on the slippery seat where he was perched.

“Unfortunately,” continued the Director, “our principal male bareback rider was slightly injured in that same stampede. The management would not permit him to appear this evening on that account, for the Sparling Combined Shows believe in treating its people right. Our young friend here has consented to ride in the regular rider’s place. It is his first appearance in any ring as a bareback rider. I might add that he has been practicing something less than three weeks for this act; therefore any slips that he may make you will understand. Ladies and gentlemen, I take pleasure in introducing to you Master Phillip Forrest, the hero of the day—a young man who is winning new laurels on the tanbark six days in every week!”

The audience, now worked up to the proper pitch of enthusiasm by the words of the director, howled its approval, the spectators drumming on the seats with their feet and shouting lustily. Phil had not had such an ovation since the day he first rode Emperor into the ring when he joined the circus in Edmeston.

The lad’s face was a few shades deeper pink than his tights, and nervous excitement seemed to suddenly take possession of him.

“I wish you hadn’t done that,” he laughed. “I’ll bet I fall off now, for that.”

“Tweetle! Tweetle!” sang the whistle.

Crash!

At a wave of the bandmaster’s baton, the band suddenly launched into a smashing air.

The ringmaster’s whip cracked with an explosive sound, at which the gray mare, unaffected by the noise and the excitement, started away at a measured gallop, her head rising and falling like the prow of a ship buffeting a heavy sea.

Phil was plainly nervous. He knew it. He felt that he was going to make an unpleasant exhibition of himself.

“Get up! Get going! Going to sit there all day?” questioned the ringmaster.

Phil threw himself to his feet. Somehow he missed his footing in his nervousness, and the next instant he felt himself falling.

“There, I’ve done it!” groaned the lad, as he dropped lightly on all fours well outside the wooden ring curbing, which he took care to clear in his descent.

“Oh, you Rube! You’ve gone and done it now,” growled the ringmaster. “It’s all up. You’ve lost them sure.”

The audience was laughing and cheering at the same time.

Feeling her rider leave her back the gray dropped her gallop and fell into a slow trot.

Phil scrambled to his feet very red in the face, while Mr. Sparling, from the side lines, stood leaning against a quarter pole with a set grin on his face. His confidence in his little Circus Boy was not wholly lost yet.

“Keep her up! Keep her up! What ails you?” snapped Phil.

All the grit in the lad’s slender body seemed to come to the front now. His eyes were flashing and he gripped the little riding whip as if he would vent his anger upon it.

The ringmaster’s whip had exploded again and the gray began to gallop. Phil paused on the ring curbing with head slightly inclined forward, watching the gray with keen eyes.

Phil had forgotten that sea of human faces out there now. He saw only that broad gray, rosined back that he must reach and cling to, but without a slip this time.

All at once he left the curbing, dashing almost savagely at his mount.

“He’ll never make it from the ground,” groaned Mr. Sparling, realizing that Phil had no step to aid him in his effort to reach the back of the animal.

The lad launched himself into the air as if propelled by a spring. He landed fairly on the back of the ring horse, wavered for one breathless second, then fell into the pose of the accomplished rider.

“Y-i-i-i—p! Y-i-i-i-p!” sang the shrill voice of Little Dimples far down in ring No. 1.

“Y-i-i-i-p!” answered the Circus Boy, while the spectators broke into thunders of applause.

Mr. Sparling, hardened showman that he was, brushed a suspicious hand across his eyes and sat down suddenly.

“Such grit, Such grit!” he muttered.

Phil threw himself wildly into his work, taking every conceivable position known to the equestrian world, and essaying many daring feats that he had never tried before. It seemed simply impossible for the boy to fall, so sure was his footing. Now he would spring from the broad back of the gray, and run across the ring, doing a lively handspring, then once more vault into a standing position on the mare.

Suddenly the band stopped playing, for the rest that is always given the performers. But Phil did not pause.

“Keep her up!” Forrest shouted, bringing down his whip on the flanks of his mount and, in a fervor of excitement and stubborn determination, going at his work like a whirlwind.

Mr. Sparling, catching the spirit of the moment scrambled to his feet and rushed to the foot of the bandstand, near which he had been sitting.

“Play, you idiots, play!” shouted the proprietor, waving his arms excitedly.

Play they did.

Little Dimples, too, had by this time forgotten that she was resting, and now she began to ride as she never had ridden before, throwing a series of difficult backward turns, landing each time with a sureness that she never had before accomplished.

Tweetle! Tweetle!

The act came to a quick ending. The time for the equestrian act had expired, and it must give way to the others that were to follow. But Phil, instead of dropping to the ground and walking to the paddock along the concourse, suddenly brought down his whip on the gray’s flanks, much to that animal’s surprise and apparent disgust.

Starting off at a quicker gallop, the gray swung into the concourse, heading for the paddock with disapproving ears laid back on her head, Phil standing as rigid as a statue with folded arms, far back over the animal’s hips.

The people were standing up, waving their arms wildly. Many hurled their hats at the Circus Boy in their excitement, while others showered bags of peanuts over him as he raced by them.

Such a scene of excitement and enthusiasm never had been seen under that big top before. Phil did not move from his position until he reached the paddock. Arriving there he sat down, slid to the ground and collapsed in a heap.

Mr. Sparling came charging in, hat missing and hair standing straight up where he had run his fingers through it in his excitement.

He grabbed Phil in his arms and carried him into the dressing tent.

“You’re not hurt, are you, my lad?” he cried.

“No; I’m just a silly little fool,” smiled Phil a bit weakly. “How did I do?”

“It was splendid, splendid.”

“Hurrah for Phil Forrest!” shouted the performers. Then boosting the lad to their shoulders, the painted clowns began marching about the dressing tent with him singing, “For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow.”

“All out for the leaping act,” shouted the callboy, poking his grinning countenance through between the flaps. “Leapers and clowns all out on the jump!”

CHAPTER XVIII

Doing a Double Somersault

Cool, confident a troop of motley fools and clean-limbed performers filed out from the dressing tent, on past the bandstand and across the arena to the place where the springboard had been rigged, with a mat two feet thick a short distance beyond it.

With them proudly marched Teddy Tucker.

Mr. Sparling, in the meantime, was patting Phil on the back.

“I’m in a quandary, Phil,” he said.

“What about?” smiled the lad, tugging away at his tights.

“I want you out front and yet it would be almost a crime to take a performer like you out of the ring. Tell me honestly, where would you prefer to be?”

“That’s a difficult question to answer. There is a terrible fascination about the ring, and it’s getting a stronger hold of me every day I am out.”

“Yes; I understand that. It’s so with all of them. I was that way myself at first.”

“Were you ever in the ring?”

“I clowned it. But I wasn’t much of a performer. Just did a few simple clown stunts and made faces at the audience. Then I got some money ahead and started out for myself. If I’d had you then I would have had a railroad show long before this season,” smiled the showman.

“On the other hand,” continued Phil, “I am anxious to learn the front of the house as well as the ring. I think, maybe, that I could spend part of my time in the office, if that is where you wish me. If you can spare me from the parade, I might put in that time to decided advantage doing things on the lot for you,” mused Phil.

“Spare you from the parade? Well, I should say so. You are relieved from that already. Of course, any time you wish to go out, you have the privilege of doing so. Sometimes it is a change, providing one is not obliged to go,” smiled the showman.

“Most of the performers would be glad if they did not have to, though.”

“No doubt of it. But let’s see; you have how many acts now? There’s the flying rings, the elephant act and now comes the bareback act—”

“Yes; three,” nodded Phil.

“That’s too many. You’ll give out under all that, and now we’re talking about doubling you out in front. I guess we will let the front of the house take care of itself for the present.”

Phil looked rather disappointed.

“Of course, any time you wish you may come out, you know.”

“Thank you; I shall be glad to do that. I can do a lot of little things to help you as soon as I learn how you run the show. I know something about that already,” grinned the lad.

“If you wish, I will double somebody up on your flying rings act. What do you say?”

“It isn’t necessary, Mr. Sparling. I can handle all three without any difficulty, only the bareback act comes pretty close to the grand entry. It doesn’t give me much time to change my costume.”

“That’s right. Tell you what we’ll do.”

“Yes?”

“We’ll set the bareback act forward one number, substituting the leaping for it. That will give you plenty of time to make a change, will it not?”

“Plenty,” agreed Phil.

“How about the flying rings. They come sometime later, if I remember correctly.”

“Yes; the third act after the riding, according to the new arrangement. No trouble about that.”

“Very well; then I will notify the director and let him make the necessary changes. I want to go out now and see your young friend make an exhibition of himself.”

“Teddy?”

“Yes. He’s going on the leaping act for the first time, you know.”

“That’s so. I had forgotten all about it. I want to see that, too. I’ll hurry and dress.”

“And, Phil,” said the showman in a more kindly voice, even, than he had used before.

“Yes, sir,” answered the lad, glancing up quickly.

“You are going to be a great showman some of these days, both in the ring and out of it. Remember what I tell you.”

“Thank you; I hope so. I am going to try to be at least a good one.”

“You’re that already. You’ve done a lot for the Sparling Combined as it is and I don’t want you to think I do not appreciate it. Shake hands!”

Man and boy grasped each other’s hand in a grip that meant more than words. Then Mr. Sparling turned abruptly and hurried out into the big top where the leaping act was in full cry.

Painted clowns were keeping the audience in a roar by their funny leaps from the springboard to the mat, while the supple acrobats were doing doubles and singles through the air, landing gracefully on the mat as a round off.

The showman’s first inquiring look was in search of Teddy Tucker. He soon made the lad out. Teddy was made up as a fat boy with a low, narrow-brimmed hat perched jauntily on one side of his head. There was drollery in Teddy’s every movement. His natural clownish movements were sufficient to excite the laughter of the spectators without any attempt on his part to be funny, while the lad kept up a constant flow of criticism of his companions in the act.

But they had grown to know Teddy better, by this time, and none took his taunts seriously.

“That boy can leap, after all,” muttered Mr. Sparling. “I thought he would tumble around and make some fun for the audience, but I hadn’t the least idea he could do a turn. Why, he’s the funniest one in the bunch.”

Teddy was doing funny twists in the air as he threw a somersault at that moment. In his enthusiasm he overshot the mat, and had there not been a performer handy to catch him, the lad might have been seriously hurt.

Mr. Sparling shook his head.

“Lucky if he doesn’t break his neck! But that kind seldom do,” the owner said out loud.

Now the helpers were bringing the elephants up. Two were placed in front of the springboard and over these a stream of gaudily attired clowns dived, doing a turn in the air as they passed. Teddy was among the number.

Three elephants were lined up, then a fourth and a fifth.

“I hope he isn’t going to try that,” growled Mr. Sparling, noting that the lad was waiting his turn to get up on the springboard. “Not many of them can get away with that number. I suppose I ought to go over and stop the boy. But I guess he won’t try to jump them. He’ll probably walk across their backs, the same as he has seen the other clowns do.”

Teddy, however, had a different plan in mind. He had espied Mr. Sparling looking at him from across the tent, and he proposed to let the owner see what he really could do.

For a moment the lad poised at the top of the springboard, critically measuring the distance across the backs of the assembled elephants.

“Go on, go on!” commanded the director. “Do you think this show can wait on your motion all day? Jump, or get off the board!”

“Say, who’s doing this you or I?” demanded Teddy in well-feigned indignation, and in a voice that was audible pretty much all over the tent.

This drew a loud laugh from the spectators, who were now in a frame of mind to laugh at anything the Fat Boy did.

“It doesn’t look as if anyone were doing anything. Somebody will be in a minute, if I hear any more of your talk,” snapped the director. “Are you going to jump, or are you going to get off the board?”

“Well,” shouted Teddy, “confidentially now, mind you. Come over here. I want to talk to you. Confidentially, you know. I’m going to jump, if you’ll stop asking questions long enough for me to get away.”

Amid a roar of laughter from spectators, and broad grins on the part of the performers, Teddy took a running start and shot up into the air.

“He’s turning too quick,” snapped Mr. Sparling.

Teddy, however, evidently knew what he was about. Turning a beautiful somersault, he launched into a second one with the confidence of a veteran. All the circus people in the big top expected to see the lad break his neck. Instead, however, Tucker landed lightly and easily on his feet while the spectators shouted their approval. But instead of landing on the mat as he thought he was doing, Teddy was standing on the back of the last elephant in the line.

His double somersault had made him dizzy and the boy did not realize that he had not yet reached the mat on the ground. Bowing and smiling to the audience, the Fat Boy started to walk away.

Then Teddy fell off, landing in a heap on the hard ground. He rose, aching, but the onlookers on the boards took it all as a funny finish, and gleefully roared their appreciation.

CHAPTER XIX

Marooned in a Freight Car

“Catch him! Catch him! Catch that man!”

The parade was just passing when Phil shouted out the words that attracted all eyes toward him. It was to a policeman that he appealed.

The lad had discovered a shock of red hair above the heads of the people, and was gradually working his way toward the owner of it, when all at once Red Larry discovered him.

Red pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared down an alleyway, the policeman to whom the boy had appealed making no effort to catch the man.

“What kind of a policeman are you, anyway?” cried Phil in disgust. “That fellow is a crook, and we have been on the lookout for him for the last four weeks.”

“What’s he done?”

“Done? Tried to poison one of the elephants, and a lot of other things.”

“The kid’s crazy or else he belongs to the circus,” laughed a bystander.

Phil Forrest did not hear the speaker, however, for the boy had dashed through the crowd and bounded into the alley where he had caught a glimpse of a head of red hair a moment before.

But Larry was nowhere in sight. He had disappeared utterly.

“I was right,” decided Phil, after going the length of the alley and back. “He’s been following this show right along, and before he gets through he’ll put us out of business if we don’t look sharp.”

Considerable damage already had been done. Horses and other animals fell ill, in some instances with every evidence of poisoning; guy ropes were cut, and the cars had been tampered with in the railroad yards.

All this was beginning to get on the nerves of the owner of the show, as well as on those of some of his people who knew about it. Things had come to a point where it was necessary to place more men on guard about the lot to protect the show’s property.

At each stand of late efforts had been made to get the police to keep an eye open for one Red Larry, but police officials do not, as a rule, give very serious heed to the complaints of a circus, especially unless the entire department has been pretty well supplied with tickets. Mr. Sparling was a showman who did not give away many tickets unless there were some very good reason for so doing.

Phil, in the meantime, had been at work in an effort to satisfy his own belief that Larry was responsible for their numerous troubles. Yet up to this moment the lad had not caught sight of Red; and now he had lost the scoundrel through the laxity of a policeman.

There was no use “crying over spilled milk,” as Phil told himself.

The lad spent the next hour in tramping over the town where the circus was to show that day. He sought everywhere for Red, but not a sign of the fellow was to be found.

As soon as the parade was over Phil hastened back to the lot to acquaint Mr. Sparling with what he suspected.

“Do you know,” said Phil, “I believe that fellow and his companion are riding on one of our trains every night?”

“What?” exclaimed the showman.

“You’ll find I’m right when the truth is known. Then there’s something else. There have been a lot of complaints about sneak thieves in the towns we have visited since Red left us. You can’t tell. There may be some connection between these robberies and his following the show. I’m going to get Larry before I get through with this chase.”

“Be careful, Phil. He is a bad man. You know what to expect from him if he catches you again.”

“I am not afraid. I’ll take care of myself if I see him coming. The trouble is that Red doesn’t go after a fellow that way.”

Phil went on in his three acts as usual that afternoon, after having spent an hour at the front door taking tickets, to which task he had assigned himself soon after his talk with Mr. Sparling.

It was instructive; it gave the boy a chance to see the people and to get a new view of human nature. If there is one place in the world where all phases of human nature are to be found, that place is the front door of a circus.

The Circus Boys, by this time, had both fitted into their new acts as if they had been doing them for years—Phil doing the bareback riding and Teddy tumbling in the leaping act, both lads gaining the confidence and esteem more and more every day of their fellow performers and the owner of the show.

That night, after the performance was ended, Phil stood around for a time, watching the men at work pulling down the tent. He had another motive, too. He had thought that perchance he might see something of the man he was in search of, for no better time could be chosen to do damage to circus property than when the canvas was being struck.

Then everyone was too busy to pay any attention to anyone else. Teddy had gone on to pay his usual evening visit to the accommodation car and at the same time make miserable the existence of the worthy who presided over that particular car.

Phil waited until nearly twelve o’clock; then, deciding that it would be useless to remain there longer, turned his footsteps toward the railroad yards, for he was tired and wanted to get to bed as soon as possible.

He found the way readily, having been over to the car once during the morning while out looking for Red Larry. The night was very dark, however, and the yards, at the end from which he approached them, were enshrouded in deep shadows.

On down the tracks Phil could see the smoking torches where the men were at work running the heavy cages and canvas wagons up on the flat cars. Men were shouting and yelling, the usual accompaniment to this proceeding, while crowds of curious villagers were massed about the sides of the yard at that point, watching the operations.

“That’s the way I used to sit up and watch the circus get out of town,” mused Phil, grinning broadly, as he began hunting for the sleeper where his berth was.

All at once the lights seemed to disappear suddenly from before his eyes. Phil felt himself slowly settling to the ground. He tried to cry out, but could not utter a sound.

Then the lad understood that he was being grasped in a vise-like grip. That was the last he knew.

When Phil finally awakened he was still in deep, impenetrable darkness. The train was moving rapidly, but there seemed to the boy to be something strange and unusual in his surroundings. His berth felt hard and unnatural. For a time he lay still with closed eyes, trying to recall what had happened. There was a blank somewhere, but he could not find it.

“Funny! This doesn’t seem like No. 11. If it is, we must be going over a pretty rough stretch of road.”

He put out both hands cautiously and groped about him. Phil uttered an exclamation of surprise.

“Good gracious, I’m on the floor. I must have fallen out of bed.”

Then he realized that this could not be the case, because there was a carpet on the floor of No. 11.

This was a hard, rough floor on which he was lying, and the air was close, very different from that in the well-kept sleeping car in which he traveled nightly from stand to stand.

In an effort to get to his feet the lad fell back heavily. His head was swimming dizzily, and how it did ache!

“I wonder what has happened?” Forrest thought out loud. “Maybe I was struck by a train. No; that couldn’t be the case, or I should not be here. But where am I? I might be in one of the show cars, but I don’t believe there is an empty car on the train.”

As soon as Phil felt himself able to sit up he searched through his pockets until he found his box of matches, which he always carried now, as one could not tell at what minute they might be needed.

Striking a light, he glanced quickly about him; then the match went out.

“I’m in a freight car,” he gasped. “But where, where?”

There was no answer to this puzzling question. Phil struggled to his feet, and, groping his way to the door, began tugging at it to get it open. The door refused to budge.

“Locked! It’s locked on the outside! What shall I do? What shall I do?” he cried.

Phil sat down weak and dizzy. There was nothing, so far as he could see, that could be done to liberate himself from his imprisonment. Chancing to put his hand to his head, he discovered a lump there as large as a goose egg.

“I know—let me think—something—somebody must have hit me an awful crack. Now I remember—yes, I remember falling down in the yard there just as if something had struck me. Who could have done such a cruel thing?”

Phil thought and thought, but the more he thought about it the more perplexed did he become. All at once he started up, with a sudden realization that the train was slowing down. He could hear the air brakes grating and grinding and squealing against the car wheels below him, until finally the train came to a dead stop.

“Now is my chance to make somebody hear,” Phil cried, springing up and groping for the door again.

He shouted at the top of his voice, then beat against the heavy door with fists and feet, but not a sign could he get that anyone heard him.

As a matter of fact, no one was near him at that moment. The long freight train had stopped at a water tank far out in the country, and the trainmen were at the extreme ends of the train.

In a few moments the train started with such a jerk that Forrest was thrown off his feet. He sprang up again, hoping that the train might be going past a station there, and that someone might hear him. Then he began rattling at and kicking the door again.

It was all to no purpose.

Finally, in utter exhaustion, the lad sank to the floor, soon falling into a deep sleep. How long he slept he did not know when at last he awakened.

“Why, the train has stopped,” Forrest exclaimed, suddenly sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “Now I ought to make somebody hear me because it’s daylight. I can see the light underneath the door. I’ll try it again.”

He did try it, hammering at the door and shouting at intervals during the long hours that followed. Once more he lighted matches and began examining his surroundings with more care. Phil discovered a trap door in the roof, but it was closed.

“If only there were a rope hanging down, I’d be up there in no time,” he mused. I wonder if I couldn’t climb up and hang to the braces. I might reach it in that way. I’m going to try it.”

Deciding upon this, the Circus Boy, after no little effort, succeeded in climbing up to one of the side braces in the car. From the plates long, narrow beams extended across the car, thus supporting the roof. Choosing two that led along near the trap, Phil, after a few moments’ rest, gripped one firmly in each hand from the underside and began swinging himself along almost as if he were traveling on a series of traveling rings, but with infinitely more effort and discomfort.

His hands were aching frightfully, and he knew that he could hold on but a few seconds longer.

“I’ve got to make it,” he gasped, breathing hard.

At last he had reached the goal. Phil released one hand and quickly extended it to the trap door frame.

There was not a single projection there to support him, nor to which he might cling. His hand slipped away, suddenly throwing his weight upon the hand grasping the roof timber. The strain was too much. Phil Forrest lost his grip and fell heavily to the floor.

But this time he did not rise. The lad lay still where he had fallen.

CHAPTER XX

The Barnyard Circus

When next Phil opened his eyes he was lying on the grass on the shady side of a freight car with someone dashing water in his face, while two or three others stood around gazing at him curiously.

“Whe—where am I?” gasped the boy.

“I reckon you’re lucky to be alive,” laughed the man who had been soaking him from a pail of water. “Who be ye?”

“My name is Phil Forrest.”

“How’d ye git in that car? Stealing a ride, eh? Reckon we’d better hand ye over to the town constable. It’s again the law to steal rides on freight trains.”

“I’ve not stolen a ride. It’s no such thing,” protested Phil indignantly.

“Ho, ho, that’s a rich one! Paid yer fare, hey? Riding like a gentleman in a side-door Pullman. Good, ain’t it, fellows?”

“Friends, I assure you I am not a tramp. Someone assaulted me and locked me in that car last night. I’ve got money in my pocket to prove that I am not a tramp.”

The lad thrust his hands into his trousers’ pockets, then a blank expression overspread his face. Reaching to his vest to see if his watch were there, he found that that, too, was missing.

“I’ve been robbed,” he gasped. “That’s what it was. Somebody robbed and threw me into this car last night. See, I’ve got a lump on my head as big as a man’s fist.”

“He sure has,” agreed one of the men. “Somebody must a given him an awful clout with a club.”

“What town is this, please?”

“Mexico, Missouri.”

“Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“How far is it from St. Joseph?”

“St. Joseph? Why, I reckon St. Joe is nigh onto a hundred and fifty miles from here.”

Phil groaned.

“A hundred and fifty miles and not a cent in my pocket! What shall I do? Can I send a telegram? Where is the station?”

“Sunday. Station closed.”

“Sunday? That’s so.”

Phil walked up and down between the tracks rather unsteadily, curiously observed by the villagers. They had heard his groans in the freight car on the siding as they passed, and had quickly liberated the lad.

“Do you think I could borrow enough money somewhere here to get me to St. Joseph? I would send it back by return mail.”

The men laughed long and loud.

“What are you in such a hurry to get to St. Joe for?” demanded the spokesman of the party.

“Because I want to get back to the circus.”

“Circus?” they exclaimed in chorus.

“Yes. I belong with the Sparling Combined Shows. I was on my way to my train, in the railroad yards, when I was knocked out and thrown into that car.”

“You with a circus?” The men regarded him in a new light.

“Yes; why not?”

This caused them to laugh. Plainly they did not believe him. Nor did Phil care much whether they did or not.

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Church time.”

He knew that, for he could hear the bells ringing off in the village to the east of them.

“I’ll tell you what, sirs; I have got to have some breakfast. If any of you will be good enough to give me a meal I shall be glad to do whatever you may wish to pay for it. Then, if I cannot find the telegraph operator, I shall have to stay over until I do.”

“What do you want the telegraph man for?”

“I want to wire the show for some money to get back with. I’ve got to be there tomorrow, in time for the show. I must do it, if I have to run all the way.”

The men were impressed by his story in spite of themselves; yet they were loath to believe that this slender lad, much the worse for wear, could belong to the organization he had named.

“What do you do in the show?”

“I perform on the flying rings, ride the elephant and ride bareback in the ring. What about it? Will one of you put me up?”

The villagers consulted for a moment; then the spokesman turned to Phil.

“I reckon, if you be a circus feller, you kin show us some tricks, eh?”

“Perform for you, you mean?”

“Yep.”

“Well, I don’t usually do anything like that on Sunday,” answered the Circus Boy reflectively.

“Eat on Sunday, don’t you?”

“When I get a chance,” Phil grinned. “I guess your argument wins. I’ve got to eat and I have offered to earn my meal. What do you want me to do?”

“Kin you do a flip?”

Phil threw himself into a succession of cartwheels along the edge of the railroad tracks, ending in a backward somersault.

“And you ride a hoss without any saddle, standing up on his back—you do that, too?”

“Why, yes,” laughed Phil, his face red from his exertion.

“Then, come along. Come on, fellers!”

Phil thought, of course, that he was being taken to the man’s home just outside the village, where he would get his breakfast. He was considerably surprised, therefore, when the men passed the house that his acquaintance pointed out as belonging to himself, and took their way on toward a collection of farm buildings some distance further up the road.

“I wonder what they are going to do now?” marveled Phil. “This surely doesn’t look much like breakfast coming my way, and I’m almost famished.”

The leader of the party let down the bars of the farmyard, conducting his guests around behind a large hay barn, into an enclosed space, in the center of which stood a straw stack, the stack and yard being surrounded by barns and sheds.

“Where are you fellows taking me? Going to put me in the stable with the live stock?” questioned Phil, laughingly.

“You want some breakfast, eh?”

“Certainly I do, but I’m afraid I can’t eat hay.”

The men laughed uproariously at this bit of humor.

“Must be a clown,” suggested one.

“No, I am not a clown. My little friend who performs with me, and comes from the same town I do, is one. I wish he were here. He would make you laugh until you couldn’t stand without leaning against something.”

“Here, Joe! Here, Joe!” their guide began calling in a loud voice, alternating with loud whistling.

Phil heard a rustling over behind the straw stack, and then out trotted a big, black draft horse, a heavy-footed, broad-backed Percheron, to his astonishment.

“My, that’s a fine piece of horse flesh,” glowed the lad. “We have several teams of those fellows for the heavy work with the show. Of course we don’t use them in the ring. Is this what you brought me here to see?”

“Yep. Git up there.”

“What do you mean?”

“Git up and show us fellers if you’re a real circus man.”

“You mean you want me to ride him?” said Phil.

“Sure thing.”

“How?”

“Git on his back and do one of them bareback stunts you was telling us about,” and the fellow winked covertly at his companions, as much as if to say, “we’ve got him going this time.”

“What; here in this rough yard?”

“Yep.”

Phil considered for a moment, stamping about on the straw-covered ground, then sizing up the horse critically.

“All right. Bring me a bridle and fasten a long enough rein to the bit so I can get hold of it standing up.”

He was really going to do as they demanded. The men were surprised. They had not believed he could, and now, at any rate, he was going to make an effort to make good his boast.

A bridle was quickly fetched and slipped on the head of old Joe. In place of reins the farmer attached a rope to the bridle, Phil measuring on the back of the horse to show how long it should be cut.

The preparations all complete, Phil grasped the rein and vaulted to the high back of the animal, landing astride neatly. This brought an exclamation of approval from the audience.

“Now git up on your feet.”

“Don’t be in a hurry. I want to ride him around the stack a few times to get the hang of the ring,” laughed Phil. “It’s a good, safe place to fall, anyway. Do I get some breakfast after this exhibition?” he questioned.

“That depends. Go on.”

“Gid-dap!” commanded Phil, patting the black on its powerful neck. Then they went trotting around the stack, the men backing off to get a better view of the exhibition.

On the second round Phil drew up before them.

“Got any chalk on the place?” he asked.

“Reckon there’s some in the barn.”

“Please fetch it.”

They did not know what he wanted chalk for, but the owner of the place hurried to fetch it. In the meantime Phil was slowly removing his shoes, which he threw to one side of the yard. Bidding the men break up the chalk into powder, he smeared the bottoms of his stockings with the white powder, sprinkling a liberal supply on the back of the horse.

“Here, here! What you doing? I have to curry that critter down every morning,” shouted the owner.

Phil grinned and clucked to the horse, whose motion he had caught in his brief ride about the stack, and once more disappeared around the pile. When he hove in sight again, the black was trotting briskly, with Phil Forrest standing erect, far back on the animal’s hips, urging him along with sharp little cries, and dancing about as much at home as if he were on the solid ground.

The farmers looked on with wide-open mouths, too amazed to speak.

Phil uttered a shout, and set the black going about the stack faster and faster, throwing himself into all manner of artistic positions.

After the horse had gotten a little used to the strange work, Phil threw down the reins and rode without anything of the sort to give him any support.

Probably few farm barnyards had ever offered an attraction like it before.

“Come up here!” cried the lad, to the lighter of the men. “I’ll give you a lesson.”

The fellow protested, but his companions grabbed him and threw him to old Joe’s back. Phil grabbed his pupil by the coat collar, jerking him to his feet and started old Joe going at a lively clip.

You should have heard those farmers howl, at the ludicrous sight of their companion sprawling all over the back of the black, with Phil, red-faced, struggling with all his might to keep the fellow on, and at the same time prevent himself taking a tumble!

At last the burden was too much for Phil, and his companion took an inglorious tumble, head first into the straw at the foot of the stack, while the farmers threw themselves down, rolling about and making a great din with their howls of merriment.

“There, I guess I have earned my breakfast,” decided the lad, dropping off near the spot where he had cast his shoes.

“You bet you have, little pardner. You jest come over to the house and fill up on salt pork and sauerkraut. You kin stay all summer if you want to. Hungry?”

“So hungry that, if my collar were loose, it would be falling down over my feet,” grinned the lad.

CHAPTER XXI

When the Crash Came

There was rejoicing on the part of his fellows, and relief in the heart of Mr. Sparling when, along toward noon next day, Phil Forrest came strolling on the circus lot at St. Joseph.

His friends, the farmers, had not only given him food and lodging, but had advanced him enough money for his fare through to join the show. His first duty was to get some money from Mr. Sparling and send it back to his benefactors.

This done, Phil repaired to the owner’s tent where he knew Mr. Sparling was anxiously waiting to hear what had happened to him.

Phil went over the circumstances in detail, while Mr. Sparling listened gravely at first, then with rising color as his anger increased.

“It’s Red Larry!” decided Mr. Sparling, with an emphasizing blow of his fist on the desk before him.

“After I thought the matter over that was what I decided—I mean that was the decision I came to.”

“Right. Another season I’ll have an officer with this show. That’s the only way we can protect ourselves.”

“Do all the big shows carry an officer?” asked Phil.

“Yes; they have a detective with them—not a tin badge detective, but a real one. Don’t try to go out today. Get your dinner and rest up for the afternoon performance. I think you had better go to the train in my carriage tonight. I’m not going to take any more such chances with you.”

“I’ll look out for myself after this, Mr. Sparling,” laughed Phil. “I think it was only two days ago that I said I wasn’t afraid of Larry—that he couldn’t get me. But he did.”

That afternoon, as Phil related his experiences to the dressing tent, he included the barnyard circus, which set the performers in a roar.

Phil felt a little sore and stiff after his knockout and his long ride in the freight car; but, after taking half an hour of bending exercises in the paddock, he felt himself fit to go on with his ring and bareback acts.

Both his acts passed off successfully, as did the Grand Entry in which he rode old Emperor.

That night, after the performance, Phil hurried to the train, but kept a weather eye out that he might not be assaulted again. He found himself hungry, and, repairing to the accommodation car for a lunch, discovered Teddy stowing away food at a great rate.

“So you’re here, are you?” laughed Phil.

“Yep; I live here most of the time,” grinned Teddy. “They like to have me eat here. I’m a sort of nest egg, you know. It makes the others hungry to see me eat, and they file in in a perfect procession. How’s your head?”

“Still a size too large,” answered Phil, sinking down on a stool and ordering a sandwich.

As the lads ate and talked two or three other performers came in, whereupon the conversation became more general.

All at once there came a bang as a switching engine bumped into the rear of their car. Teddy about to pass a cup of steaming coffee to his lips, spilled most of it down his neck.

“Ouch!” he yelled, springing up, dancing about the floor, holding his clothes as far from his body as possible. “Here, you quit that!” he yelled, poking his head out of a window. “If you do that again I’ll trim you with a pitcher of coffee and see how you like that.”

Bang!

Once more the engine smashed into them, having failed to make the coupling the first time.

Teddy sat down heavily in the middle of the car, just as Little Dimples tripped in. In one hand he held a sandwich half consumed, while with the other he was still stretching his collar as far from his neck as it would go.

“Why, Teddy,” exclaimed Dimples, “what are you doing on the floor?”

“Eating my lunch. Always eat it sitting on the floor, you know,” growled the boy, at which there was a roar from the others.

“What are they trying to do out there?” questioned Phil.

“Going to shift us about on another track, I guess. I was nearly thrown down when I tried to get on the platform. I never saw a road where they were so rough. Did you?”

“Yes; I rode on one the other night that could beat this,” grinned Phil.

A few minutes later the car got under motion, pushed by a switching engine, and began banging along merrily over switches, tearing through the yard at high speed.

“We seem to be in a hurry ’bout something,” grunted Teddy. “Maybe they’ve hooked us on the wrong train, and we’re bound for somewhere else.”

“No, I don’t think so,” replied Phil. “You should be used to this sort of thing by this time.”

“I don’t care as long as the food holds out. It doesn’t make any difference where they take us.”

“What section does this car go out on tonight, steward?” questioned Phil.

“The last. Goes out with the sleepers.”

“That explains it. They are shifting us around, making up the last section and to get us out of the way of section No. 2. I never can keep these trains straight in my mind, they change them so frequently. But it’s better than riding in a canvas wagon over a rough country road, isn’t it, Teddy?”

“Worse,” grunted the lad. “You never know when you’re going to get your everlasting bump, and you don’t have any net to fall in when you do. Hey, they’re at it again!”

His words were almost prophetic.

There followed a sudden jolt, a deafening crash, accompanied by cries from the cooks and waiters at the far end of the car.

“Get a net!” howled Teddy.

“We’re off the rails,” cried the performers.

“Look out for yourselves!”

Little Dimples was hurled from her stool at the lunch counter, and launched straight toward a window from which the glass was showering into the car.

Phil made a spring, catching her in his arms. But the impact and the jolt were too much for him. He went down in a heap, Little Dimples falling half over him.

He made a desperate grab for her, but the woman’s skirts slipped through his hand and she plunged on toward the far end of the car.

“Look out for the coffee boiler.”

A yell from a waiter told them that the warning had come too late. The man had gotten a large part of the contents of the boiler over him.

But all at once those in the car began to realize that something else was occurring. Somehow, they could feel the accommodation car wavering as if on the brink of a precipice. Then it began to settle slowly and the mystified performers and car hands thought it was going to rest where it was on the ties.

Instead, the car took a sudden lurch.

“We’re going over something!” cried a voice.

Phil, who had scrambled quickly to his feet, half-dazed from the fall, stood irresolutely for a few seconds then began making his way toward where Little Dimples had fallen.

At that moment young Forrest was hurled with great force against the side of the car. Everything in the car seemed suddenly to have become the center of a miniature cyclone. Dishes, cooking utensils, tables and chairs were flying through the air, the noise within the car accompanied by a sickening, grinding series of crashes from without.

Groans were already distinguishable above the deafening crashes.

Those who were able to think realized that the accommodation car was falling over an embankment of some sort.

Through accident or design, what is known as a “blind switch” had been turned while the engine was shunting the accommodation car about the yards. The result was that the car had left the rails, bumped along on the ties for a distance, then had toppled over an embankment that was some twenty feet high.

It seemed as if all in that ill-fated car must be killed or maimed for life. A series of shrill blasts from the engine called for help.

The crash had been heard all over the railroad yards. Railroad men and circus men had rushed toward the spot where the accommodation car had gone over the embankment, Mr. Sparling among the number. He had just arrived at the yards when the accident occurred.

Fortunately, the wrecking crew was ready for instant service, and these men were rushed without an instant’s delay to the outskirts of the yard where the wreck had occurred.

However, ere the men got there a startling cry rose from hundreds of throats.

“Fire! The car is on fire!”

“Break in the doors! Smash the sides in!”

Yet no one seemed to have the presence of mind to do anything. Phil had been hurled through a broken widow, landing halfway down the bank, on the uphill side of the car, else he must have been crushed to death. But so thoroughly dazed was he that he was unable to move.

Finally someone discovered him and picked him up.

“Here’s one of them,” announced a bystander. “It’s a kid, too.”

Mr. Sparling came charging down the bank.

“Who is it? Where is he?” he bellowed.

“Here.”

“It’s Phil Forrest,” cried one of the showmen, recognizing the lad, whose face was streaked where it had been cut by the jagged glass in the broken window.

“Is he killed?”

“No; he’s alive. He’s coming around now.”

Phil sat up and rubbed his eyes.

All at once he understood what had happened. He staggered to his feet holding to a man standing beside him.

“Why don’t you do something?” cried Phil. “Don’t you know there are people in that car?”

“It’s burning up. Nobody dares get in till the wreckers can get here and smash in the side of the car,” was the answer.

“What?” fairly screamed Phil Forrest. “Nobody dares go in that car? Somebody does dare!”

“Come back, come back, Phil! You can’t do anything,” shouted a fellow performer.

But the lad did not even hear him. He was leaping, falling and rolling down the bank, regardless of the danger that he was approaching, for the flames already showed through a broken spot in the roof of the car, which was lying half on its side at the foot of the embankment.

Without an instant’s hesitation Phil, as he came up alongside, raised a foot, smashing out the remaining pieces of glass in a window. Then he plunged in head first.

The spectators groaned.

“Dimples! Dimples!” he shouted. “Are you alive?”

“Yes, here. Be quick! I’m pinned down!”

Phil rushed to her assistance. Her legs were pinioned beneath a heavy timber. Phil attacked it desperately, tugging and grunting, the perspiration rolling down his face, for the heat in there was now almost more than he could bear.

With a mighty effort he wrenched the timber from the prostrate woman, then quickly gathered her up in his arms.

“I knew you’d come, Phil, if you were alive,” she breathed, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Do you know where Teddy is?” he asked, plunging through the blinding smoke to the window where voices already were calling to him.

“At the other end—I think,” she choked.

The lad passed her out to waiting arms.

“Come out! Come out of that!” bellowed the stentorian voice of Mr. Sparling. But Phil had turned back.

“Teddy!” he called, the words choked back into his throat by the suffocating smoke.

“Wow! Get me out of here. I’m—I’m,” then the lad went off into a violent fit of coughing.

By this time two others, braver than the rest, had climbed in through the window.

“Where are they all?” called a voice.

“I don’t know. You’ll have to hunt for them. I’m after you, Teddy. Are you held down by something, too?”

“The whole car’s on me, and I’m burning up.”

Phil, guided by the boy’s voice, groped his way along and soon found his hands gripped by those of his little companion.

“Where are you fast?”

“My feet!”

It proved an easy matter to liberate Teddy and drag him to the window, where Phil dumped him out.

Mr. Sparling had climbed in by this time, and the wrecking crew were thundering at the roof to let the smoke and flames out, while others had crawled in with their fire extinguishers.

There were now quite a number of brave men in the car all working with desperate haste to rescue the imprisoned circus people.

“All out!” bellowed the foreman of the wrecking crew. “The roof will be down in a minute!”

“All out!” roared Mr. Sparling, himself making a dash for a window.

Others piled out with a rush, the flames gaining very rapid headway now.

“Phil! Phil! Where’s Forrest?” called Mr. Sparling.

“He isn’t here. Maybe—”

“Then he’s in that car. He’ll be burned alive! No one can live five minutes in there now!”

The fire department had arrived on the scene, and the men were running two lines of hose over the tracks.

“Phil in there?”

It was a howl—a startled howl rather than a spoken question. The voice belonged to Teddy Tucker.

Teddy rushed through the crowd, pushing obstructors aside, and hurled himself through the window into the burning car. He looked more like a big, round ball than anything else.

No sooner had Tucker landed fairly inside than he uttered a yell.

“Phil!”

There was no answer.

“Where—”

Teddy went down like a flash, bowled over by a heavy stream of water from the firemen’s hose.

As it chanced he fell prone across a heap of some sort, choking and growling with rage at what had befallen him.

“Phil!”

“Yes,” answered a voice from the heap.

“I’ve got him!” howled Teddy, springing up and dragging the half-dazed Phil Forrest to the window. There both boys were hauled out, Teddy and Phil collapsing on the embankment from the smoke that they had inhaled.

“Phil! Teddy!” begged Mr. Sparling, throwing himself beside them.

“Get a net!” muttered Teddy, then swooned.

CHAPTER XXII

What Happened to a Pacemaker

“Find out how that car came to tumble off,” were the first words Phil uttered after they had restored him to consciousness.

Teddy, however, was bemoaning the loss of the sandwich that he had bought but had not eaten.

“The accident shall be investigated by me personally before this section leaves the yard,” said Mr. Sparling. “I am glad you suggested it, Phil. How do you feel?”

“I am all right. Did somebody pull me out?”

“Yes, Teddy did. You are a pair of brave boys. I guess this outfit knows now the stuff you two are made of, if it never did before,” glowed Mr. Sparling.

“How many were killed?”

“None. The head steward has a broken leg, one waiter a few ribs smashed in, and another has lost a finger. I reckon the railroad will have a nice bill of damages to pay for this night’s work. Were you in the car when it occurred?”

“Yes. They had been handling it rather roughly. We spoke of it at the time. We were moving down the yard when suddenly one end seemed to drop right off the track as if we had come to the end of it.”

Mr. Sparling nodded.

“I’ll go into it with the railroad people at once. You two get into your berths. Can you walk?”

“Oh, yes.”

“How about you, Tucker,”

“I can creep all right. I learned to do that when I was in long pants.”

“I guess you mean long dresses,” answered the showman.

“I guess I do.”

The boys were helped to the sleeper, where they were put to bed. Phil had been slightly burned on one hand while Teddy got what he called “a free hair cut,” meaning that his hair had been pretty well singed. Otherwise they were none the worse for their experiences, save for the slight cuts Phil had received by coming in contact with broken glass and some burns from the coffee boiler.

They were quite ready to go to sleep soon after being put to bed, neither awakening until they reached the next show town on the following morning.

When the two lads pulled themselves up in their berths the sun was well up, orders having been given not to disturb them.

“Almost seven o’clock, Teddy,” cried Phil.

“Don’t care if it’s seventeen o’clock,” growled Teddy. “Lemme sleep.”

“All right, but you will miss your breakfast.”

That word “breakfast” acted almost magically on Tucker. Instantly he landed in the middle of the aisle on all fours, and, straightening up, began groping sleepily for his clothes.

Phil laughed and chuckled.

“How do you feel, Teddy?”

“Like a roast pig being served on a platter in the cook tent. Do you need a net this morning?”

“No, I think not. I’m rather sore where I got cut, but I guess I am pretty fit otherwise.”

After washing and dressing the lads set out across the fields for the lot, which they could see some distance to the west of the sidings, where their sleepers had been shifted. Both were hungry, for it is not an easy matter to spoil a boy’s appetite. Railroad wrecks will not do it in every case, nor did they in this.

But, before the morning ended, the cook tent had seen more excitement than in many days—in fact more than at any time so far that season.

The moment Phil and Teddy strolled in, each bearing the marks of the wreck on face and head everybody, except the Legless Man, stood up. Three rousing cheers and a tiger for the Circus Boys, were given with a will, and then the lads found themselves the center of a throng of performers, roustabouts and freaks all of whom showered their congratulations on the boys for their heroism in saving other’s lives at the risk of their own.

Little Dimples was not one whit behind the others. She praised them both, much to Phil’s discomfiture and Teddy’s pleasure.

“Teddy, you are a hero after all,” she beamed.

“Me? Me a hero?” he questioned, pointing to himself.

“Yes, you. I always knew you would be if you had half a chance. Of course Phil had proved before that he was.”

Teddy threw out his chest, thrusting both hands in his trousers pockets.

“Oh, I don’t know. It wasn’t so much. How’d you get out?”

“Your friend, Phil, here, is responsible for my not being in the freak class this morning. There’s Mr. Sparling beckoning to you. I think he wants you both.”

The boys walked over as soon as they could get away from the others. That morning they sat at the executive table with the owner of the show, his wife and the members of Mr. Sparling’s staff.

For once Teddy went through a meal with great dignity, as befitted one who was in the hero class.

“What happened to cause the wreck last night?” asked Phil, turning to his host of the morning at the first opportunity.

“The car went off over a blind switch that had been opened.”

“By whom?”

“Ah, that’s the question.”

“Perhaps one of the railroad men opened it by mistake,” suggested Teddy. “Nobody else would have a key.”

“You’ll find no railroad man made that blunder,” replied Phil.

“No! While the railroad is responsible for the damages, I hardly think they are for the wreck. No key was used to open the switch.”

“No key?”

“No.”

“How, then?”

“The lock was wrenched off with an iron bar and the switch wedged fast, so there could be no doubt about what would happen. It might have happened to some other car not belonging to us, though it was a pretty safe gamble that it would catch one of ours.”

“I thought as much,” nodded Phil. “But perhaps it’s just as well.”

“What do you mean by that?” questioned the showman sharply.

“That the railroad folks will do what the police are too lazy to do.”

“What?”

“Get after the fellow who did it,” suggested Phil wisely.

“That’s so! That’s so! I hadn’t thought of it in that light before. You’ve got a long head, my boy. You always have had, for that matter as long as I have known you, so it stands to reason that you must always have been that way.”

Teddy, having finished his breakfast, excused himself and strolled off to another part of the tent where he might find more excitement. He sat down in his own place near the freak table and began talking shop with some of the performers, while Phil and Mr. Sparling continued their conversation.

“I haven’t given up hopes of catching him myself, Mr. Sparling.”

“You came pretty close to it Saturday night.”

“And I wasn’t so far from it last night either,” laughed the boy. “Going to be able to save the accommodation car?”

“No, it’s a hopeless wreck.”

“You probably will not put on another this season then?”

“What would you suggest?”

“I should not think it would be advisable. Most of the people go downtown, anyway, to get their lunch after the show.”

“Exactly. That’s the way it appeared to me, but I wanted to get your point of view.” It was not that the owner had not made up his mind, but that he wanted to get Phil Forrest’s mind working from the point of view of the manager and owner of a circus, seeing in Phil, as he did, the making of a future great showman.

All at once their conversation was disturbed by a great uproar at the further end of the tent, near where Teddy sat.

Two midgets, arguing the question as to which of them was the Smallest Man in the World, had become so heated that they fell to pummeling each other with their tiny fists.

Instantly the tent was in confusion, and with one accord the performers and freaks gathered around to watch the miniature battle.

A waiter in his excitement, stepped in a woodchuck hole, spilling a bowl of steaming hot soup down the Fat Woman’s neck.

“Help! Help! I’m on fire!” she shrieked.

Teddy, now that he had become a hero, felt called upon to hurry to the rescue. Seizing a pitcher of ice water, he leaped over a bench and dumped the contents of the pitcher over the head of the Fattest Woman on Earth. Several chunks of ice, along with a liberal quantity of the water, slid down her neck.

This was more than human flesh could stand. The Fat Woman staggered to her feet uttering a series of screams that might have been heard all over the lot, while those on the outside came rushing in to assist in what they believed to be a serious disturbance.

Mr. Sparling pushed his way through the crowd, roaring out command after command, but somehow, the ring about the Fat Woman and the fighting midgets did not give way readily. The show people were too much engrossed in the funny spectacle of the midgets to wish to be disturbed.

Not so Teddy Tucker.

Having quenched the fire that was consuming the Fat Woman, he pushed his way through the crowd, with the stern command, “Stand aside here!” and fell upon the Lilliputian gladiators.

“Break away!” roared Teddy, grasping each by the collar and giving him a violent tug.

What was his surprise when both the little men suddenly turned upon him and started pushing and beating him.

Taken unawares, Teddy began to back up, to the accompaniment of the jeers of the spectators.

The crowd howled its appreciation of the turn affairs had taken, Teddy steadily giving ground before the enraged Lilliputians.

As it chanced a washtub filled with pink lemonade that had been prepared for the thirsty crowds stood directly in the lad’s path. If anyone observed it, he did not so inform Teddy.

All at once the Circus Boy sat down in the tub of pink lemonade with a loud splash, pink fluid spurting up in a veritable fountain over such parts of him as were not already in the tub.

Teddy howled for help, while the show people shrieked with delight, the lad in his efforts to get out of the tub, falling back each time, until finally rescued from his uncomfortable position by the owner of the show himself.

“That’s what you get for meddling with other peoples’ affairs,” chided Phil, laughing immoderately as he observed the rueful countenance of his friend.

“If I hadn’t meddled with you last night, you’d have been a dead one today,” retorted the lad. “Anyway, I’ve made a loud splash this morning.”

CHAPTER XXIII

Searching the Train

Salt Lake City proved an unusual attraction to the Circus Boys, they having read so much of it in story and textbooks.

Here they visited the great Mormon Temple. During their two day stand they made a trip out to the Great Salt Lake where Teddy Tucker insisted in going in swimming. His surprise was great when he found that he could not swim at all in the thick, salty water.

The trip over the mountains, through the wonderful scenery of the Rockies and the deep canyons where the sunlight seldom reaches was one of unending interest to them.

Most of the show people had been over this same ground with other circuses many times before, for there are few corners of the civilized world that the seasoned showman has not visited at least once in his life.

It was all new to the Circus Boys, however, and in the long day trips over mountain and plain, they found themselves fully occupied with the new, entrancing scenes.

By this time both lads had become really finished performers in their various acts, and they had gone on through the greater part of the season without serious accident in their work. Of course they had had tumbles, as all showmen do, but somehow they managed to come off with whole skins.

For a time after the wreck of the accommodation car the show had no further trouble that could be laid at the door of Red Larry or his partner. However, after a few days, the reports of burglaries in towns where the show exhibited became even more numerous.

“We can’t furnish police protection to the places we visit,” answered Mr. Sparling, when spoken to about this. “But, if ever I get my hands on that red head, the fur will fly!”

Passing out of the state of Utah, a few stands were made in Nevada, but the jumps were now long and it was all the circus trains could do to get from stand to stand in time. As it was, they were not always able to give the parade, but the manager made up for this by getting up a free show out in front of the big top just before the afternoon and evening performances began.

Reno was the last town played in Nevada, and everyone breathed a sigh of relief as the tents were struck and the show moved across the line into California. The difficulty of getting water for man and beast had proved a most serious one. At Reno, however, a most serious thing had occurred, one that disturbed the owner of the show very greatly.

Many of the guy ropes holding the big top, had been cut while the performance was going on and most of the canvasmen and laborers were engaged in taking down and loading the menagerie outfit.

A wind storm was coming up, but fortunately it veered off before reaching Reno. The severed ropes were not discovered until after the show was over and the tent was being struck. Mr. Sparling had been quickly summoned. After a careful examination of the ropes he understood what had happened. Phil, too, had discovered one cut rope and the others, on his way from the dressing tent to the front, after finishing his performance.

But there was nothing now that required his looking up Mr. Sparling, in view of the fact that the canvas was already coming down. Yet after getting his usual night lunch in the town, the lad strolled over to the railroad yards intending to visit the manager as soon as the latter should have returned from the lot.

The two met just outside the owner’s private car, a short time after the loading had been completed.

“Oh, I want to see you, Mr. Sparling, if you have the time.”

“I’ve always time for that. I was in hopes I would get a chance to have a chat with you before we got started. Will you come in?”

“Yes, thank you.”

Entering the private car Mr. Sparling took off his coat and threw himself into a chair in front of his roll-top desk.

“Phil, there’s deviltry going on in this outfit again,” he said fixing a stern eye on the little Circus Boy.

Phil nodded.

“You don’t seem to be very much surprised.”

“I’m not. I think I know what you mean.”

“You do? What for instance?”

“The cutting of those ropes tonight,” smiled Phil.

“You know that?”

The lad nodded again, but this time with more emphasis.

“Is there anything that goes on in this outfit that you do not know about?”

“Oh, I presume so. If I hadn’t chanced to walk over a place where there should have been a guy rope I probably never should have discovered what had been done.”

“I’ll bet you would,” answered the owner, gazing at the lad admiringly.

“It is fortunate for us that we did not have a wind storm during the evening.”

“Fortunate for the audience, I should say. Nothing could have held the tent with those ropes gone. It showed that the cordage had been cut by someone very familiar with the canvas. Almost a breath of wind would have caused the whole big top to collapse, and then a lot of people might have been killed. Well, the season is almost at an end now. If we are lucky we shall soon be out of it.”

“All the more reason for getting the fellow at once,” nodded Phil.

“Why?”

“After a few days we shall be closing, and then we shall not get an opportunity.”

“That’s good logic. I agree with you. I shall be delighted to place these hands of mine right on that fiend’s throat. But first, will you tell me how I am going to do it? Haven’t we been trying to catch him ever since those two men were discharged? Both of them are in this thing.”

“I think you will find that there is only one now. I believe Larry is working alone. I haven’t any particular reason for thinking this; it just sort of seems to me to be so.”

“Any suggestions, Phil? I’ll confess that I am at my wits’ end.”

“Yes, I have been thinking of a plan lately.”

“What is it?”

“Have the trains searched.”

“What?”

“You will remember my saying, sometime ago, that I believed the fellow was still traveling with us and—”

“But how—where could he ride that he would not be sure of discovery?” protested Mr. Sparling.

“He has friends with the show, that’s how,” answered Phil convincingly.

“You amaze me.”

“All the same, I believe you will find that to be the case.”

“And you would suggest searching the trains?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Now. No; I don’t mean at this very minute. I should suggest that tomorrow morning, say at daybreak, you send men over this entire train. Don’t let them miss a single corner where a man might hide.”

“Yes; but this isn’t the only train in the show.”

“I know. At the first stop, or you might do it here before we start, wire ahead to your other train managers to do the same thing. Tell them who it is you suspect. You’ll be able to catch the squadron before they get in, though I do not believe our man will be found anywhere on that train.”

“Why not?”

“The squadron went out before the guy ropes were cut.”

“Great head! Great head, Phil Forrest,” glowed the manager. “You’re a bigger man than I am any day in the week. Then, according to your reasoning, the fellow ought either to be on this section or the one just ahead of it?”

“Yes. But don’t laugh at me if I don’t happen to be right. It’s just an idea I have gotten into my head.”

“I most certainly shall not laugh, my boy. I am almost convinced that you are right. At least, the plan is well worth carrying out. I’ll give the orders to the train managers before we start.”

“I would suggest that you tell them not to give the orders to the men until ready to begin the search in the morning.”

“Good! Fine!” glowed the showman.

“I’m going to turn out and help search this section myself,” said Phil. “You know I have some interest in it, seeing that it is my plan,” he smiled.

“Better keep out of it,” advised Mr. Sparling. “You might fall off from the cars. You are not used to walking over the tops of them.”

“Oh, yes I am. I have done it a number of times this season just to help me to steady my nerves. I can walk a swaying box car in a gale of wind and not get dizzy.”

Mr. Sparling held up his hands protestingly.

“Don’t tell me any more. I believe you. If you told me you could run the engine I’d believe you. If there be anything you don’t know how to do, or at least know something about, I should be glad to know what that something is.”

“May I send your messages?” asked the lad. “If you will write them now I’ll take them over to the station. It must be nearly starting time.”

“Yes; it is. No; I’ll call one of the men.”

Mr. Sparling threw up his desk and rapidly scribbled his directions to the train managers ahead. After that he sent forward for the manager of their particular section, to whom he confided Phil Forrest’s plan, the lad taking part in the discussion that followed. The train manager laughed at the idea that anyone could steal a ride on his train persistently without being detected.

Mr. Sparling very emphatically told the manager that what he thought about it played no part in the matter at all. He was expected to make a thorough search of the train.”

“His search won’t amount to anything” thought Phil shrewdly. “I’ll do the searching for this section and I’ll find the fellow if he is on board. I hope I shall. I owe Red Larry something, and I’m anxious to pay the debt.”

The train soon started, Phil bidding his employer good night, went forward to No. 1 which was the forward sleeper on the train, next to the box and flat cars. He peered into Teddy Tucker’s berth, finding that lad sound asleep, after which he tumbled into his own bed.

But Phil was restless. He was so afraid that he would oversleep that he slept very little during the night.

At the first streak of dawn he tumbled quietly from his berth, and, putting on his clothes, stepped out to the front platform, where he took a long breath of the fresh morning air.

The train was climbing a long grade in the Sierra Nevadas and the car couplings were groaning under the weight put upon them.

Phil climbed to the top of the big stock car just ahead of him, and sat down on the brake wheel.

Far ahead he saw several men going over the cars.

“They have not only begun the search but they are almost through,” muttered Phil. “As I thought, they are not half doing it. I guess I’ll take a hand.”

Phil stood up, caught his balance and began walking steadily over the top of the swaying car. At the other end of the car he opened the trap door which was used to push hay through for the animals, examining its interior carefully. There was no sign of a stranger inside, nor did he expect to find any there.

“He’ll be in a place less likely to be looked into,” muttered the lad starting on again and jumping down to a flat car just ahead.

CHAPTER XXIV

Conclusion

“There’s somebody climbing over the train,” called one of the searchers to the train manager.

All hands turned, gazing off toward Phil. He swung his hands toward them, whereat they recognized the lad and went on about their work.

“Wonder they saw even me!” grumbled the lad, moving slowly along. It seemed almost impossible that one could hide on a train like that. Here and there men were sleeping under the wagons, and Phil made it his business to get a look into the face of each of them. Not a man did he find who bore the slightest resemblance to Red Larry or Bad Eye.

“It doesn’t look very promising, I must say,” he muttered, jumping lightly from one flat car to another.

Phil had searched faithfully until finally he reached a “flat” just behind that on which stood the great gilded band wagon. Now, under its covering of heavy canvas, none of its gaudy trimmings were to be seen.

Phil sat down on the low projection at the side of the flat car, eyeing the band wagon suspiciously.

Somehow he could not rid himself of the impression that that wagon would bear scrutiny.

“I’ll bet they never looked into it. Last year when we were a road show, I remember how the men used to sleep in there and how Teddy got thrown out when he walked on somebody’s face,” and Phil laughed softly at the memory. “I’m going to climb up there.”

To do this was not an easy matter, for the band wagon seemed to loom above him like a tent. The canvas stretched over it, extending clear down to the wheels, to which it was secured by ropes. The only way the Circus Boy could get up into the wagon seemed to be to crawl under the canvas at the bottom and gradually to work his way up.

“I’m going to try it,” he decided all at once. “Of course they didn’t look into it. Maybe they are afraid they will find someone. Well, here goes! If I fall off that will be the last of me, but I am not going to fall. I ought to be able to climb by this time if I’m ever going to.”

Phil got up promptly, glanced toward the long train that was winding its way up the steep mountain, then stepped across the intervening space between the two cars. He wasted no time, but immediately lifted the canvas and peered along the side of the wagon.

He discovered that he would have to go to the forward end of it in order to reach the top, because the steps were at that end. There the canvas was drawn tighter, so the lad untied one of the ropes, leaving one corner of the covering flapping in the breeze.

Cautiously and quietly he began climbing up, the wagon swaying dizzily with the motion of the train, making it more and more difficult to cling to it as he got nearer the top. The air was close, and soon after the boy began going up, the sun beat down on the canvas cover suffocatingly.

Now he had reached the top. High seats intervened between him and the other end, so that he could not see far ahead of him. Phil dropped down into the wagon and began creeping toward the rear.

He stumbled over some properties that had been stowed in the wagon, making a great clatter. Instantly there was a commotion in the other end of the car.

Phil scrambled up quickly and crawled over the high seat ahead of him. As he did so he uttered an exclamation. The red head of Red Larry could be seen, his beady eyes peering over the back of a seat.

“I’ve got you this time, Red!” exulted Phil, clambering over the seat in such a hurry that he fell in a heap on the other side of it.

The lad seemed to have no sense that he was placing himself in grave peril. He had no fear in his makeup, and his every nerve was centered on capturing the desperate, revengeful man who had not only assaulted Phil, but who had caused so much damage to the Sparling Shows.

“Don’t you dare come near me, you young cub!” threatened Red, as with rage-distorted face he suddenly whipped out a knife.

Phil picked up a club and started toward him. The club happened to be a tent stake. Red observed the action, and crouching low waited as the lad approached him.

“I’m going to get you, Red! I’m not afraid of your knife. You can’t touch me with it because before you get the chance I’m going to slam you over the head with this tent stake,” grinned Phil Forrest.

Red snarled and showed his teeth.

“Oh, you needn’t think you can get away. The men are hunting for you further up the train. They’ll be along here in a minute, and then I reckon you’ll be tied up and dumped into the lion cage, though I don’t think even a lion would eat such a mean hound as you are.”

Suddenly the man straightened up. Now, he held something in his hand besides the knife. It was a stake.

Red drew back his arm, hurling the heavy stick straight at his young adversary’s head. Phil, observing the movement let drive his own tent stake, but having to throw so hurriedly, his aim was poor. Red Larry’s aim, on the other hand was better. Phil dodged like a flash.

Had he not done so the stake would have struck him squarely in the face. As it was the missile grazed the side of his head, causing the lad to fall in a heap.

Red Larry hesitated only for a second, then leaping to the high rear seat of the wagon drew his knife along the canvas above him, opening a great slit in it. Through the opening thus made he peered cautiously. What he saw evidently convinced him of the truth of what Phil had just said. Up toward the head of the train the searchers were at work, and from what Red had heard he realized they were looking for him.

Red did not delay a second. He scrambled out through the canvas just as Phil pulled himself to his feet. The lad could see the fellow’s legs dangling through the canvas.

Phil uttered a yell, hurling himself wildly over the high-backed seats in an effort to catch and hold the legs ere Red could get out. But Larry heard him coming, and quickly clambered down the back of the wagon to the deck of the flat car.

Phil once more grabbed up his own tent stake as he stumbled back through the wagon.

“I’ve got you!” yelled the boy as he pulled himself up through the opening, observing Red standing hesitatingly on the flat car with a frightened look in his eyes.

“Hi! Hi!” cried Phil, turning and gesticulating wildly at the men further up the train “I’ve got him! Hurry! I—”

Something sang by his head and dropped quivering in the canvas beyond him. It was the discharged tentman’s knife which he had aimed at Phil, his aim having been destroyed by a lurch of the car, thus saving the Circus Boy’s life.

“Want to kill me, do you? I’ve got you now! The men are coming. Don’t you dare move or I’ll drop this stake on you. I can’t miss you this time.”

Red after one hesitating glance, faced the front and leaped from the train down the long, sloping cinder-covered bank.

Phil let drive his tent stake. It caught Red on the shoulder, bowling the rascal over like a nine pin.

Phil Forrest uttered a yell of exultation, suddenly dropping to the floor of the car at the imminent risk of his life.

The men were now piling over the cars in his direction. He did not know whether they had seen Red jump or not. Phil did not waste any time in idle speculation.

“Come on!” he shouted, springing to the edge of the car, keeping himself from falling by grasping a wheel of the wagon.

Then Phil Forrest did a daring thing. Crouching low, choosing his time unerringly, he jumped from the train. Fortunately for him, the cars were running slowly up the heavy grade. But, slowly as they were going, the lad turned several rapid handsprings after having struck the ground, coming to a stop halfway down the slope, somewhat dazed from the shock and sudden whirling about.

But he was on his feet in a twinkling, and running toward the spot where Red was painfully picking himself up. Phil slipped and stumbled as the cinders gave way beneath his feet but ran on with a grim determination not to let his man escape him this time.

Both were now weaponless, so far as the lad knew. Red had possessed a revolver, but in his sudden jump from the train he had lost it, and there was now no time to look for it.

When he saw Phil pursuing, Larry started on a run, but the lad, much more fleet of foot, rapidly overhauled him, despite the handicap that Phil had at the start.

“You may as well give up! I’m going to catch you, if I have to run all the way across the Sierra Nevada Range,” shouted Phil.

Red halted suddenly. Phil thought he was going to wait for him, but the lad did not slacken his speed a bit because of that.

All at once, as Phil drew near, Red picked up a stone and hurled it at his pursuer. Phil saw it coming in time to “duck,” and it was well he did so, for Larry’s aim was good.

“He must have been a baseball pitcher at sometime,” grinned the lad. However, the fellow continued to throw until Phil saw that he must do something to defend himself else he would surely be hit and perhaps put out of the race altogether.

“So that’s your game is it?” shouted the boy. “I can play ball, too.”

With that the lad coolly began hunting about for stones, of which he gathered up quite an armful, choosing those that were most nearly round. In the meantime Red had kept up his bombardment, Phil dodging the stones skillfully. Then he too, began to throw, gradually drawing nearer and nearer to his adversary.

A small stone caught Phil a glancing blow on the left shoulder causing him to drop his ammunition. He could scarcely repress a cry, for the blow hurt him terribly. He wondered if his shoulder had not been broken, but fortunately he had received only a severe bruise.

It served, however, to stir Phil to renewed activity. Grabbing all the stones he could gather in one sweep of his hands he started on a run toward Red Larry, letting one drive with every jump. They showered around the desperate man like a rain of hail.

All at once Larry uttered a yell of pain and anger. One of Phil’s missiles had landed in the pit of the fellow’s stomach. Larry doubled up like a jacknife, and, dropping suddenly, rolled rapidly toward the foot of the slope.

Phil, still clinging to his weapons, ran as fast as his slender legs would carry him in pursuit of his man.

“I hit him! I hit him!” he yelled.

In a moment he came up with Larry, but the lad prudently stopped a rod from his adversary to make sure that the fellow was not playing him a trick. One glance sufficed to tell Phil that the man had really been hit.

“I hope he isn’t much hurt, but I’m not going to take any chances.”

Phil jerked off his coat and began ripping it up, regardless of the fact that it was his best. With the strands thus secured, he approached his prisoner cautiously, then suddenly jumped on him.

Larry was not able to give more than momentary resistance. Inside of three minutes Phil had the fellow’s hands tied securely behind his back. Gathering the stones about him in case of need, the lad sat down and wiped the perspiration from his brow.

“I guess that about puts an end to your tricks, my fine fellow,” announced Phil.

The train had been finally stopped, and a force of men now dashed back along the tracks. They had been in time to view the last half of the battle of the stones, and when Red went down they set up a loud triumphant yell. In a few minutes they had reached the scene and had taken the prisoner in tow.

The train was at the top of the grade waiting, so the show people and their captive were obliged to walk fully a mile to reach it. Mr. Sparling, attracted by the uproar, had rushed from his private car. He now met the party a little way down the tracks.

“I got him!” cried Phil, when he saw the owner approaching.

Red was carried to the next stop on the circus train. He was not much hurt and had fully recovered before noon of that day, much to Phil’s relief, for he felt very badly that he had been obliged to resort to stone throwing. The lad would have preferred to use his fists. But, as the result of the capture, Red Larry was put where he would bother circus trains no more for some years. He was sentenced to a long term in prison.

The Great Sparling Shows moved on, playing in a few more towns, and, one beautiful morning drew up at the city by the Golden Gate. There the circus remained for a week, when the show closed for the season. But the lads were a long way from home, toward which they now looked longingly.

Mr. Sparling invited them to return with him in his private car which was to cross the continent attached to regular passenger trains, the show proper following at its leisure.

This invitation both boys accepted gladly, and during the trip there were many long discussions between the three as to the future of the Circus Boys. They had worked hard during the season and had won new laurels on the tanbark. But they had not yet reached the pinnacle of their success in the canvas-covered arena, though each had saved, as the result of his season’s work, nearly twelve hundred dollars.

Phil and Teddy will be heard from again in a following volume entitled: “THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND; Or, Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South.” Here they are destined to meet with some of the pleasantest as well as the most thrilling experiences of their circus career, in which both have many opportunities to show their grit and resourcefulness.

THE END

THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND

or

Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South

First Published 1911

CONTENTS

I. Under Canvas Again

II. In Their Home Town

III. The Circus Makes a Call

IV. A Friendly Audience

V. Taken By Surprise

VI. In The Hands of the Enemy

VII. Shivers and His Shadow

VIII. A Rival in the Field

IX. Phil Makes a Discovery

X. The Circus Boy is Recognized

XI. On Sully’s Private Car

XII. Locked in the Linen Closet

XIII. Through Rings of Fire

XIV. A Dash For Freedom

XV. Outwitting the Pursuers

XVI. The Battle of the Elephants

XVII. Monkeys in the Air

XVIII. Teddy Takes a Drop

XIX. The Circus on an Island

XX. Disaster Befalls the Fat Lady

XXI. On a Flying Trapeze

XXII. In a Lively Blow-Down

XXIII. The Lion Hunt

XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

Under Canvas Again

“I reckon the fellows will turn out to see us tomorrow night, Teddy.”

“I hope so, Phil. We’ll show them that we are real circus performers, won’t we?”

Phil Forrest nodded happily.

“They know that already, I think. But we shall both feel proud to perform in our home town again. They haven’t seen us in the ring since the day we first joined the show two years ago, and then it was only a little performance.”

“Remember the day I did a stunt in front of the circus billboard back home?”

“And fell in the ditch, head first? I remember it,” and Phil Forrest laughed heartily.

“You and I weren’t circus men then, were we?”

“No.”

“But we are now.”

“I guess we are,” nodded Phil with emphasis. “Still, we have something to learn yet. We are a couple of lucky boys, you and I, Teddy Tucker. Had it not been for Mr. Sparling we might still have been doing chores for our board in Edmeston.”

“Instead, we are getting our envelopes with sixty dollars apiece in them from the little red ticket wagon every Tuesday morning, eh?”

“Just so.”

“I never thought I’d be able to earn so much money as that in a whole year,” reflected Teddy.

“Nor I.”

“Do you think we’ll get any more ‘raises’ this season?”

“I haven’t the least idea that we shall. You know our contracts are signed for the season at sixty dollars a week. That surely should be enough to satisfy us. We shall be able to save a whole lot of money, this year; and, if we have good luck, in five years more we’ll be able to have a little show of our own.”

Teddy agreed to this with a reflective nod.

“What kind of show?”

“Well, that remains to be seen,” laughed Phil. “We shall be lucky to have most any kind.”

“Do you know what sort I’d like to have?”

“No. What kind?”

“Wild West show, a regular Buffalo Bill outfit, with wild Indians, cowboys, bucking ponies and whoop! whoop! Hi-yi-yi! You know?”

Teddy’s eyes were glowing with excitement, while a dull red glow showed beneath the tan on his face.

“I wouldn’t get so excited about it,” answered Phil, highly amused.

“How’d you like that kind?”

“Not at all. It’s too rough. Give me the circus every time, with its life, its color, its—oh, pshaw! What’s the use talking about it? Is there anything in the world more attractive than those tents over there, with the flags of every nation flying from center and quarter poles? Is there, Teddy?”

“Well, no; I guess that’s right.”

For a moment the lads were silent. They were sitting beneath a spreading maple tree off, on the circus lot, a few rods from where the tents were being erected. A gentle breeze was stirring the flags, billowing the white canvas of the tents in slow, undulating waves.

“And to think that we belong to that! Do you know, sometimes I think it is all a dream, and I’m afraid I shall suddenly wake up to find myself back in Edmeston with Uncle Abner Adams driving me out of the house with a stick.”

Phil’s face grew solemn as those unhappy days under his uncle’s roof came back to him in a flood of disquieting memories.

“Don’t wake up, then,” replied Teddy.

“I think perhaps we had better both wake up if we expect to get any breakfast. The red flag is flying on the cook tent, which means that breakfast is ready—in fact, breakfast must be pretty well over by this time. First thing we know the blue flag will suddenly appear in its place, and you and I will have to hustle downtown for something to eat. It will be parade time pretty soon, too.”

“Breakfast? Say, Phil, I’d forgotten all about breakfast.”

“There must be something wrong with you, then, if you forget when it’s meal time. As for myself, I have an appetite that would put the Bengal tiger to shame. Come along.”

“I’m with you. I’ll show you whether my appetite has a reef in it or not. I can eat more than the living skeleton can, and for a thin man he’s got anything stopped for appetite that I ever saw,” answered Teddy Tucker, scrambling to his feet and starting for the cook tent.

Yes; Teddy Tucker and Phil Forrest are the same boys who, two seasons before, began their circus career by joining a road show, each in a humble capacity. It will be remembered how in “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS,” Teddy and Phil quickly rose to be performers in the ring; how Phil, by his coolness and bravery, saved the life of one of the performers at the imminent risk of losing his own; how he saved the circus from a great pecuniary loss, as well as distinguishing himself in various other ways.

In “THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT,” the lads won new laurels in their chosen career, when Phil became a bareback rider, scoring a great hit at his first performance. It will be recalled too, how the circus lad proved himself a real hero at the wreck of the dining car, saving the lives of several persons, finally being himself rescued by his companion, Teddy Tucker.

The Great Sparling Combined Shows had been on the road a week, and by this time the various departments had gotten down to fairly good working order, for, no matter how perfect such an organization may be, it requires several days for the show people to become used to working together. This extends even to the canvasmen and roustabouts. After being a few weeks out they are able to set the tents in from half an hour to an hour less time than it takes during the first two or three stands of the season.

The next stand was to be Edmeston, the home of the two Circus Boys. The lads were looking forward with keen expectation to the moment when, clad in tights and spangles, they would appear before their old school fellows in a series of daring aerial flights.

The lads had spent the winter at school and now only one year more was lacking to complete their course at the high school that they had been attending between circus seasons, practicing in their gymnasium after school hours.

“I’d like to invite all the boys of our class to come to the show on passes. Do you suppose Mr. Sparling would let me?”

“I am afraid you had better not ask him,” laughed Phil. “If you were running a store do you think you would ask the crowd to come over and help themselves to whatever they wanted?”

“Well, no-o.”

“I thought not.”

“But this is different.”

“Not so much so. It would be giving away seats that could be sold and that probably will be sold. No; I guess the boys had better pay for their seats.”

Teddy looked disappointed.

“Don’t you think it is worth fifty cents to see us perform?” queried Phil.

Teddy grinned broadly. The idea appealed to him in a new light.

“That’s so. I guess it’s worth more than fifty cents, at that. I guess I don’t care if they do have to pay, but I want them to come to the show. What do you suppose I’ve been working two years for, if it wasn’t to show off before the fellows? Haven’t you?”

“No.”

“What then?”

“Why, what do you think?”

“I don’t think. It’s too hot to think this morning.”

“All right. Wait till someday when the weather is cooler; then think the matter over,” laughed Phil, hurrying on toward where breakfast was waiting for them in the cook tent.

The lads were performing the same acts in which they had appeared the previous season; that is, doing the flying rings as a team, while Phil was a bareback rider and Teddy a tumbler. Something had happened to the bucking mule that Teddy had ridden for two seasons, and the manager had reluctantly been forced to take this act from his bill.

“I’m thinking of getting another mule for you, if we can pick up such a thing,” said Mr. Sparling at breakfast that morning.

Teddy’s eyes twinkled. He had in mind a surprise for the manager, but was not quite ready to tell of his surprise yet. All during the winter the lad had been working with a donkey that he had picked up near Edmeston. His training of the animal had been absolutely in secret, so that none of his school fellows, save Phil, knew anything about it.

“All right,” answered Teddy carelessly. “Wait till we get to Edmeston and see what we can pick up there.”

Mr. Sparling bent a shrewd, inquiring glance on the impassive face of the Circus Boy. If he suspected Teddy had something in mind that he was not giving voice to, Mr. Sparling did not mention it. By this time he knew both boys well enough to form a pretty clear idea when there was anything of a secret nature in the wind.

“We’ll never get another mule like Jumbo,” he sighed.

“Hope not,” answered Teddy shortly.

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause, I don’t want to break my neck this season, at least not till after we’ve passed Edmeston and the fellows have seen me perform.”

“So that’s it, is it?”

“It is. I’m going to show myself tomorrow, and I don’t care who knows it.”

“If I remember correctly you already have shown yourself pretty thoroughly all the way across the continent.”

“And helped fill the big top at the same time,” added Teddy, with a shrewd twinkle in his eyes.

Mr. Sparling laughed outright.

“I guess you have a sharp tongue this morning.”

“I don’t mean to have.”

“It’s all right. I accept your apology. What’s this you say about the fellows—whom do you mean?”

“He means our class at the high school,” Phil informed the showman.

“Oh, yes. How many are there in the class?”

“Let me see—how many are there, Teddy?”

“Thirty or forty, not counting the fat boy who’s the anchor in the tug of war team. If you count him there are five more.”

“I presume they’ll all be wanting to come to the show?” questioned Mr. Sparling.

“Any fellow who doesn’t come is no friend of mine.”

“That’s the way to talk. Always have the interest of the show in mind, and you’ll get along,” smiled the owner.

“We-e-l-l,” drawled the lad. “I wasn’t just thinking about the interest of the show. I was thinking more about what a figure I’d be cutting before the boys.”

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

“You are honest at any rate, Master Teddy. That’s one thing I like about you. When you tell me a thing I do not have to go about asking others to make sure that you have told me the truth.”

“Why shouldn’t I? I’m not afraid of you.”

“No; that’s the worst of it. I should like to see something you really are afraid of.”

“I know what he is afraid of,” smiled Phil maliciously.

“What?” demanded Mr. Sparling.

“He is afraid of the woman snake charmer under the black top. He’s more afraid of her than he is of the snakes themselves. Why, you couldn’t get him to shake hands with her if you were to offer him an extra year’s salary. There she is over there now, Teddy.”

Teddy cast an apprehensive glance at the freak table, where the freaks and side show performers were laughing and chatting happily, the Lady Snake Charmer sandwiched in between the Metal-faced Man and Jo-Jo the Dog-faced Wonder.

“I’ve been thinking of an idea, Mr. Sparling,” said Teddy by way of changing the subject.

Phil glanced at him apprehensively, for Teddy’s ideas were frequently attended by consequences of an unpleasant nature.

“Along the usual line young man?”

“Well, no.”

“What is your idea?”

“I’ve been thinking that I should like to sign up as a dwarf for the rest of the season and sit on the concert platform in the menagerie tent. It wouldn’t interfere with my other performance,” said Teddy in apparent seriousness.

Mr. Sparling leaned back, laughing heartily.

“Why, you are not a dwarf.”

“No-o-o. But I might be.”

“How tall are you?”

“A little more than five feet,” answered the lad with a touch of pride in his tone.

“You are almost a man. Why, Teddy, you are a full twenty inches taller than the tallest dwarf in the show.”

Teddy nodded.

“Don’t you see you could not possibly be a dwarf?”

“Oh, yes, I could. All the more reason why I could.”

“What kind of a dwarf would you be, may I ask?”

“I could be the tallest dwarf on earth, couldn’t I?” asked Teddy, gazing at his employer innocently.

Everyone at the table broke out into a merry peal of laughter, while Teddy Tucker eyed them sadly for a moment; then he too added his laughter to theirs.

“If you were not already getting a pretty big salary for a kid, I’d raise your salary for that,” exploded Mr. Sparling.

“You can forget I’m getting so much, if you want to,” suggested Teddy humorously.

CHAPTER II

In Their Home Town

“Hey, Phil!”

“What is it, Teddy?”

“Wake up! We are in the old town again.”

Phil Forrest pulled aside the curtain and peered out from his berth into the railroad yards, the bright May sunshine flooding the old familiar scenes at Edmeston. Far off he could just make out the red brick chimney of his Uncle Abner’s home.

What recollections it brought back to Phil Forrest—recollections that went back still further to a sweet face and laughing eyes—his mother!

Phil dropped the curtain and lay face down in the pillow for a moment.

“I say, Phil.”

“What is it?” demanded the lad in a muffled voice.

“Guess who’s out there?”

“I don’t know.”

“The gang’s out there.”

“Who?”

“The gang. The whole high school crowd.”

“Oh!”

“They’re looking for us. Lucky we’re on the last section, for if it was dark, we couldn’t make much of a splurge getting off the train. Aren’t you going to get up?”

“Yes.”

Phil slowly pulled himself from his berth, then began drawing on his clothes. Teddy was already up and nearly dressed, full of expectation of what was before him. For Phil there was something that tinged his joy with sadness, though he could not make up his mind why it should be so. His reverie was broken in upon by the voice of Teddy Tucker.

“Come, hurry up!”

“I am all ready now,” answered Phil. “Have you washed?”

“You bet. I always wash the first thing in the morning.”

Together the Circus Boys stepped out on the platform. There, lined up by the side of the track, were their companions and school fellows waiting to welcome them.

The high school boys uttered a shout when they espied Phil and Teddy.

“How’dy, fellows!” greeted Teddy, posing on the car platform for a moment, that they might gaze upon him admiringly.

Phil was already on the ground, hurrying toward the boys with both hands outstretched. A moment more and the two lads had been grabbed by their schoolmates and literally overwhelmed, while a crowd of villagers stood off against a pile of lumber, laughing and calling out greetings to the Circus Boys.

Phil and Teddy, as soon as they were able to get away, hurried to the circus lot for their breakfast. There they found a great crowd of people whom they knew, and for a few minutes they were kept busy shaking hands, after which the boys with faces wreathed in smiles, proudly entered the cook tent. Teddy glanced up quizzically when they got inside.

“Well I guess we’re some, eh, Phil?”

“I guess so. I hope everything goes all right today. I should die of mortification if anything were to happen to our acts. You want to keep your mind right on your work today. Don’t pay any attention to the audience. Remember a whole lot of people are coming to this show today just because they are interested in you and me.”

“I guess I know how to perform,” sputtered Teddy.

“I haven’t said you do not. I know you do, but I don’t want you to forget that you do.”

“Look out for yourself. I’ll take care of myself,” growled Teddy.

“I’m going to.”

Having finished their breakfast the boys started for the village, to call on Mrs. Cahill, their guardian and the custodian of their earnings. As they were leaving the grounds, Phil paused suddenly.

“Look there,” he said, pointing to Mr. Sparling’s office tent.

“Well, if it isn’t Billy Ford, the president of our class,” breathed Teddy. “I didn’t see him at the train when we came in this morning; did you?”

“No. He wasn’t there.”

“Now, what do you suppose he is doing in Mr. Sparling’s tent?”

“I haven’t the least idea unless he is trying to find out where we are. Hey, Billy!”

Billy Ford paused at the sound of the familiar call; then the Circus Boys hurried toward him. Billy went suddenly red in the face as if he were very much embarrassed.

“What you doing in there?” demanded Teddy.

“Why—why—perhaps I was trying to join the show,” stammered Billy.

“We wouldn’t have you. You and I couldn’t travel in the same show. They’d fire us both.”

“Why?” questioned Billy, now regaining his presence of mind.

“ ’Cause, between us we’d put the show out of business.”

“I believe you would,” nodded Phil.

“Where you going, boys?”

“Mrs. Cahill’s.”

“Then I’ll walk down that way with you. What time do you get through at night?”

“We finish our last act about ten o’clock,” answered Phil. “Why?”

“Oh, nothing much. I just wanted to know.”

Phil shot a swift, suspicious glance at the schoolboy, but Billy’s face bore an expression as serene as the May morning of that very day.

Mr. Sparling hailed the lads as they were leaving the lot.

“You may be excused from parade today, both of you. You no doubt will want to spend all the time you can with your friends.”

“Thank you,” smiled Phil. “There’s the finest man a fellow ever worked for.”

“Worked? Do you call performing in a circus work?”

“Well, at least it is a pretty good imitation of work, Billy.”

“I used to think just like you do,” added Teddy rather ruefully.

“Is it really work then?”

“Oh, no; it’s just play. Come to the show and you will see us play.”

“By the way,” inquired Phil, “the fellows are all coming this afternoon, I suppose?”

“Yes, but not this afternoon.”

“Evening?”

“Yes.”

“That will be fine. We have a short run tonight, so the boss will not be in any hurry to move the show. You’ll see it all.”

“Why, don’t you always give it all?”

“No. Sometimes, when the weather is bad, or when we have a long run before us, Mr. Sparling cuts some of the acts out entirely, and shortens others. But, of course, the audience doesn’t know this.”

“Is that so?” wondered the surprised Billy.

“Yes. Are you boys all going to sit together?”

“Yes. We’ll be where we can see you. And the girls are going to be there, too. I reckon the whole school will be on hand.”

“How about Uncle Abner—will he go to the show, do you think?”

“I know where you’ll find him,” spoke up Teddy.

“Where?”

“You’ll find him hiding behind the hen house watching the parade go by. He won’t dare show himself after the way the clowns had fun with him when the show was here before.”

“Poor Uncle Abner! I must go over and see him after we have called on Mrs. Cahill.”

Arriving at Mrs. Cahill’s, they found her out in the yard, arrayed in her best dress in honor of their coming, and it was a joyful meeting between the three. In a short time, however, Teddy grew restless and decided that he would wander about town and call on his other friends.

“I’ll tell you what let’s do, Teddy,” suggested Phil.

“What?”

“You come back before parade time and we three will sit on the front door step and watch the parade go by, just as we used to do before we went into the show business. I’ll run over to see Uncle Abner in the meantime, and we will both be back here by half-past ten. The parade will not get along before then.”

“Yes, do, boys,” urged Mrs. Cahill. “I’ll have a lunch for you after the parade. You will like that, will you not?”

“I should say we shall,” laughed Phil. “But, I had rather thought you might like to eat with us under the circus tent.”

“Oh, my, my! Eat with the circus?”

“Not with the animals, he doesn’t mean,” corrected Teddy. “He means we should like to have you eat with we performers.”

“Yes, with the performers,” grinned Phil.

“Can I eat there with you just as well after the afternoon performance?”

“Surely.”

“Then we will have our noon meal here. I have some fresh molasses cookies already baked for you.”

“Cookies?” Teddy’s eyes brightened.

“Yes; do you want some now?”

“I always want cookies. Never knew a time when I didn’t. I want ’em when I’m awake, and I want ’em when I’m asleep.”

He got a double handful in short order.

“Well, I’m off!” announced Teddy.

“How about the parade? Will you come back and see it from here?”

“Yes; I guess that would be some fun. I can make faces at the other performers who have to work. Yes; I’ll come back.”

“Don’t forget about the donkey,” called Phil. “When are you going to take him over to the horse tent?”

“I’m not going to give myself away by leading that fright through the streets. I’ve fixed it with one of the hostlers to smuggle him over to the stable tent,” grinned Teddy.

“Taking him in this afternoon?”

“Not I. Saving that for a grand surprise tonight. What are you going to do to surprise the fellows?”

“I hadn’t thought. Nothing quite so sensational as your feat will be, I guess,” laughed Phil.

In the course of an hour both lads had returned to Mrs. Cahill’s humble home. But while they were away from the show grounds, the owner of the show, without the knowledge of the lads, had paid a visit to the principal of the school and was back on the lot in time to head the parade when it finally started.

“Kinder wish I had gone in the parade,” regretted Teddy.

“Why?”

“Good place to show off.”

“You have a much better one.”

“Where?”

“In the ring. Anybody can ride a horse in a parade, but not everyone can perform on the flying rings and leap over elephants to boot.”

Teddy instinctively threw out his chest.

“You’re right, at that. Hark!”

“Yes; they are coming. I can hear Billy English blow the big bass horn. You could hear him over three counties, I really believe.”

Laughing and chatting, the boys settled themselves on Mrs. Cahill’s hospitable doorstep to await the arrival of the parade which could be heard far off on the other side of the village.

Now and then the high, metallic notes of the calliope rose above all the rest, bringing a glint of pride to the eyes of Teddy Tucker.

“I just love that steam music machine.”

“Well, I must say that I do not admire your taste,” laughed Phil. “It’s the most hideous discord of noises I ever heard. I never did like the steam piano, but a circus wouldn’t be a circus without it.”

“Nope,” agreed Teddy with emphasis.

Down the street a gorgeously colored rainbow slowly reached around a bend and began straightening away toward the Cahill home. The parade was approaching.

As the gay procession drew nearer the boys began to evince some of the enthusiasm that they had known before they themselves had become a part of the big show.

“Remember the parade two years ago, Phil?” asked Mrs. Cahill.

“I could not very well forget it. That was a red letter day in my life, the day when I fell into the show business.”

“And that wasn’t all you fell in either,” added Teddy.

“What else did I fall in?”

“In a ditch when you stopped the runaway pony.”

Phil did not laugh. He was thinking.

“That was a lucky fall, too.”

“Why?”

“Because it was the means of giving you and me our start in the circus business.”

“Hurrah! Here they come. Now see me make faces at them when they go by,” said Teddy.

The Cahill home was near the outskirts of the village, and as the golden chariot of the band, glistening in the bright morning sunlight, approached, the lads could not repress an exclamation of delight.

“I used to think the band wagon was solid gold,” breathed Teddy.

“When did you find out differently?”

“That day, two years ago, when I scraped off some of the gold with my knife and found it was nothing but wood,” grunted Teddy in a disgusted tone.

“What is that band wagon trying to do?” demanded Phil suddenly.

“Guess they are going to turn around,” said Teddy.

The six white horses attached to the band wagon slowly drew out of the line just before reaching the Cahill home, and pointed toward the roadside fence. The boys could not understand what the move meant. An instant later the leaders straightened out and began moving along the side of the road close to the fence.

They slowly drew up to the door yard, coming to a stop at the far end of it.

“Wha—wha—” stammered Teddy.

“They are going to serenade us,” cried Phil. “That’s Mr. Sparling all over. What do you think of that, Mrs. Cahill? You never were serenaded by a circus band before, were you?”

“N-n-no,” answered the widow, a little tremulously.

The band wagon drew up a few feet further, coming to a stop again just to the left of the dooryard gate, so as not to interfere with the party’s view of the parade.

“There’s Mr. Sparling,” shouted Phil, as the owner in his handsome carriage drawn by four black horses, came abreast of the yard.

Both boys sprang up and cheered him in their enthusiasm, to which the showman responded by taking off his hat, while the band struck up “Yankee Doodle.”

It was a glorious moment for the Circus Boys, and they were even more surprised and gratified by what followed a few moments later.

CHAPTER III

The Circus Makes a Call

While the band played, the clown wagon came to a halt and the whole body of funny men sang a song in front of Mrs. Cahill’s house, while the widow and her two young guests applauded enthusiastically.

As the clown’s wagon drew on, a horse ridden by a young woman was seen dashing straight at the dooryard fence, which it took in a graceful leap, causing the Widow Cahill to gasp her amazement. The rider was none other than Little Dimples, the star bareback rider of the Sparling Shows, who had chosen this way to pay homage to her young associates and to Mrs. Cahill as well.

It was an unusual procedure in a circus parade, but though it had been arranged by Mr. Sparling out of the kindness of his heart, he shrewdly reasoned that it would make good business for the show as well. That the people lined up along the street agreed with his reasoning was evidenced by their shouts of applause.

“Mrs. Cahill, this is our very good friend, Mrs. Robinson, otherwise known as Little Dimples,” announced Phil proudly.

Mrs. Cahill bowed and smiled, not the least bit embarrassed.

“You haven’t introduced my pony, Phil. The pony is part of little me, you know.”

“I beg pardon, Mrs. Cahill; let me introduce to you Mrs. Robinson’s pony, Cinders, who, though he cannot talk, comes pretty close to it,” said Phil, with great dignity.

Cinders bowed and bowed, the bits rattling against his teeth until it sounded to the little gathering as if he were trying to chatter his pleasure at the introduction.

“Now, shake hands with Mrs. Cahill, Cinders,” directed Little Dimples.

Cinders extended a hoof, which Mrs. Cahill touched gingerly. She was not used to shaking hands with horses. Teddy and Phil, however, each grasped the pony’s extended foot, giving it a good shake, after which Phil thrust a lump of sugar into the waiting lips of Cinders.

“Naughty boy!” chided Little Dimples, tapping the neck of her mount with the little riding crop she carried. “You would spoil him in no time. I must be going, now. I hope we shall see you at the show this afternoon, Mrs. Cahill,” smiled Dimples, her face breaking out into dimples and smiles.

The widow nodded.

“This afternoon and tonight. She is going to dine with us under the cook tent this afternoon,” Phil informed the rider.

“That will be fine.”

Dimples nodded, tossed her whip in the air and clucking to Cinders, went bounding over the fence. A moment more and she had taken her place in the line and was moving along with the procession, bowing and smiling.

“That’s what I call right fine,” glowed Mrs. Cahill. “Did you say that little thing was Mrs. Robinson?”

“Yes.”

“Why, she looks like a young girl.”

“That’s what I thought when I first saw her. But she has a son as old as I am.”

“Land sakes!” wondered Mrs. Cahill. “You never can tell about these circus folks, anyhow.”

Phil laughed heartily, but Teddy was too much interested in what was going on outside the fence to indulge in laughter. The band was still playing as if its very existence depended upon keeping up the noise, while the white horses attached to the band wagon were frantically seeking to get their heads down for a nibble of the fresh green grass at the side of the road.

“There come the bulls,” called Teddy.

“Yes, I see them.”

“The bulls?” wondered Mrs. Cahill. “I didn’t know they had bulls in the circus.”

“That’s what the show people call the elephants,” laughed Phil. “Teddy is talking show-talk now. We have a language of our own.”

“I should say you do?” grumbled the widow.

“What’s the bull in front got on his trunk, Phil?”

Phil shaded his eyes and gazed off down the street.

“That’s my friend Emperor. I don’t know what it is he is carrying. That’s queer. I never saw him carrying anything in parade before, did you?”

“No.”

For a moment both lads directed their attention to making out what it was that Emperor was carrying along.

“It looks to me like a basket of flowers,” finally decided Phil.

“Has somebody been handing him a bouquet,” grunted Teddy.

“It certainly looks that way.”

“Why, I really believe he is coming in here.”

“Coming here—an elephant coming into my front yard? Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Cahill, starting up.

“Why, Mrs. Cahill, Emperor wouldn’t hurt a little baby. I hope he does come in. Sit still. Don’t be afraid.”

“He’ll spoil my flower beds—he’ll trample them all down and after I’ve worked four weeks getting—”

“Yes; here he comes,” exulted Phil.

At that moment Emperor, with his trainer, Mr. Kennedy, swung out of line and entered the garden gate. Turning to the left they headed directly across the lawn. The precious flower beds lay right in his path.

“Oh, my flowers! They’re ruined,” moaned the widow.

“Watch him and you’ll see,” answered Phil, his face wreathed in smiles.

She did, and her eyes opened wider when Emperor cautiously raised one ponderous foot after another until he had stepped clear of the first bed of flowers. The same thing happened when he got to the second bed. Not even the imprint of his footfalls was left on the fresh green grass of the lawn.

Mrs. Cahill’s eyes were large and wondering. A sudden impulse stirred her to spring up and flee into the house.

Phil, noting it, laid a restraining hand lightly, on her arm.

“Don’t be afraid,” he reassured. “Emperor will not harm you. You see how careful he is of your lawn and your flower beds. I think he is coming here for some purpose.”

Emperor and his trainer came to a half right in front of the porch, the elephant’s little eyes fixed upon the slender form of Phil Forrest.

“Good boy, Emperor!” breathed Phil. “Did somebody present a basket of flowers to you?”

It was a big basket, and such a handsome collection of flowers did it contain as to cause Mrs. Cahill to open her eyes in wonder. A card was tied to the handle of the basket with a big pink ribbon. Phil began to understand the meaning of the scene, and he felt sure the name on the card was that of Mrs. Cahill.

A low spoken command from the trainer, and Emperor cautiously got down on his knees, keeping those small eyes on Phil Forrest all the time.

“Mrs. Cahill, Emperor has been commissioned by the Great Sparling Combined Shows to present a basket of flowers to you in the name of Mr. Sparling himself, and the show people, too. He has carried it all the way from the lot this morning,” declared Mr. Kennedy.

The people on the street were now pressing closer, in order to see what was going to happen. Phil was smiling broadly, while Teddy was hugging himself with delight at Mrs. Cahill’s nervousness.

“Emperor, give the flowers to the lady,” commanded the trainer.

Slowly, the big elephant’s trunk stretched out, extending the basket toward her inch by inch, while the widow instinctively shrank far back in her chair.

At last the trunk reached her.

“Take it,” said Phil.

She grasped the basket with a muttered, “thank you.”

“Say good-bye, Emperor,” directed the trainer.

Emperor curled his trunk on high, coughed mightily, then rising on his hind legs until he stood almost as high as the widow’s cottage, he uttered a wild, weird trumpeting that fairly shook the house.

Mrs. Cahill, in her fright, suddenly started back, her chair tipped over and she landed in a heap on the ground at the end of the porch.

CHAPTER IV

A Friendly Audience

The afternoon performance had passed without a hitch. While there were many town people there the greater part of the audience, which nearly filled the big tent, was composed of visitors from the country.

Great applause greeted the performances of Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker, but the two Circus Boys were saving their best efforts for the evening performance when all their friends would be present.

Mrs. Cahill, after her tumble, had been picked up by the lads who insisted that she shake the trunk of Emperor before he left the lawn. And now that she had seen the afternoon show, taking a motherly pride in the performance of her boys, as she proudly called them, the kindhearted woman sat down to a meal in the cook tent, which proved one of the most interesting experiences of her life.

As the hour for the evening performance approached there was an unusual bustle in the dressing tent. By this time the whole show had taken a keen interest in the affairs of the Circus Boys, who had been known to the performers—at least, to most of them—for the past two years.

Teddy had paid sundry mysterious visits to the horse tent, and held numerous confidential conversations with the equestrian director, all of which was supposed to have been unknown to Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show.

But, while Teddy was nursing his secret, Mr. Sparling also was keeping one of his own, one which was to be a great surprise to the two Circus Boys.

The first surprise was given when the clowns came out for their first entry. Lining up in front of the reserved seats, where the high school boys and girls sat, they sang a song in which they brought in the names of every member of Phil’s class. This elicited roars of laughter from the spectators, while the school boys and girls waved their crimson and white class flags wildly.

The whole class was there as the guests of the management of the show. This was one of Mr. Sparling’s surprises, but not the only one he was to give them that night.

Next came the leaping act, somersaulting from a springboard and in the end jumping over the herd of elephants. Teddy was so effectively disguised by his clown makeup that, for some time, the class did not recognize him. When finally they did, through some familiar gesture of his own, the boys and girls set up a perfect howl of delight in which the audience joined with enthusiastic applause, for Teddy, with all his clumsy ways, was one of the best tumblers in the show. He had developed marvelously since the close of the show the fall before.

Never had Teddy tumbled as he did that night. He took so many chances that Mr. Sparling, who was on the side lines, shouted a word of caution to him.

“You’ll break your neck, if you’re not careful.”

In answer to the warning, Teddy took a long running start and did a double turn in the air, over the backs of the elephants, landing plump into the waiting arms of a bevy of painted clowns, the spectators evincing their appreciation by shouting out Teddy’s name.

Teddy’s chest swelled with pride as he waved his hand and shook his head as if to say: “Oh, that’s nothing! You ought to see me when I’m really working.”

The band played on and the show moved along with a merry medley of daring deeds and furious fun from the clowns.

At last, in response to the command of the ringmaster’s whistle, the band ceased playing and silence fell over the tent as the ringmaster raised his hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “The next act will be a bareback riding feat unexcelled in any show in the world. In ring No. 1 the famous equestrienne, Little Dimples, will entertain you with her Desperate, Daring Dips of Death that defy imitation. In ring No. 2 you will recognize a fellow townsman—a townsboy, I should say. It will not be necessary for me to mention his name. Suffice it to say that, although he has been riding for less than a year, he has already risen to the enviable position of being one of the foremost bareback riders of the sawdust arena. I think that’s all I have to say. Your friends will do the rest.”

The ringmaster waved his hand to the band, which instantly blared forth and to its music Phil Forrest tripped lightly down the concourse, being obliged to go three-fourths of its length to get to the ring where he was to perform.

His journey led him right past the grandstand seats where his admiring school fellows were sitting, or rather standing. As a matter of fact, every one of them had risen to his feet by this time and was shouting out Phil’s name.

As he drew nearer they began to chant, keeping time with his footsteps and the music of the band:

“Phil, Phil—Phillip F! Rah, rah! Siss-boom-ah!”

The Circus Boy grinned happily and waved his whip at them as he passed.

“I hope I won’t make a fool of myself,” he thought.

He had no intention of doing so. He had a few tricks that he was going to show his friends, and incidentally surprise Mr. Sparling himself, for Phil, who now owned his own ring horse, had been practicing in secret all winter on the act that he was going to attempt for the first time in public that evening.

Discarding his slippers and chalking the bottoms of his riding pumps, Phil began his act by riding standing on the rump of his mount, to get his equilibrium and his confidence at the same time.

Then the lad began throwing himself into his work, which increased in speed as the moments passed, until his supple, slender body was flashing here and there on the back of the handsome gray, causing the eyes of the spectators fairly to ache in their efforts to keep track of him.

The people voiced their excitement by yells of approval and howls of delight.

“My, but that boy can ride!” muttered Mr. Sparling, who had been watching the act critically. “In fact, I should like to know what he cannot do. If he had to do so, he could run this show fully as well as can I—and perhaps better at that,” added the showman, with a grin.

Now the band struck up the music for the concluding number of the act.

“I wonder what he has up his sleeve,” mused Mr. Sparling shrewdly, suspecting that Phil was about to try something he had never done in the ring before. “I hope he won’t take any long chances, for I can’t afford to have anything happen to my little star performer.”

As a matter of fact both Phil and Teddy Tucker had become star performers, and were so featured on the circus bills, where their pictures had been placed for this, their third season out. The year before they had appeared on the small bills in the shop windows, but now they had the satisfaction of seeing themselves portrayed in life-size on the big boards.

Phil sent his ring horse forward at a lively gait, which grew faster and faster, as he sat lightly on the animal’s rump, urging it along.

All at once he bounded to his feet, poised an instant, then threw himself into a succession of handsprings until he resembled a whirling pink and gold wheel.

This was a new act in the circus world, and such of the other performers as were under the big top at the moment paused to watch it.

No one was more surprised than Mr. Sparling himself. He knew what a difficult feat it was that the Circus Boy had not only essayed, but succeeded in doing. Phil kept it up at such length, and with such stubborn persistence, that the owner of the show feared lest the lad, in his dizziness might get a bad fall.

Doing a series of such rapid handsprings on the level ground is calculated to make a performer’s head swim. But how much more difficult such an effort is on the slippery back of a moving horse may well be imagined.

Finally, red of face, panting, breathless, Phil Forrest alighted on his feet, well back on the ring horse’s rump.

“Be ready to catch me,” he gasped.

The ringmaster understood.

Phil urged his horse to a run about the sawdust arena.

“Now, what’s that fool boy going to do?” wondered Mr. Sparling.

All at once Phil Forrest threw himself up into the air, his body doubling like a ball as he did so.

One—two—three times he whirled about in his marvelous backward somersault.

“Let go your tuck!” commanded the ringmaster, meaning that Phil was to release the grip of his hands which were holding his legs doubled close against his body.

The lad quickly straightened up, spreading his arms to steady himself in his descent. Fortunately he was dropping feet first, due to his instant obedience of the ringmaster’s order.

Perhaps that alone saved the Circus Boy from breaking his neck, for so dizzy was he that he was unable to tell whether he was dropping feet or head first.

He alighted on his feet and the ringmaster caught him deftly.

“Stand steady a minute, till you get your bearings, Phil.”

Phil needed that moment to steady himself, for the big top seemed to be whirling about on a pivot.

Now he began dimly to hear the thunders of applause that greeted his really wonderful performance.

“Can you stand alone now?”

“I think so,” came the faint reply that was instantly drowned in the great uproar.

But the lad wavered a little after the ringmaster had released his grip. Steadying himself quickly, Phil pulled on his slippers and walked slowly from the ring, dizzy, but happy with the shouts of his school fellows ringing in his ears.

He heard the voice of Mr. Sparling close by him, saying:

“Great, great, my boy! Finest exhibition ever seen in a sawdust ring!”

Phil tripped proudly past the grandstand seats, where the boys were howling like a pack of wild Indians.

But just then something else occurred to attract their attention.

A donkey, long-eared, long-haired, dirty and unkempt trotted into the ring and spun about like a top for a full minute.

On the ludicrous-looking beast’s back sat a boy in the makeup of a blackface clown. In his mouth was a harmonica, that he played lustily, as he sat facing to the rear with his back toward the donkey’s head.

At that moment something else was observable. Instead of traveling head first, as any self-respecting donkey is supposed to do, this particular donkey was walking backwards. Yes, he was galloping backwards.

The instant the audience noted that, their cheers changed to howls of delight. The clown was Teddy Tucker, and the donkey was the surprise he had been storing up for this very occasion. While the audience laughed and jeered, Mr. Sparling looked on in surprise not unmixed with amazement. Here was the very thing he had been looking for, but had been unable thus far to find.

“It’s a winner!” he cried, as Teddy Tucker and his strange mount ambled by him in a gait such as never had been seen in a sawdust arena before.

Right around the arena traveled boy and donkey. When opposite the grandstand seats, where the high school students were sitting, Teddy nearly drove them wild by drawing out the class colors which he had been hiding under his coat.

In a shrill, high-pitched voice he gave utterance to the high school class yell, which was instantly taken up by the class and eventually by the spectators themselves, until all seemed near the verge of hysterics.

Phil, instead of proceeding directly to the dressing tent, had waited by the bandstand to watch the new act of his companion, and he, with others of the performers, was laughing heartily as he leaned against the bandstand. Teddy knew he made a funny appearance, but just how ludicrous he could have little idea.

“Whose donkey is that?” demanded Mr. Sparling, hurrying up just as Phil and the other circus folks were congratulating the lad.

“He’s mine,” rejoined Teddy.

“Where did you get him?”

“I bought him. Think I stole him? Been training him all winter. Like him?”

“It’s a great comedy act. He’s engaged. Turn him over to the superintendent of ring stock and tell him to make a place on the train for the brute.”

“I’ve already done so.”

“Oh, you have, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anybody would think you owned this show, the way you give orders around here.”

“I’m willing, and so’s the donkey,” grinned Teddy.

“For what—to go on at every performance?”

“No; to own the show. We’re going on right along, anyway. Gid-dap!”

“Hopeless!” muttered Sparling, shaking his head.

CHAPTER V

Taken By Surprise

“Hurry up, Teddy!”

“What for?”

“Billy Ford is waiting for us out in the paddock.”

“Oh, is that so? What does he want?”

“He’s going to walk to the train with us, he says.”

“That’s good. I wonder if any of the other fellows will be along?”

“No; I think not. I asked him if he were alone, and he said he was.”

“We might give him a feed in the accommodation car,” suggested Teddy.

“No; you and I are going to bed right quick after we get back to the train. I, for one, am tired after this strenuous day.”

“It has been lively, hasn’t it?”

“It has,” answered Phil, laying special emphasis on the “has.”

“Say, young man, where did you get that freak donkey?” demanded Mr. Miaco, the head clown, approaching at that moment.

“Drew him in a prize package of chewing gum,” called one of the performers.

“Where did you get him, anyway?” called another.

“You seem to know all about it, so what’s the use of my telling you?” retorted Teddy.

The lads had finished their work for the day, and nothing now remained to be done except to disrobe, take a quick scrub down after their severe exercise, don their clothes and take their time in getting to the train.

There was plenty of time for this, as their sleeper being on the third and last section of the circus train, they would not leave for nearly two hours yet, at the earliest.

The baths of the Circus Boys were more severe than pleasant, and in taking them each one had to perform a service for the other. The bath consisted of the performer’s standing still while his companion emptied several buckets of cold water over him, following it with a liberal smearing of soap and then some more pailfuls of water.

Once a week, over Sunday, the performers were allowed to sleep at hotels, providing the circus did not have an all day run. At such times they were able to enjoy the luxury of a hot bath, but at other times it was cold water—sometimes colder and more chilling than at others. Yet, they thrived under it, growing strong and healthy.

Having once more gotten into their street clothes, refreshed and rested to a degree that would be scarcely believed after their severe exercise, both lads repaired to the paddock, where they found the president of the high school class waiting for them, interestedly watching the scene of life and color always observable in the circus paddock, a canvas walled enclosure where performers and ring stock await the call to enter the ring.

“Here we are, Billy,” greeted Phil.

“Oh, so quick?” Billy started guiltily.

“That’s the way we always do things,” answered Teddy. “Have to do things on the jump, we circus men do.”

“So I see. What are you going to do now?”

“Going to the car, of course. We always go right to the sleeper after the show. Why?”

“Oh, nothing special. I thought maybe you might like to go downtown and visit with the boys for a while.”

“I should like to do so very much, but I do not think it will be best. We make it a rule to go straight home, as we call our car, and I’ve never broken over that rule yet, Billy.”

“Very well, Phil; then I will walk along with you. I guess you know the way.”

“That’s more than I do every night,” laughed Phil. “It’s a case of getting lost ’most every night, especially in the big towns, for the cars seldom are found at night where we left them in the morning.”

“I shouldn’t like that,” objected Billy.

“We don’t. But we can’t help ourselves.”

“Here, where you going?” demanded Teddy suddenly.

“Taking the path across the lot here. It is much shorter,” replied Billy.

“Oh, all right. I had forgotten about the path.”

“I should think you would—”

Phil got no further in his remark. He was interrupted by President Billy, crying loudly:

“Here we are!”

Instantly fifteen or twenty shadowy forms sprang up from the grass and hurled themselves upon the Circus Boys.

Taken by surprise as they were, Phil and Teddy gave a good account of themselves. Shadow after shadow went down under a good stiff punch, for it must be remembered that both boys were able to make a handsome living because of the possession of well trained muscles.

Yet no two men could have stood up for long under the onslaught, and Phil and Teddy very soon went down with their assailants piling on top of them.

Up to this point not a word had been spoken, nor did either of the lads have time to speculate as to who their enemies might be.

“Here, you fellow, get off my neck!” howled Teddy. “Let me get up and I’ll clean up the whole bunch of you two at a time, if you’ll give me half a chance.”

No reply was made to this.

“Get the blankets!” commanded a deep voice.

A moment later the two lads were quickly wound in the folds of a pair of large horse blankets. They were then picked up, none too gently and borne off to the other side of the field, kicking and squirming in their efforts to escape.

Their captors, however, did not for an instant relax their hold, and further struggle proved vain.

Reaching the other side of the field, the Circus Boys were dumped into a wagon. This they knew because they heard the driver give the directions regarding letting down the tail board.

Placing their burdens on the wagon floor, the captors very coolly sat down on the boys. Then the wagon started. Never in the old days of the road show, when Phil and Teddy were riding and sleeping in a springless canvas wagon, had they experienced a rougher ride. It seemed as if every stone in the county had been placed in the path of the rickety old wagon in which they were being spirited away.

About this time Phil Forrest began to wonder. He could not understand the meaning of the attack. And what had become of President Billy? He knew Teddy was lying beside him, but Billy must have made his escape. If so Billy would give the alarm, and the show people would quickly overtake the kidnappers.

No such interruption occurred, however, rather greatly to Phil’s surprise, so he lay still and waited for a favorable moment when he might take a hand in the affair himself.

Teddy’s voice could be heard under his blanket, in muffled, angry protestations, his feet now and then beating a tattoo on the wagon bottom. Such an act brought down the weight of his captors upon the offending feet each time.

Once Teddy managed to work the covering from his mouth for one brief instant.

“Hey, Rube!” he howled lustily, this being the signal known to circus men the world over, when one or more of them is in trouble.

But there were no strong-armed circus men to come to their rescue. All the circus laborers were working off on the lot striking the tents and loading the show on the wagons. Teddy was given no further opportunity to protest.

After a journey of what seemed hours, and during which, Phil Forrest had lost all sense of direction, the wagon came to a halt.

He could hear the hum of conversation as his captors consulted in low tones. Then all at once he found himself jerked from the wagon and plumped down on the ground.

Teddy went through a similar experience, excepting that his fall was considerably more severe. Teddy struck the ground with a jolt that made him utter a loud “Wow!”

He was on his feet in a twinkling, only to find himself pounced upon and borne heavily to earth again.

Fuming and threatening, Teddy was roughly picked up, Phil being served likewise.

The boys felt themselves being borne up a short flight of steps and down a long hall. Then came more steps. This time it was a long flight of stairs, the kidnappers getting their burdens up this with evident effort.

“I hope they don’t drop me, now,” thought Phil. “I shall surely roll all the way to the bottom, though it might enable me to get away.”

Finally an upper floor was reached. The captors bore their burdens in and placed them on the floor. The Circus Boys realized, at the same instant, that the vigilance of the kidnappers had been relaxed for the second.

Throwing, the blankets off Phil and Teddy leaped to their feet ready for flight. As they did so they met with the surprise of their lives.

CHAPTER VI

In the Hands of the Enemy

Teddy had squared off, and was landing sledge-hammer blows on the empty air.

Phil, too, had squared himself prepared to give battle, but his hands fell sharply to his sides.

“Wha—what—” he gasped.

“Come on!” bellowed Teddy.

They were in a large room, brilliantly lighted, and about them, in a semi-circle, was a line of laughing faces. From them the eyes of the astonished Circus Boys wandered to a long table on which were flowers and plenty of good things to eat.

“Why, it’s our old recitation room in the high school, Teddy,” breathed Phil.

“I don’t care what it is. I can lick the whole outfit!” shouted Teddy Tucker advancing belligerently.

“It’s the boys, Teddy, don’t you understand?” laughed Phil. “Well, of all the ways of inviting a fellow to dinner, this beats anything I ever saw before.”

“How does it feel to be kidnaped?” grinned President Billy, extending his hand.

“So you are the young gentleman who put up this job on us, are you?” demanded Phil.

“I guess I am one of them. But I wasn’t unlucky enough to get a black eye, like Walter over there. You gave that to him, Teddy. My, what a punch you have!” laughed Billy.

“That isn’t a circumstance to what’s coming to you. I’ll wait till I get back to school, next fall, and then I’ll take it out of you. You’ll have something coming to you all summer. Did I paint Walt’s eye that way?”

“You did. It’s up to you to apologize to him now.”

“Apologize?”

“Yes; that’s what I said.”

“I like that! I have a good notion to apologize by painting the other eye the same color,” growled Teddy.

“But, what does all this mean?” urged Phil, looking about him, still a bit dazed.

“It means that we fellows wanted to give you and Teddy a little supper. It isn’t much, but there are sandwiches and cookies and pie and lots of other stuff that you’ll like.”

“Cookies?” interrupted Teddy, his face relaxing into a half smile.

“Yes.”

“We knew you wouldn’t come, so we planned to kidnap you both and bring you over here by main force. After we eat supper we’ll have a little entertainment among ourselves. Walter is going to sing—”

“What’s that? Walt going to sing?” demanded Teddy, halting on his way to inspect the table.

“Yes.”

“Then I’m going, right now!” answered the lad, turning sharply and heading for the door.

“Why, why—”

“I’ve heard him sing before. Good night!”

“Come back here,” laughed Phil, grabbing his companion by the shoulder. “We can stand even Walter’s singing if he can. But really, fellows, we can’t stay more than fifteen or twenty minutes.”

“Why not?”

“Because we must get to the train. Were we to be left we might come in for a fine. Mr. Sparling is very strict. He expects everybody to live up to the rules. I’m sorry, but—”

“It’s all fixed, Phil. No need to worry,” President Billy informed him.

“Fixed? What do you mean?”

“With Mr. Sparling.”

“You—you told him?”

“Yes.”

“See here, Billy Ford,” interrupted Teddy.

“What is it, Teddy?”

“Did you say Boss Sparling was in on this little kidnaping game—did he know you were going to raise roughhouse with—with us?”

“I—I guess he did,” admitted President Billy.

“I’ll settle with him tomorrow,” nodded Teddy, swelling out his chest.

“Did you tell him you were going to have a supper up here?” asked Phil.

“He knows all about it. You need not worry about the train going away without you. Mr. Sparling said you had a short run tonight, and that the last section would not pull out until three o’clock in the morning. That’s honest Injun, Phil.”

“Well, if that is the case, then we’ll stay.”

“Hurrah for the Circus Boys!” shouted the class, making a rush for seats at the table.

“Ready for the coffee,” announced the President.

Who should come in at that moment, with a steaming coffeepot, but the Widow Cahill.

“Are you in this, too?” Teddy demanded.

“I am afraid I am,” laughed Mrs. Cahill. “The boys needed some grown-ups to help them out.”

“You’re no friend of mine, then. I’ll—”

“But you are going to have some of those molasses cookies that I told you I baked for you—”

“Cookies? Where?” exclaimed Teddy, forgetting his anger instantly.

“Help yourself. There they are.”

“It isn’t much of a spread,” apologized the president. “We have a little of everything and not much of anything—”

“And a good deal of nothing,” added Teddy humorously.

“Everybody eat!” ordered Mrs. Cahill.

They did. Thirty boys with boys’ appetites made the home-cooked spread disappear with marvelous quickness. Each had brought something from home, and Mrs. Cahill, whom they had taken into their confidence two days before the Sparling Shows reached town, had furnished the rest. Everything was cold except the coffee, but the feasters gave no thought to that. It was food, and good wholesome food at that, and the lads were doing full justice to it.

“Say, Phil, that was a wonderful act of yours,” nodded President Billy, while the admiring gaze of the class was fixed on Phil Forrest.

“I wish I might learn to do that,” said Walter.

“You? You couldn’t ride a wooden rocking horse without falling off and getting a black eye,” jeered Teddy, at which there was a shout of laughter.

“Can you?” cut in Phil.

“I can ride anything from a giraffe to a kangaroo—that is, until I fall off,” Teddy added in a lower voice. “I rode a greased pig at a country fair once. Anybody who can do that, can sit on a giraffe’s neck without slipping off.”

“Where was that?” questioned a voice. “I never heard of your riding a greased pig around these parts.”

“I guess that must have been before you were born,” retorted Teddy witheringly.

“Say, Phil,” persisted Walter, this time in a confidential tone.

“Yes?”

“Do you suppose you could get me a job in the circus?”

“I don’t know about that, Walt. What do you think you could do?”

“Well, I can do a cartwheel and—”

“Oh, fudge!” interrupted Teddy.

“That’s more than Tucker could do when he joined the show. Do you know what he did, first of all?” said Phil.

“No; what did he do?” chorused the boys.

“He poured coffee in the cook tent for the thirsty roustabouts. That’s the way he began his circus career.”

“I didn’t do it more than a day or two,” Tucker explained, rather lamely.

“But you did it!” jeered Walter.

“Then his next achievement was riding the educated mule. I guess you boys never saw him do that.”

“Not until tonight.”

“This is different. The other was a bucking mule, and Teddy made a hit from the first time he entered the ring on Jumbo. He hit pretty much everything in the show, including the owner himself.” Phil leaned back and laughed heartily at the memory of his companion’s exhibition at this, his first appearance in a circus ring as a performer.

“No, Walt, I wouldn’t advise you to join. Some people are cut out for the circus life. They never would succeed at anything else. Teddy and myself for instance. Besides, your people never would consent to it. You will be a lawyer, or something great, some of these days, while we shall be cutting up capers in the circus ring at so much per caper. It’s a wonderful life but you keep out of it,” was Phil Forrest’s somewhat illogical advice.

“How far are you going this year?” asked one of the boys.

“I can’t say. I understand we are going south—to Dixie Land for the last half of the season. I think we are headed for Canada, just now, swinging around the circuit as it were. Isn’t it about time we were getting back to the train, Teddy?”

“No, I guess not. I haven’t eaten up all the cookies yet. Please pass the cookies, you fellow up there at the head of the table.”

“We shall have our little entertainment before you fellows go to your sleeper. We reckon Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker ought to do some stunts for us. Isn’t that so?” asked President Billy.

“Yes,” shouted the boys.

“What, after a meal like that? I couldn’t think of it,” laughed Phil. “Never perform on a full stomach unless you want to take chances. It might do you up for good.”

“Well, it won’t hurt Teddy to be funny. Do something funny, Teddy.”

Teddy looked up soulfully as he munched a cookie.

“Costs money to see me act funny,” he said.

“Go on; go on!” urged the boys. “You never showed us any of your tricks except what you did in the ring this evening.”

“Do you know, it’s a funny thing, but I never can be funny unless there is a crop of new-mown sawdust under my feet,” remarked Teddy.

“Nothing very funny about that!” growled a voice at the further end of the table.

Teddy fixed him with a reproving eye.

“Very well, but you’ll be sorry. I will now present to you the giddiest, gladdest, gayest, grandest, gyrating, glamorous and glittering galaxy—as the press agent says—that ever happened.”

Teddy, who sat at the extreme end of the table, placed both hands carelessly on the table, then drew his body up by slow degrees, until a moment later as his body seemed to unfold, he was doing a hand stand right on the end of the supper table.

The boys shouted with delight and Teddy kicked his feet in the air.

“Go on! Don’t stop,” urged the lads.

“You’ll be wishing I had stopped before I began,” retorted the lad, starting to walk on his hands right down the center of the table.

There were dishes in the way, but this did not disturb Tucker in the least. He merely pushed them aside, some rolling off on the floor and breaking, others falling into the laps of the boys.

“Here, here, what are you doing?” called Phil.

“This is what I call the topsy-turvy walk.”

Teddy paused when halfway down the table, to let his mouth down to the table, where he had espied another cookie. When he pulled himself up, the cookie was between his lips, and the boys roared at the ludicrous sight.

Then, the lad who was walking on his hands, continued right on. He was nearing the foot of the table when something occurred that changed the current of their thoughts, sending the heart of every boy pounding in his throat.

Crash!

It seemed as if the roof had been suddenly hurled down upon their heads.

Teddy instantly fell off the table, tumbling into the laps of two of the boys, the three going down to the floor in a heap, finally rolling under the table. The other boys sprang to their feet in sudden alarm.

“It’s a band,” cried Phil. “Don’t be afraid.”

Then the circus band, that had been waiting in the hall just outside the dining place, marched in with horns blaring, drums beating, and took up their position at the far end of the room.

“It’s the circus band,” cried the lads, now recovering from their fright. “How did they get here?”

By this time Teddy, his face red and resentful, was poking his head from beneath the table.

“Hey, Rube!” he shouted, then ducked back again.

Phil understood instantly that this was one of Mr. Sparling’s surprises. But there were still other surprises to come. No sooner had the band taken up its position than there was again a commotion out in the hall. The lads opened their eyes wide when a troop of painted clowns came trotting in, followed by half a dozen acrobats, all in ring costume. A mat was quickly spread by some attendants that Mr. Sparling had sent.

Then began the merriest hodge-podge of acrobatic nonsense that the high school boys ever had seen. The clowns, entering into the spirit of the moment, grew wonderfully funny. They sang songs and told stories, while the acrobats hurled themselves into a mad whirl of somersaults, cartwheels and Wild Dervish throws.

Thus far the boys were too amazed to speak.

All at once some of the performers began to form a pyramid, one standing on the other’s shoulders.

“Here, I’m going to be the top-mounter!” cried Teddy, taking a running start and beginning to clamber up the human column. He was assisted up and up until he was standing at the top, his head almost touching the high ceiling in the room.

“Speech!” howled the delighted high school boys.

“Fellow citizens,” began Teddy.

Just then the human pyramid toppled over and Teddy had to leap to save himself, striking the mat, doing a rolling tumble and coming up on his feet.

When all the fun making in the hall was over one surprise proved yet to be in the reserve. The high school boys of Edmeston turned out with lighted torches. Forming in column of fours they escorted Phil and Teddy to their car on the circus train. It was not many minutes later that the boys, tired out but happy, tumbled into their berths, where they were asleep immediately, carrying on, even in their dreams, the joyous scenes through which they had just passed.

CHAPTER VII

Shivers and His Shadow

Half a hundred motley fools came trooping into the sawdust arena, their voices raised in song and shout.

Mud clown, character clown, harlequin, fat boy, jester, funny rustic, vied with each other in mirth-provoking antics so aptly described by the circus press agent as a “merry-hodgepodge of fun-provoking, acrobatic idiosyncrasies of an amazing character.”

And so they were.

Children screamed with delight, while their elders smiled a dignified approval of the grotesque, painted throng that trooped gayly down the uneven course.

The music of the circus band stopped short. Then came a fanfare of trumpets, and far down the line from behind the crimson curtains near to the bandstand, a dignified figure all in white, emerged and tripped along the grassy way, halting now and then to gaze fixedly at some imaginary object just above the heads of those on the upper row of seats, the very drollery of which gaze was irresistible.

Shivers, Prince of Clowns, the greatest fun maker and character clown of all that mad, painted throng, had made his entry.

Shivers had joined out with the Sparling show for the first time that season. He was known as the leading clown in the business. From the first, Shivers had taken a liking to Teddy Tucker, and shortly after leaving Edmeston he had conceived the idea of making a full-fledged clown of Teddy. The permission of the manager had been obtained and this was Teddy’s first appearance as assistant to Shivers. Teddy was considerably smaller, of course, and made up as the exact counterpart of Shivers trailing along after him like a shadow, the lad made a most amusing appearance. Every move that the clown made, Teddy mimicked as the two minced along down the concourse.

Shivers was a shining model of the clown both in method and makeup. His stiffly starched bulging trousers disappeared under the stiff ruffles of a three-quarter waist. A broad turnover collar of the nurse style was set off with a large bow of bright red ribbon, and a baker’s cap, perched jauntily on one side of the head, completed his merry makeup. This too describes Teddy Tucker’s outfit.

“Now, be funny!” directed Shivers.

“I can’t help but be if I act like you,” retorted Teddy, whereat the clown grinned.

Pausing before the dollar seats the clown pulled out the ruffles of his snow-white waist, poising with crossed legs on one toe. Teddy did the same, and a great roar was the reward of their drollery.

“La, la! La, la, la!” hummed the clown, stumbling over a rope to the keen delight of those in the reserved seats—the same rope, by the way, that he had been falling over twice each day for the past month. Then he blew a kiss to a fragile slip of a girl who was perched on a trapeze bar far up toward the dome of the great tent.

Zoraya, for that was her name, smiled down, gracefully swung off into space, soaring lightly into the strong, sure arms of her working mate.

Just the suspicion of an approving smile lighted up the face of the clown for the moment, for he dearly loved this little motherless daughter of his, who had been his care since she was a child.

Shivers had taught her all she knew, and Zoraya was the acknowledged queen of the lofty tumblers.

But the clown half unconsciously caught his breath as the lithe form of Zoraya shot over the trapeze bar, described a graceful “two-and-a-half” in the air, and, shooting downward, hit the net with a resounding smack that caused the spectators to catch their breath sharply.

The clown shook a warning head at her, and Teddy so far forgot himself as to stub his toe and measure his length upon the ground.

“Don’t do it, Bright Eyes!” cautioned Shivers, shaking his head warningly at the girl, as the child bounced up from the impact, kicking her little feet together and turning a somersault on the swaying net. “It isn’t in your contract. Folks sometimes break their necks trying kinkers that’s not in the writings.”

Her answer was a merry, mocking laugh, and Zoraya ran lightly up a rope ladder to the platform where she balanced easily for another flight.

“My, I wish I could do stunts like that!” breathed Teddy.

“Just like a bird. La, la, la! La, la, la!” sang the painted clown, turning a handspring and pivoting on his head for a grand, spectacular finish.

His refined comedy, so pleasing to the occupants of the reserved seats, had now been changed to loud, uproarious buffoonery as he bowed before the blue, fifty cent seats where his auditors were massed on boards reaching from the top of the side wall clear down to the edge of the arena.

He took liberties with their hats, passed familiar criticisms on their families and told them all about the other performers in the ring, arousing the noisy appreciation of the spectators.

Teddy was put to his wits end to keep up with this rapid-fire clowning, and the perspiration was already streaking the powder on his face.

All at once, above the din and the applause, the ears of the clown caught a sound different from the others—a scream of alarm. Shivers had heard such a cry many times before during his twenty years in the sawdust ring, and, as he expressed it, the sound always gave him “crinkles up and down his spine.”

There was no need to start and look about for the cause. He understood that there had been an accident. But the clown looked straight ahead and went on with his work. He knew, by the strains of the music, exactly what Zoraya should be doing at the moment when the cry came—that her supple body was flashing through the air in a “passing leap,” one of the feats that always drew such great applause, even if it were more spectacular than dangerous.

“No, it can’t be Zoraya!” he muttered. But the clown cast one nervous, hesitating glance up there where her troupe was working in the air. The cold sweat stood out upon him. Zoraya was not with them. His eyes sought the net. It was empty. He saw a figure clad in pink, white and gold shooting right through the net.

Then, too, he saw something else. A slender, pink-clad figure was darting under the net with outstretched arms.

“It’s Phil. He’s going to catch her,” shouted Teddy jubilantly.

But Phil went down under the impact of the heavy blow as Zoraya struck him. A throng of ring attendants gathered about them, and in a moment the two forms were picked up and borne quickly from the ring.

Once, years before, Shivers had been through an earthquake in South America, when things about him were topsy-turvy, when the circus tent came tumbling down about him, and ring curbs went up into the air in most bewildering fashion.

Now, that same sensation was upon him again, and quarter poles seemed to dance before his eyes like giddy marionettes, while the long rows of blue seats appeared to be tilted up at a dangerous angle. Then slowly the clown’s bewilderment merged into keen understanding, but his painted face reflected none of the anguish that was gripping at his heart strings.

Teddy brushed a hand across his own eyes.

“I—I guess they’re both killed,” he said falteringly.

Just then the voice of the head clown broke out in the old Netherlands harvest song:

“Yanker didel doodle down,

Didel, dudel lanter,

Yankee viver, voover vown,

Botermilk und tanther.”

“Poor Zoraya!” muttered the clown under cover of the applause that greeted his vocal effort. And his associates looked down from their perches high in the air, gazing in wonder upon the clown who was bowing so low that, each time he did so, he was obliged to turn a somersault to gain his equilibrium.

“Dangerously hurt—went through the net head first. Hurry!” panted a belated clown, running by to his station. “Boy hurt, too.”

“Told you so!” grumbled Teddy.

But Shivers did not flinch, and, as he neared the reserved seats on the grandstand, his voice again rang out, this time in a variation of the ancient harvest song:

“Yankee doodle, keep it up,

Yankee doodle, dandy;

Mind the music and the step,

And with your feet be handy.”

Never had the show people seen Shivers so uproariously funny. Under the spell of his merriment, the audience quickly forgot the tragic scene that they had just witnessed.

Teddy, however, noticed little dark trenches that had ploughed their courses down through the makeup of the clown’s cheeks from his eyes. Teddy knew that tears had caused those furrows.

As Shivers looked down the long, grassy stretch ahead of him, that he still must cover before his act would be finished, the goal seemed far away. He flashed one longing glance toward the crimson curtains that shut off the view of the paddock and the dressing tents, vaguely wondering what lay beyond for him and for little Zoraya. Then Shivers set his jaws hard, plunging into a mad whirl of handsprings and somersaults, each of which sent him nearer to the end of that seemingly endless way.

“Here, here, what are you trying to do?” gasped Tucker, unable to keep up with the clown’s rapid progress by doing the same things. Teddy solved the problem by running. He could keep up in no other way.

At last Shivers reached the end. With a mighty leap he sprang for the paddock and the dressing tent. And how he did run! Such sprinting never had been seen in the big show, even between man and horse in the act following the Roman chariot races.

Once a rope caught Shivers’ toes. He fell forward, but cleverly landed on his shoulders and the back of his neck, bouncing up like a rubber man and plunging on.

Shivers had darted through the crimson curtain by the time Teddy Tucker had succeeded in picking himself up from having fallen over the same rope.

Stretched out on a piece of canvas in the dressing tent, her head slightly elevated on a saddle pad, they found Zoraya, her pallor showing even through the roughly laid on makeup.

Phil was sitting on a trunk holding his head in his hands, for he had received quite a severe shock.

“If she regains consciousness soon she may live,” announced the surgeon. “If not—”

“No, no!” protested the white-faced clown, dropping on his knees by the side of the child, folding Zoraya tenderly in his arms. “She must not die! She cannot die!”

His jaunty baker’s cap tilted off and fell upon her tinseled breast, while groups of curious, sorrowful painted faces pressed about them in silent sympathy.

Teddy crushed his white cap between his hands twisting it nervously.

“She isn’t hurt. Can’t you see? Look, she is smiling now,” pleaded the clown.

The surgeon shook his head sadly, and Shivers buried his head on Zoraya’s shoulder, pressing his painted cheek close to hers, while the dull roar of the circus, off under the big top, drifted to them faintly, like the sighing of a distant cataract.

An impressive silence hovered over the scene, which was broken, at last, by the quiet voice of the circus surgeon.

“The child is coming back, Shivers. She has fought it out, but she will perform no more, I am afraid, for bones broken as are hers never will be quite the same again.”

“She don’t have to perform any more, sir,” snapped the clown. “I’ll do that for her. You put that down in your fool’s cap and smoke it. Yes, sir, I’ll—”

“Daddy!” murmured the lips that were pressed close to Shivers’ ear.

It was scarcely a whisper, more a breath that Shivers caught, but faint as it was, it sent the blood pounding to his temples until they showed red, like blotches of rouge under powder.

“D-a-d-d-y—y-o-u-r—Zory got an awful—b-u-m-p.”

Three harlequins who had been poising each on one knee, chins in hands, gazing down into the face of the little performer, suddenly threw backward somersaults in their joy.

“Yes, Phil’s quickness saved you,” spoke up the surgeon. “Had it not been for him you would be dead now.”

Teddy Tucker, the tears streaming down his cheeks, was hopping about on one foot, vigorously kicking a shin with the other foot, trying to punish himself for his tears.

“I’m a fool! I’m a fool! But—but—I can’t help it,” he sobbed, wheeling suddenly and dashing into his own dressing tent.

“Call for Shivers!” bellowed the voice of the callboy, thrusting his head inside the entrance flap. “All the Joeys out for the round off!”

“Coming!”

Shivers gently laid the broken form of Zoraya back, pressed a hurried kiss on her painted lips and bounded away to take his cue, the circus band out there by the crimson curtains swinging brazenly into the enlivening strains of “There’ll Be a Hot Time in the Old Town Tonight!”

CHAPTER VIII

A Rival in the Field

Zoraya was left behind. She was sent to a hospital where she was destined to remain many weeks, before she would be able to be moved to her little home in Indiana. She never performed again.

In the meantime the Great Sparling Combined Shows had moved majestically along. They had left the United States and were touring Canada, playing in many of the quaint little French villages and larger towns, where the Circus Boys found much to interest and amuse them.

Teddy and Shivers had made a great hit in their “brother” clown act, which was daily added to and improved upon as the show worked its way along the Canadian border.

One day Phil, who had been downtown after the parade, where he went to read the papers when he got a chance, came back and sought out Mr. Sparling in the latter’s private tent.

“Well, Phil,” greeted the owner cordially, “what’s on your mind?”

“Perhaps a good deal, but possibly nothing of any consequence. You will have to decide that.”

“What is it?” questioned Mr. Sparling sharply.

“Do we show in Corinto?”

“Yes; why?”

“I thought I had heard you mention that we were to do so.”

“Why do you ask that question?”

“I’ll answer it by asking another,” smiled the Circus Boy. “When do we make that stand?”

The showman consulted his route book.

“A week from next Tuesday,” he said. “Anything wrong about that?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Nothing except that there is another show billed to play there the day before.”

“What?”

Mr. Sparling bent a keen gaze on Phil’s face, to make sure the lad was not joking.

“Yes, the Sully Hippodrome Circus is billed there for Monday.”

“Where did you find that out?”

“I read it in a St. Catharines’ paper down at the hotel this morning. I thought you would be interested in knowing of it.”

“Interested? Why, boy, it will kill our business. So Sully is cutting in on us, is he? I thought he was playing the eastern circuit. He threatened to get even with me.”

“Even?”

“Yes. Sully was once a partner in this show, but he proved himself so dishonest that I had to take legal measures to get him out. He got money from some source last season, and put a show of his own on the road. He has a twenty-five car show, I understand. Not such a small outfit at that. But I hear it is a graft show.”

“What’s a graft show? I must confess that I never heard of that before.”

“A graft show, my boy, is a show that gets money in various ways. They frequently carry a gang of thieves and confidence men with them, who work among the spectators on the grounds before the show, robbing them and getting a commission on their earnings.”

“Is it possible that there are such dishonest people in the show business?” marveled the lad.

“Not only possible, but an actual fact. I am happy to say, however, that there are few shows that will tolerate anything of that sort.”

“I’m glad I did not have the misfortune to get with one of them,” smiled Phil. “Are any of the big shows graft shows?”

“None of them. But about this heading us off?”

“Yes; what will you do about it?”

“We’ll be there on Monday, too,” decided the showman after a moment’s reflection.

“On Monday?”

“Yes.”

“Then—then you intend to skip a date somewhere?”

“We shall have to.”

Mr. Sparling was a man of resource and quick action. He made up his mind in a minute as to what course to follow.

“I’m going to detach you from the show for a few days, if you don’t mind, Phil,” decided Mr. Sparling.

“I am glad to serve you in any way that you think I can,” answered the lad with a flash of surprise in his glance.

“I know that. What I want you to do is to join that show right away.”

“Join them?”

“I do not mean that exactly. I want you to go to the town where they are playing tomorrow, I will get the name of the town before the day is over. Follow the show right along from town to town until next Monday, paying your way when you go in and keeping your eyes open for their game. You, with your shrewdness, ought to have no difficulty in getting sufficient evidence to help me carry out my plans.”

“What sort of evidence do you wish me to get?”

“Make a mental note of everything you see that is not regular, and if they have a route card get a copy of that. It’s perfectly regular, young man,” hastened the showman, noting Phil’s look of disapproval. “You are not doing anything improper. I do not ask you to pry into their private affairs. We have a right, however, to find out if we can, what their plans are with relation to ourselves. If they are playing Corinto the day before we do, just by mere chance, then I shall make no further objections, but if they are planning to move along ahead of us and kill our business—well, that’s a different matter.”

“I see,” nodded Phil. “Who will take my place in the ring work here?”

“We will get along without it, that’s all. It doesn’t matter so much in these small towns. I don’t care if you do not join out until we get to Niagara Falls. We’ll be playing in the real country then.”

“And working south?”

“Yes. As soon as the weather gets cooler we will head for the south and stay there until the close of the season. They are going to have a big cotton crop in the south this fall, and there will be lots of money lying around loose to be picked up by a show like ours.”

“When do you want me to start?” asked Phil.

“Just as soon as I can get an answer to a telegram that I’m going to send now. You will be off sometime this afternoon. But perhaps you can go on in your acts—no, I guess you had better not. You’ll be missed at night if you do.”

“Yes; that’s so.”

“I shall have some further directions for you. So long, for the present.”

Phil turned away thoughtfully. Shortly after the afternoon performance Mr. Sparling sent for Phil again, the lad having in the meantime packed a few necessary articles in his bag preparatory to the journey that lay before him.

“The other show will be at St. Catharines tomorrow. Are you ready?”

“Yes, sir. What time can I get away?”

“Five o’clock. You will be there in the morning in time to see them set the tents. Let me warn you that Sully is ugly and unscrupulous. If he were to know what you are there for it might get you into a mix-up, so be careful.”

“I’ll be careful. Have you any further instructions?”

“I want to give you some money. You can’t travel without money.”

“I have plenty,” answered Phil. “I will keep my expense account and turn it in to you when I get back. Where do you wish me to join you?”

“Corinto, unless you think best to come back in the meantime. That is, if you get sufficient information. You know what I want without my going into details, don’t you?”

“I think so.”

“Now, look out for yourself.”

“I’ll try to.”

“You have not mentioned to anyone what you are going to do, of course?”

“Certainly not. Not even to Teddy. Perhaps if you will, you might make the explanation to him,” suggested Phil.

“Yes; I’ll do that as soon as you have gotten away. He’ll be raising the roof off the big top when he misses you.”

Phil extended his hand to his employer, then turned and hurried from the tent. First, the boy proceeded to the sleeping car in which he berthed, for his bag. Securing this he had just time to reach the station before the five o’clock train rumbled in.

The lad boarded a sleeping car and settled himself for the long ride before him, passing the time by reading the current magazines with which he provided himself when the train agent came through. Late in the evening the lad turned in. Riding in a sleeping car was no novelty to him, and he dropped asleep almost instantly, not to awaken again until the porter shook him gently by the shoulder.

“What is it?” questioned Phil, starting up.

“St. Catharines.”

The lad pulled the curtains of his berth aside. Day was just breaking as he peered out.

“There they are,” he muttered, catching sight of a switch full of gaudily painted cars bearing the name of the Sully Hippodrome Circus. “They have just got in,” he decided from certain familiar signs of which he took quick mental note. “Looks like a cheap outfit at that. But you never can tell.”

Phil Forrest dressed himself quickly and grasping his bag hurried from the car, anxious to be at his task, which, to tell the truth, he approached with keen zest. He was beginning to enter into the spirit of the work to which he had been assigned, and which was to provide him with much more excitement than he at that moment dreamed.

CHAPTER IX

Phil Makes a Discovery

“I guess I’ll leave my bag in the station and go over to the lot,” decided the lad. “The stake and chain gang will just about be on the job by this time.”

It is a well known fact in the circus world that there is no better place to get information than from the stake and chain gang, the men who hurry to the lot the moment their train gets in and survey it, driving stakes to show where the tents are to be pitched, and it is a familiar answer, when one is unable to answer a question to say: “Ask the stake and chain gang.”

That was exactly what Phil Forrest had in mind to do.

He followed a show wagon to the circus lot, where he found the men already at work measuring off the ground with their surveyor’s chains, in the faint morning light.

“Morning,” smiled Phil, sauntering over to where he observed the foreman watching the work of his men.

“Morning,” growled the showman. Phil knew he would growl because the fellow had not yet had his breakfast.

“Seems to me the circuses are coming this way pretty fast?” suggested the lad.

“What d’ye mean?”

“I hear that there are to be two over in Corinto within two days—yours and—and. What’s the name of the other one?”

“Sparling’s,” grunted the foreman.

Phil grinned appreciatively. He had drawn his man out on the first round.

“That’s it. That’s the name. I shouldn’t think he’d want to show in the same place the day after you had been there?”

“Why not?”

“ ’Cause the folks will all spend their money going to your show.”

The foreman threw back his head and laughed.

“That’s exactly what they will do, kid. That’s what we want them to do. We’ll make that Sparling outfit get off the earth before we get through with them. The boss has his axe out for that outfit.”

“Indeed?” cooed Phil.

“Yes. He’s going, between you and me, to keep a day ahead of them all the way over this circuit.”

“Smart, very smart,” laughed Phil, slapping his thigh as if he appreciated the joke fully. “Have an orange. I always carry some about with me when I’m going to visit a circus.”

“Thanks, that will taste good at this time of the morning. It will keep me going until the cook tent is ready. The cook tent is where we get our meals, you understand. ’Course you don’t know about those things.”

“No indeed!”

“Outsiders never do,” replied the man.

“I was wondering something a moment ago, when you told me about getting ahead of the other fellow.”

“Wondering?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

“Wondering how you know where the other fellow is going?”

“That’s a dark secret, kid,” answered the stake and chain foreman, with a very knowing wink.

“But if you know where he is going he must know where you are billed for at the same time,” urged Phil.

“He don’t.”

“But why not?”

“In the first place we bill ourselves only a few days ahead. And, in the second, we have a way of finding out where Sparling is going for the next month or so ahead. Sometimes further than that.”

“Well, well, that’s interesting—” The foreman hurried off to give some directions to his men, slowly returning a few minutes later.

“I should like to know how you do it?”

“Say kid, there’s tricks in the show business just the same as in any other. Mebby there’s somebody with the Sparling outfit who keeps us posted. Mind you, I ain’t saying there is; but that there might be.”

“Oh, I see,” muttered Phil, suddenly enlightened. “Then someone in the other show is giving away his employer’s secrets. Fine for you, but pretty rough on the other fellow.”

“Let the other fellow take care of himself, the same way we do,” growled the foreman, following it with a threatening command to one of his men.

“That hardly seems fair,” objected Phil.

“All is fair in war and the circus business. You seem a good deal interested in this competition business?” snapped the man with sudden suspicion in voice and face.

“I am. But where is this—this Sparling show going to—do you know what towns they are going to play for the next month? Can you tell that, too?”

“I can come pretty close to it,” grinned the showman, whereupon he named the towns on Phil’s route list without so much as missing one of them. But the stake and chain foreman did not stop here; he went on and gave a further list that Phil only knew of as having heard mentioned by Mr. Sparling in his various conversations with the circus lad.

Phil was amazed.

“Then they must be going west. I see,” nodded the boy.

“No, you don’t see. You only think you do.”

“No?”

“No. If you was a showman and knew your business you’d know that the Sparling outfit was going to make a sudden turn after a little, and head for Dixie Land.”

“Down south,” exclaimed Phil.

“Sure. Why not? You see you lubbers don’t know any more about the show business than—”

“And you are going to follow them?”

“Follow them? No. We’re going to lead them. They’ll follow us.”

“You’re like a wildcat train then?”

“Something of the sort.”

“Where’s the boss?”

“There he comes now. I’ll have to hustle the men, or he’ll scorch the grass off the lot with his roars.”

The foreman hastened to stir up his surveyors and Phil moved off that he might get a better look at Mr. Sully, the owner of the show. Phil found him to be a florid-faced, square jawed man whose expression was as repulsive as it was brutal. Sully wore a red vest and red necktie with a large diamond in it. He gave the Circus Boy a quick sharp look as he passed.

“I’ll bet he will know me the next time he sees me,” muttered Phil. “But whether he does or not I have made some discoveries that Mr. Sparling will be glad to know about, though they will not make him particularly happy, I’m thinking.”

Phil was hungry, and he was anxious to get back to the village to write a letter, but decided that he would wait until the tents were up. Then again, he wanted to see the wagons brought on so he could count them and get a fair inventory of the show and what it possessed. He soon discovered that the Sully Hippodrome Circus was no one-horse affair, though considerably smaller than the one with which he was connected.

Not until the people were getting ready for the parade did Phil leave the lot. Then he hastened downtown and got his dinner and breakfast all in one, after which he sat down to write a full account of what he had learned to Mr. Sparling.

“There, if anything happens to me he is pretty well informed so far. It’s enough to enable him to lay those plans he has in mind, whatever they may be. I can see him hammering his desk and getting red in the face when he reads this letter.”

Phil was cautious enough not to mention the name of the Sully show in his letter, and tried to couch it in such terms, that while Mr. Sparling would understand perfectly, another might not.

Phil took the letter to the post office, then went out on the sidewalk where he stood leaning against a lamp post to watch the parade, which he did with critical eyes.

“A pretty good-sized show,” he mused. “But all their trappings are second hand. They have bought them up from some show that has discarded them. That’s one thing the Sparling outfit never does. All their stuff is new nearly every season. Sully may have some of our old trappings, for all I know.”

The parade was a long one; there were a good many cages, besides a fair-sized herd of elephants.

“Hm-m-m! Three tuskers among the bulls,” muttered Phil. “Pretty well up to our herd, but I wouldn’t trade Emperor for any two of them, at that.”

After the parade had passed, Phil once more strolled over to the circus lot and hung about until time for the afternoon performance to begin, when he bought a ticket and entered, occupying a reserved seat where he could see all that was going on.

The lad smiled at the thought of how his position had changed. He was so used to being over there in the ring that it did not seem quite right for him to be occupying a chair in the audience. He could scarcely resist the impulse to hurry back to the dressing tent and prepare for the ring.

The grand entry came on; then his attention was centered on the performance, which he watched with the keen eyes of an expert, noting the work of every performer, completely forgetting the cheering audience in his absorption.

It was really a fair performance. He was forced to admit this, especially of the aerial acts. But the bareback riding he did not think compared favorably with his own, especially so far as the men riders were concerned. One woman rider was very good, indeed.

Phil drew a long breath when the performance had come to an end. A circus performance, to him, was a matter of the keenest interest. The fact that he himself was a circus performer did not lessen that interest one whit, but rather intensified it. Yet the glamour of his youthful days had passed. It was now a professional interest, rather than the wondering interest of a boy who never had seen the inside of the dressing tent.

Phil did not hang about the grounds. He went downtown, but was once more on hand for the evening performance, where he noted that the show was cut short fully half an hour, and this without apparent good reason.

He had made the acquaintance of a “candy butcher” during the hour before the show, and from him had learned some further details that were of interest to him and his investigation.

The Circus Boy, after watching the striking of the tents, returned to the railroad station and took a late train for the town where the circus was to show next day. It was not a long run, so he took a day coach. In it he saw several familiar faces—faces that he had noticed about the circus lot that afternoon, and from their appearance he was forced to conclude that these men belonged to the shows.

“Those fellows are crooks, as sure as I am alive,” decided the lad, after listening to the conversation of the couple just ahead of him. “That’s what Mr. Sparling told me. I could hardly believe it. I’ll spend part of the time outside tomorrow and make sure. I shall know those fellows when I see them, if they are on the grounds.”

It had not occurred to Phil Forrest that he might be recognized also, though he knew full well that circus people had keen eyes, especially in an outfit such as this.

The next morning he hunted up his friend the candy butcher, inviting that worthy to take breakfast with him which the lad, a boy about his own age, was glad to do. From the “butcher” Phil learned a whole lot of things that added to his store of knowledge, among them being the fact that Sully’s outfit was even worse than it had been painted.

Mingling with the crowds about the main entrance, before the doors were opened that afternoon, Phil once more saw the same men he had observed on the train the previous evening. From their actions he was more than ever satisfied that he had not been mistaken in his estimate of them.

“I shouldn’t be surprised if they were looking for some pockets to pick,” mused the lad, “but I do not see them doing anything yet.”

As a matter of fact, the men were plying their trade, but his eyes had not been quick enough to catch them at it. Phil, however, was more successful just before the evening show.

Standing among the people massed out in front he saw a man’s hand steal slowly toward the handbag of a well-dressed woman. Phil traced the hand back until he made out the owner, who was one of the same men that had come through on the train with him.

A gasoline torch lighted the operation faintly, and Phil gazed with fascinated eyes while the stealthy hand opened the bag quickly extracting its contents.

Almost at the instant the woman looked down, perhaps attracted by the tug at the bag.

“I’ve been robbed!” she cried.

The words stirred Phil to instant action.

In another second the thief felt a vise-like grip about the wrist that held the plunder.

“Here’s the man that did it, madam. Call an officer,” said Phil calmly.

CHAPTER X

The Circus Boy is Recognized

Giving the wrist of his prisoner a sharp twist, Phil snatched away the small handful of bills that the fellow had stolen, returning them to the woman.

By this time the thief had suddenly recovered his wits and sought to jerk his hand away, seeing that it was merely a boy who had grabbed him. To the surprise of the crook he found it was not an easy matter to free himself from that grip. After making several desperate efforts the fellow adopted other methods.

“Let go of me, I tell you. I’ll have you put away for this.”

“I’ll let go of you when a policeman has hold of you, and not before,” retorted Phil. “You are a thief. I saw you steal that woman’s money.”

The man suddenly uttered an angry exclamation and launched a blow at Phil’s head, which the lad avoided, allowing it to pass over his shoulder.

“Hurry! Get a policeman! This man is a thief,” urged Phil, as he closed with his antagonist.

“Thief! Thief,” cried several voices at once. It was a cry that had been heard before about the Sully shows.

Phil had not struck back at his enemy. Instead the lad, by a skillful twist, had whirled the fellow about until his back was toward the boy. Then Phil suddenly let go his hold on the wrist, clasping the man around the body and pinioning his arms to his sides.

“You might as well stand still,” said the lad coolly. “You can’t get away until I permit you to, and that won’t be until something that looks like a policeman comes along.”

In the meantime the captive was struggling and threatening. All at once he raised his voice in a peculiar, wailing cry. The Circus Boy felt sure that it was some sort of a signal, though it was new to him. But he was not to be cowed.

“Police!” shouted Phil.

“Police!” cried many voices.

Half a dozen men came rushing into the crowd, thrusting the people aside as they ran, looking this way and that to learn from where the cry for assistance had come.

Phil’s captive uttered a sharp cry, and the lad realized what was going to happen. At first he had thought it was the police coming, but he was undeceived the moment he caught his prisoner’s appeal to them. The men dashed toward the two, and as they rushed in Phil whirled his man so that the latter collided violently with the newcomers. That checked the rush briefly. He knew, however, that he could not hope to stand off his assailants for more than a few seconds. Yet the lad calculated that in those few seconds the police might arrive. He did not know that they had been well bribed neither to see nor to hear what occurred on the circus grounds.

A moment more and the lad had been roughly jerked from his captive and hurled violently to the ground.

Phil sprang up full of fight while the angry fellows closed in on him. He saw that they were showmen. A sudden idea occurred to him.

“Hey, Rube!” he shouted at the top of his voice, hoping that the rest of the show people within reach of his voice might crowd in and in the confusion give him a chance to get away.

And they did crowd in. They came on like a company of soldiers, sweeping everything before them. Phil, in that brief instant, while he was sparring to keep his opponents off, found time to smile grimly.

The fellow he had first made captive now attacked Phil viciously, the lad defending himself as best he could, while the people who had come to attend the show got out of harm’s way as rapidly as possible. Phil could hope for no assistance from that quarter.

“I guess I have gotten myself into a worse scrape by calling the rest of the gang,” he muttered, noting that he was being surrounded as some of the first comers pointed him out to the others.

Suddenly they fell upon Phil with one accord. He was jerked this way and that, but succeeded pretty well in dodging the blows aimed at his head, though his clothes were torn and he was pretty badly used.

Suddenly a voice roared out close behind him.

“Stop it!”

Turning his head a little Phil recognized Sully, the owner of the show. Sully’s face was redder than ever.

“What—what’s all this row about? Haven’t you fellows anything more important to do than raising a roughhouse? Get out of here, the whole bunch of you! What’s he done? Turn him over to the police and go on about your business.”

One of the men said something in a low tone to Sully. The showman shot a keen, inquiring glance at the lad.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“I don’t know that it makes any difference. I saw a fellow robbing a woman, and it was my duty to stop him. I did it, then a lot of his companions, who, I suppose, belong to your show pitched into me.”

“So, you are trying to run the whole show, are you?”

“I am not.”

“Well, you get off this lot as fast as you can hoof it. If I find you butting in again it will be the worse for you.”

“That’s the fellow who was hanging around the lot at St. Catharines yesterday,” spoke up someone.

“Yes; I remember now, he was asking me questions,” said another, whose voice Phil recognized as belonging to the foreman of the stake and chain gang. “I got to thinking about it afterwards, and realized that he was a little too inquisitive for a greenhorn. He’s been on the lot all day again.”

Mr. Sully surveyed Phil with an ugly scowl.

“What are you doing around here, young man?”

“For one thing, I am trying to prevent one of your followers robbing a woman,” answered Phil boldly.

“Who are you?”

“That is my own affair.”

“I know him! I know him! I Know!” shouted another.

Sully turned to him inquiringly.

“Who is he, if you know so much?”

“He’s a fellow what was with the Sparling outfit last year. He was always butting in then, and I can tell you he ain’t here for any good now, Boss.”

“So, that’s the game is it?” sneered Sully. “You come with me. I’ve got a few questions I want to ask you.”

“I don’t have to go with you,” replied Phil.

“Oh, yes you do! Bring him along and if he raises a row just hand him one and put him to sleep.”

Two men grabbed Phil roughly by his arms.

He jerked away and started to run when he was pounced upon and borne to the ground. Phil found himself grasped by the collar and jerked violently to his feet, with the leering face of Sully thrust up close to his own.

“I’ll see that you don’t get away this time,” growled the showman.

Dragging the lad along by the collar further off on the lot, the showman finally paused.

“Get the carriage,” he commanded sharply.

“What you going to do with me?” demanded Phil.

“That depends. I’m going to find out something about you first, and decide what to do with you later.”

“And, when you get through, I shall have you arrested for assault. It will be my turn to act then,” retorted the Circus Boy. “I have done nothing except to stop a miserable thief from plying his trade. I understand that’s a game you—”

“That will do, young man. Here’s the wagon. Now, if you go quietly you will have no trouble. But just try to call for help, or raise any sort of a ruction, and you’ll see more stars than there are in the skies when the moon’s on a strike. Get in there.”

Phil was thrust into the closed carriage, which the showman used for driving back and forth between the train and the lot.

Quick as a flash Phil Forrest dived through the open coach window on the other side, and with equal quickness he was pounced upon by the driver, who had gotten off on that side, probably at a signal from Sully.

Had Sully not run around to the other side of the wagon Phil would have quickly disposed of the driver, strong as was the latter.

With an enraged cry Sully sprang upon Phil, and raised his hand to strike.

“If you attempt to do that you’ll serve the rest of the season in jail,” dared Phil, taking a bold course. “You know they don’t trifle with brutes like you up here in Canada?”

Sully growled an unintelligible reply, but that he recognized the truth of the lad’s words was evident when he slowly dropped his clenched fist to his side.

“I’ll see that you don’t get away this time,” he said once more thrusting Phil into the carriage, this time, however, keeping a firm grip on the lad’s arm.

The driver whipped up the horse and the carriage rumbled away, soon reaching the village street and turning sharply off into a side street.

CHAPTER XI

On Sully’s Private Car

“Where are you taking me?” Phil demanded.

“You’ll see in a minute.”

“And so will you. There are laws to punish such high-handed methods as yours, and I’ll see that you are punished, and well punished, too. If I can’t do it, there are others who will—who will see that you get what you deserve.”

“Keep on talking. It will be my turn pretty soon,” answered Sully.

In a short time Phil discovered that they were driving along by the railroad tracks. He knew that the yards where the circus train was standing were only a short distance beyond.

“I guess he’s going to take me to the train, for some reason or other,” decided Phil, but he could not understand what the showman’s motive might be.

The Circus Boy was not afraid, but he was thoroughly angry. His grit and stubbornness had been aroused and he was ready to take any desperate chance. However, he felt that, after all, this capture might be the means of giving him the further information of which he was in search. He might possibly be able to draw some admission from Sully.

They drew up beside the tracks and the carriage halted.

“Now, not a sound!” warned the showman. “If you raise your voice, or so much as speak to anyone you see, I’ll forget that you are a kid and—”

“I am not afraid of your threats,” interrupted Phil. “I know you are brute enough to do what you say you will, but it won’t be good for you if you do. Go on. I’ll follow till I get a chance to escape.”

“You’ll not get the chance,” retorted Sully, taking firm hold of the boy’s arm.

They made their way through the yards, avoiding the gasoline torches that flared familiarly here and there among the mass of cars, then turned toward the station. As the lights of the latter came into view, the showman halted, looked up and down the tracks, then led Phil to the platform of a car which the boy recognized as being one of the show’s sleepers.

“That’s what I thought he was up to,” muttered Phil, watching for an opportunity to leap off the other side and lose himself among the cars.

No such opportunity was offered to him, however, and a moment later the door of the sleeper had been opened, and he was pushed roughly inside, Mr. Sully following in quickly, slamming and locking the door behind them.

“Get in there and sit down!”

“Where?”

“In the private office there.”

“So this is your private car, is it?”

“Yes.”

“Hm-m-m!”

“You seem to know a lot about the show business.”

Phil made no reply, but dropped into the owner’s chair at the latter’s desk.

“Get out of that chair!”

“I thought you invited me to sit down?”

“I did, but I might have known you wouldn’t have had sense enough to sit where you ought to.”

“Where’s that?”

“On the floor.”

“I am not in the habit of being received that way,” taunted Phil, making no move to vacate the chair.

Sully, with a grunt of disapproval, sat down in another chair, placing himself so the light would fall fully on Phil’s face.

“Now, what’s your name?”

“You’ll have to guess that,” smiled Phil.

“That’s where you’re wrong. I know it.”

“What is my name?”

“Forrest. You’re a bareback rider in the Sparling outfit. You thought you would not be known, but you see you are. You can’t fool a man in the show business so easily. After you have grown older in the business you will learn a few things.”

“I am learning fast,” laughed the lad. “I am learning a lot of things that I wish I did not have to learn.”

“What, for instance?”

“That there are such men as you in the show business.”

“Be careful, boy. You will go too far, the first thing you know. Now, what are you doing here?”

“If you know so much I don’t see why you should have to ask that question.”

“I’m asking.”

“And I’m not telling. I’ll answer none of your questions, unless it is about something that I can tell you without getting others into trouble.”

“You already have admitted that you are with the Sparling show. You have made several slips of the tongue since I got hold of you.”

“I haven’t denied that I am with the Sparling show, neither have I admitted it. I decline to lie or to give you any information of any nature whatever.”

“When is the Sparling show coming here?”

“I was not aware that it was coming here. Is it?”

“No, I didn’t mean that. I mean when are they going to show in Corinto?”

Phil was silent.

“You might as well make a clean breast of the whole business, young man. I’ve caught you red-handed, snooping about the lot for two days quizzing everybody. Now what’s the game?”

“There is no game.”

“What is Sparling trying to find out?”

“You will have to ask him, I guess.”

Sully surveyed the lad in silence for a minute or two.

“I couldn’t understand, at first, why he should send a kid like you to spy upon us; but I begin to see that you are a sharp little monkey—”

Just then the showman was interrupted by the entrance of the foreman of the stake and chain gang.

“Bob, I want you to tell me exactly what questions this cub asked you yesterday?”

“I thought he was some curious town fellow, so I didn’t pay much attention to his questions. When I saw him on the lot, again today, and heard him asking other folks, kind of careless like, I began to smell a rat.”

“What did he want to know, I’m asking you?”

The foreman related as well as he could remember, just what conversation had taken place between himself and Phil Forrest, omitting, however, the fact that he had furnished any information. It would have ended his connection with the show right there, had he let the owner know how much he really had told.

Phil grinned appreciatively, but it was not for him to get the foreman into trouble.

“Hm-m!” mused Sully. “You found out a lot, I presume?”

“I can truthfully say that I found out that what I had heard about the show is true.”

“And what’s that, if I may ask?”

“Thieves. I happen to know that they travel right along with the show, and I shouldn’t be surprised if you got part of their stealings, either,” Phil boldly flung at the showman.

Sully’s face went redder than ever, while his fingers clenched and unclenched. It was evident that the man feared to let his anger get the better of him.

“If he ever lets go at me, I’m a goner,” thought Phil understanding that, besides an almost ungovernable temper, the man possessed great physical strength. “I guess he won’t do anything of the sort, unless I goad him to it. I believe that I have said about enough.”

“Watch him a minute, Bob,” directed Sully, rising and stepping to the other end of the car. He returned a minute later.

“Young man,” he said, “if you had been more civil you might have gotten away with your bluff—”

“I have not tried to bluff you,” interjected Phil.

“As it is, I think I’ll lock you up until morning, and, if you are ready then to make a clean breast of the whole affair, perhaps I shall let you go back with a message to your boss—a message that he won’t like, I reckon.”

“You won’t send any such message by me,” retorted Phil. “Carry your own messages. Where you going to lock me up?”

“In a place where you will be safe. But I shouldn’t advise you to get red-headed about it. There will be someone nearby to take all the howl out of you if you try it.”

“You had better not!”

“What do you think, Bob? Is it safe to let this fellow go?”

“Well, I suppose you’ve got to let him go sometime. He’ll be getting us into trouble if you keep him.”

“I’ll take the chance of that. We can drop him just before crossing the line back into the United States.”

“That’s a good game.”

“Then the United States authorities can’t take any action on an offense committed across the border. I don’t believe they would, anyway. It is all a part of the show game. I’d like to drop the spy over the Falls when we get to Niagara,” added Sully.

“I might get wet if you did that,” grinned Phil.

“You’ll be lucky if you don’t get worse, which you will unless you keep a more civil tongue in your head. Yes; I guess that will be the best plan, Bob.”

“You—you don’t mean that you will drop him over the Falls?” gasped the foreman.

“No,” laughed Sully. “Not that, much as I’d like to. But it would serve him right. I’m going to lock him up; that’s what I mean.”

“Where?”

“Here.”

“But he’ll get out.”

“Not from where I put him.”

The foreman looked about him a puzzled expression in his eyes.

“What do you say to the linen closet?”

“The linen closet?”

“Yes. I have just looked at it. There will be room enough for him, and there’s no opening through which he can call to anyone on the outside. If he does make an outcry some of us will be here to look after him.”

“That’s a good game. I hadn’t thought of it before.”

“Come along, my fine young bareback rider. You’ll wish you’d stuck to your own business before you get through with us!”

Phil was led down the side passageway of the car and thrust into a narrow compartment, about three sides of which were shelves loaded down with the linen used on the car.

There was room for a chair in the compartment and he could stand upright. However, had he wished to lie down he would have been unable to do so.

“So this is the prison you have decided to lock me in, is it?” grinned the lad.

“It looks that way. I guess it will bring you to your senses. You’ll talk by tomorrow morning, I’ll guarantee.”

“I guess you will have another guess coming,” warned Phil.

Without further parley Sully slammed the door and locked it, leaving Phil in absolute darkness.

“Now I am in a fix, for sure. If Sully hadn’t been quite so big I should have taken a chance and pitched into him. He is strong enough to eat me alive. I could handle the fellow, Bob, all right, but not Sully. So I have got to stay here all night? Fine, fine! I hope I don’t smother.”

The car soon settled down to quiet again. Phil knew, however, that he was not alone—that undoubtedly there was someone watching his prison. He examined the place as well as he could in the darkness, tried the door, ran his hands over the sides and up among the piles of linen. There was scant encouragement to be found, though Phil believed that if he had room to take a running start he might break the door down.

He decided to remain quiet, and after his exciting experiences he was quite willing to rest himself for a time. The lad pulled a lot of the linen down to the floor, and making a bed for himself, doubled up like a jackknife and settled himself for the night. It was not a comfortable position, but Phil Forrest was used to roughing it. In a few minutes he was sound asleep.

CHAPTER XII

Locked in the Linen Closet

Phil roused himself for a moment.

“We’re going,” he muttered, realizing that the train was in motion. Then he dropped off to sleep again.

When next he awakened it was broad daylight, though the lad did not know it until after he had struck a match and looked at his watch.

“Eight ’clock in the morning,” he exclaimed. “My, how I must have slept, and on such a bed too!”

The lad was lame and sore from the cramped position in which he had been obliged to lie all night, but he was just as cheerful as if he had awakened in his own berth on sleeper number eleven on the Sparling train. He began to feel hungry, though.

Phil tapped on the door. There was no response, so he rapped again, this time with more force. Still failing to arouse anyone Phil delivered a series of resounding kicks against the door.

“If no one answers that I’ll know there is nobody here and I’ll see if I can’t break the door down.”

There was someone there, however, as was made plain a moment later, when the door was thrown suddenly open, revealing the grinning face of Sully, the owner of the show.

“Morning,” greeted Phil. “I thought maybe breakfast was being served in the dining car, and I didn’t want to miss it.”

“You’re a cheerful idiot, aren’t you?”

“So I have been told. But about that breakfast? If you’ll kindly conduct me to the wash room, so I can make myself beautiful and prepare for breakfast, I shall be obliged to you.”

“Huh!” grunted the showman.

“Where are we?”

“Brant.”

“Is this where we show today?”

“Yes, this is where we show today. As if you didn’t know that as well as I do.”

“I may have heard something to that effect. I don’t just remember for the moment. But, how about that breakfast?”

“How do you know you are going to get any breakfast?”

“Because I smelled it a few minutes ago.”

“That’s my breakfast that your keen nose scented, young man.”

“Well, I guess I can stand it for once.”

Sully was forced to smile at his young captive’s good nature. So he took Phil by the arm and led him to the wash room, where the showman remained until Phil had completed his preparations for breakfast. Then Sully led the way to a compartment at the rear of the car where a small table had been set.

“This looks good to me,” grinned Phil, rubbing his palms together. “You live high in this outfit, don’t you?”

The lad ate his breakfast with a will.

“I hope I am not depriving you of your meal?” questioned Phil, glancing up quickly.

“I’ve had my breakfast. If there had been only enough for one, you’d have gone hungry.”

“You don’t have to tell me that. I know it. That’s about your measure.”

“That will be about all from you,” snapped the showman. “The trouble with you is that you can’t appreciate decent treatment. You’re just like your boss.”

“I’ll not hear you say a word against Mr. Sparling,” bristled Phil, then suddenly checked himself.

“So, I caught you that time, did I?” exclaimed Sully, slapping his thighs and laughing uproariously, while Phil’s face grew red with mortification at the slip he had made. “You are not half as smart as you think you are, young man. I’ll keep at you until I get out of you all the information I want.”

“I’m afraid the show season isn’t long enough for you to do that,” was the boy’s quick retort.

“You’ll find out whether it is or not.”

“I shall not be with you that long. Now that I have admitted that I have been connected with the Sparling show, what do you think my employer will do when he finds I am missing?”

“Nothing.”

“I rather guess he will do something. Wait.”

“When does he expect you back?”

Phil looked at the showman, laughing.

“Did I mention that I was expected? I said that when he missed me there would be an inquiry, and there will.”

“Little good that will do him,” growled the showman.

“Then you don’t know James Sparling.”

“How’ll he know you are here?”

“Trust him to find out, and then—wow! There will be an explosion that you can hear on the other side of the St. Lawrence. Do I take a walk for my health after breakfast?”

“You do.”

“Thank you.”

“To the other end of the car, to the linen closet, where you are to stay until—”

“Until what?” questioned Phil sharply.

“Until you tell me what I want to know.”

“What is it that you wish to know?”

“Why were you sent to spy on my outfit?”

“Perhaps for the same reason that you keep a spy in his camp,” retorted Phil, bending a keen gaze on the face of his jailer.

Sully’s face went violently red. Without another word he grasped Phil roughly by the shoulder, jerked him from the table and hurried the lad down the corridor.

“Here, here, I haven’t finished my breakfast yet,” protested the boy.

“You have, but you don’t know it. You will know in a minute.”

With that the showman thrust Phil into the linen closet again and slammed the door.

“My, I wouldn’t have a temper like yours if you were to make me a present of a six-pole circus!” called the Circus Boy.

He chuckled as Sully uttered a grunt of anger and strode off to the other end of the car.

“He’ll be going to the lot after a while, then I’ll get busy,” muttered Phil. In the meantime there was nothing for him to do but to sit down and make the best of his situation, which he did. Once, during the morning, Phil, believing himself to be alone, made several desperate attempts to break the door down.

His efforts brought a threat from the corridor as to what would happen if he tried that again. Phil knew, then, that he was not to be left alone.

After a while the lad went to sleep, not awakening until late in the afternoon.

He got no supper that night, nor did the showman come near him until late on the following morning. Phil was ravenously hungry, not having had a thing to eat in twenty-four hours, but he had too much grit to utter a word of complaint.

An excellent breakfast was served, but instead of Mr. Sully one of his men sat at the table while another stood out in the corridor ready to take a hand in case the boy made an effort to escape.

Had there been an open window near him Phil would have tried a dive through it, taking the chance of getting away. The windows in the room where the breakfast was served had been prudently shut, however.

He had just finished his breakfast when Sully came storming in. The lad could see that he was very angry about something.

“Good morning, sir. Aren’t you feeling well this morning?” questioned Phil innocently.

“Feeling—feeling—” The words seemed to choke in the showman’s throat.

“Yes, feeling.”

“Why—why—why didn’t you tell me that Sparling had changed his date and was planning to make Corinto the same day we are billed there?” thundered Sully.

“Is he?”

“Is he? You know very well that he is, and it was your report that put him up to doing this trick. We’ve got you to thank for this piece of business, and you’re going to pay dear for your part in it. Is he going to follow us all around the country—is that what he’s planning to do?”

“I guess you had better ask Mr. Sparling himself. He hasn’t seen fit to tell me, as yet.”

“I’ll show him that he can’t trifle with me, and I’ll show you, so you won’t forget it for the rest of your circus career.”

“I wouldn’t make threats were I in your place, Mr. Sully. Wait until you get over your mad fit; then you’ll be glad you didn’t say anything you might have to take back later on,” advised Phil.

“Take back? Take back?”

“Yes.”

For the moment the showman was too far overcome with emotion to speak. Then he uttered a roar and stamped out of the car.

“Say, when is he going to let me out of here?”

“Not till we get to the border,” answered the attendant.

“When will that be?”

“I don’t know for sure. I guess maybe a month.”

“You don’t mean he is going to keep me in that linen cupboard for a full month—you can’t mean that?”

“Can’t say about that. I guess that’s it. If you’re finished with your breakfast—”

“I have been finished for sometime.”

“Then you’ll have to git back to the coop again.”

Phil reluctantly rose, but his keeper kept tight hold of him, and the man on guard out in the corridor walked ahead of the boy on down to the linen closet, where Phil was once more thrust in and the door closed on him.

He had not been there long before he heard Sully enter the car with one of his men. All at once their voices seemed to come to him clearly and distinctly. The lad did not remember to have heard voices there so plainly before.

This time Phil began looking about to see if there were not really an opening in his chamber. He found it at the top over one of the shelves, a small grill, over which a curtain had been stretched. Phil lost no time in climbing up to it. He peered out and saw the men plainly. With Sully was his parade manager, and they were talking excitedly.

Phil opened his eyes wide when he began to realize the enormity of the plan that they were discussing.

CHAPTER XIII

Through Rings of Fire

“If there should happen to be a wind we might cut a rope or two and let the big top down on them,” suggested parade manager.

“Yes; it would put them out of business for the night performance, but we don’t want them to fill up for the afternoon show. That’s when they are going to get the money. You see, Sparling’s show is bigger and better known than ours, and showing there the same day we are liable to get the worst of it. Can’t you suggest anything else?”

“If you don’t like letting the big top down on their heads, and providing there is no wind to make the attempt worthwhile, I would suggest another way.”

“The scoundrels!” breathed the listener above their heads.

“What’s your suggestion?”

“Stampede the elephants.”

“That’s a dandy! And we know how to do it, eh, Lawrence?”

The parade manager nodded emphatically.

“They’ll never know what happened to them. We can do it before the show gets to the lot if you think best?”

Sully shook his head.

“No. We’ll wait till just as the doors are about to open for the afternoon show. Mind you, I’m not saying we shall do it. I’ll think about the matter. Perhaps I can think up a better plan after I have gone over the matter.”

“Where’s that boy you told me about?”

Sully motioned toward the end of the car where Phil was locked in the linen closet.

“What you going to do with him?”

“Drop him when I get ready.”

“But aren’t you afraid the other outfit will get wind of what you are doing? It’s pretty dangerous business to lock up a fellow like that.”

“I don’t care whether they get wise to it or not. They won’t know where he is. After we get to the border I don’t care a rap for them,” and the showman snapped his fingers disdainfully. “They can’t touch us on the other side of the Niagara River and they’d better not try it. Maybe Sparling won’t be in business by that time,” grinned the showman with a knowing wink.

Sully rose, and shortly afterwards left the car with his parade manager.

Phil sat down on the floor of his compartment with head in hands, trying to think what he had better do. These men were planning a deliberate campaign to wreck his employer’s show.

“Something must be done!” breathed the boy, clenching his fists until the nails bit into the flesh, “But what can I do, I can do nothing unless I can get away from here, and they will not let me out, at least not until we have gotten by Corinto.”

The more he thought and planned the greater his perplexity became. There seemed no way out of it. His only hope now seemed to lie in Mr. Sparling becoming alarmed at his absence, and instituting a search for him. His employer would quickly divine something of the truth after Phil had remained silent for two or three days. Perhaps, even now, the owner of the Great Sparling Combined Shows had sent someone on to learn what had become of his star bareback rider.

Phil’s train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the door of his compartment being violently jerked open.

The lad’s first impulse was to tell Sully, who now stood facing him, what he had overheard. Upon second thought, however, Phil decided that it would be much better to give the showman no intimation of what he had learned.

“Come out, young man.”

Phil complied, glad to be free of his narrow chamber, no matter what the reason for the summons might be.

“What do you wish of me now?”

“Come into my office and I’ll tell you. I understand you are a bareback rider,” continued Sully, after they had seated themselves in his little office, the door being locked behind them.

“So you say.”

“And a good one at that?”

Phil made no answer. He had not the least idea what was coming.

“My principal bareback rider stepped on a switch frog this morning and turned his ankle. He is out of the running for a week. I need a man more than I ever did. Do you want to join this show?”

Phil gazed at him in amazement.

“You haven’t money enough to induce me to.”

“Perhaps I have, but I won’t induce with it,” grinned the owner. “I’ve a plan to suggest.”

“What is it?”

“If you will ride for me until we get to Corinto I’ll give you seventy-five dollars.”

The Circus Boy was on the point of making an emphatic refusal, when he suddenly checked himself and remained silent, as if thinking the proposition over.

“Well, what do you say?”

“If I do as you wish, when will you let me go?”

“Perhaps after we leave Corinto.”

“I don’t believe you intend to do anything of the sort.”

“You think I’d lie to you?” blustered Sully.

“I’m not saying that. But I know you are not above doing worse things. I’ll tell you what I will do.”

“Yes.”

“I’ll ride for you today for twenty-five dollars.”

“Done!”

“Payable in advance, you know.”

“I guess you don’t trust me?”

“Not for a minute.”

“Well, I must say you are brutally frank.”

“That’s the way I do business,” answered the lad proudly.

“But see here, young man, you must agree that you will make no effort to get away,” demanded the showman a sudden thought occurring to him.

“I shall make no such agreement. If I get a chance to get away I’ll do it, you may depend upon that. I will agree, however, to make no outcry nor to appeal to anyone to help me. If I can’t manage it my own way, I’ll stay here till I can. Remember, I’m going to beat you if I can, and if I can’t, why Mr. Sparling will settle with you. He will do it properly, too.”

The showman leaned back and guffawed loudly.

“I never saw a kid like you yet. You beat anything that ever got into a freak tent. You are so infernally honest that you give me notice you’re going to try to escape from me. Thanks, my boy, for the timely warning. I’ll see to it that you don’t get away until I am ready to lose you. If you try it you must expect some rough treatment, and you’ll get it too.”

“Very well; I accept the terms. How about the payment in advance?”

Sully drew a roll of bills from his pocket counting out the sum agreed upon.

“If you should happen to get away I’d be out the money?”

“I’ll send it back to you in that event.”

“Ho, ho, ho! I believe you would, at that.”

“I certainly shall.”

“Say, kid, don’t it ever give you pain to be so awfully honest?”

“I’ll confess that it does when I am doing business with a man like you.”

“Oh! That one landed. That was a knockout,” chuckled the showman, rising. “I’ll be back after you with the rig pretty soon. We’ve got to fix up some togs for you to ride in, but I guess we can do that all right. I’ll have to put you back in your cage in the meantime.” It lacked an hour and a half of the time for the afternoon performance to begin when Sully called with his carriage for his new star. Phil was ready, as far as he was able to be, and really welcomed the opportunity to get out in the air again. But he was so stiff from the confinement in the narrow linen closet that he did not feel as if he should be able to ride at all.

The drive to the circus lot was without incident, and Phil embraced the opportunity to familiarize himself with the town and its surroundings as fully as was possible under the circumstances. He had tried to form some plan by which to make his escape, but had given it up and decided to trust to luck.

There was another reason for his having decided to ride in the Sully Hippodrome Show that day, and every day thereafter, providing he was not able to get away before leaving Corinto. He hoped that Mr. Sparling might have sent someone on to find out what had become of him. This was sure to be done sooner or later, especially when the showman found that his letters were not being answered, but were being returned to him, as had been arranged for before Phil left his own show.

Reaching the lot they drove around to the paddock where Phil and his new employer entered the dressing tent. Even there the lad was given no chance to break away. It seemed to him that every person connected with the show had been set to watch him. When he entered the dressing tent he was subjected to the curious gaze of the performers, most of whom understood that he was to ride that day in the place of the injured performer, but who knew nothing further about the matter.

Some difficulty was experienced in getting a pair of tights that would fit Phil, but after awhile this was arranged.

“You sit down here and wait now,” directed Mr. Sully.

“No; I’ve got something else to do. Bring the horse out in the paddock and let me see what I have to ride,” answered Phil.

While they were getting out the ring horse, the lad indulged in a series of bends and limbering exercises out in the paddock, working until the perspiration stood out in great beads.

This done Phil sprang up to the back of the ring horse, and while an attendant held the animal in a circle with a long leading strap, Phil rode the horse about the paddock a few times until he had become familiar with the motion and peculiarities of the animal.

“How is he in the ring, fast or slow?”

“Just steady. Been at it a long time,” the attendant informed him. “He’s steady. You can depend on him.”

“Yes; he acts so. I’ll look at the ring when I go in.”

The owner of the show had been a keen observer of these preparations. He noted, too, Phil appeared entirely to have forgotten about his desire to escape.

“That kid acts to me as if he knew his business,” he reflected. “If he rides the way I think he can, I’m going to get him away from Sparling if I have to double the wages he’s drawing now. And money talks!”

The band began to play in the big top. Phil glanced at the showman.

“When do I go on?”

“Second number.”

The lad nodded, and sat awaiting his turn to enter the arena. He did not have to ask when the moment had arrived. The attendant started to lead the ring horse in and Phil quickly fell in behind, following them in.

Right behind the Circus Boy came Sully, the owner of the show, never taking his eyes off his captive for a moment. This amused the lad. He grinned broadly. It was a novel experience for him.

Soon the strains of music told him this was where he was to begin his act. The boy swung gracefully to the back of his mount. Instantly he had leaped to his feet Sully clapped his hands together approvingly.

“That’s the way to do it. You’ve got the other fellow skinned forty ways!” he cried.

“In some ways,” replied Phil significantly. “Otherwise not.”

The ring was in excellent shape, much to the boy’s surprise, and the horse was the best he ever had ridden. In a few moments Phil began to feel very much at home and to enjoy himself thoroughly.

The ring attendants brought out strips of bright yellow cloth, which two clowns held across the ring for the Circus Boy to leap over as his horse passed under. This did not bother him in the least, though he had never tried the act before. It was a relic of the old circus days that few shows had retained.

But Phil was on the point of balking when a clown came out with a handful of hoops covered with paper.

“You want me to jump through those things?” he questioned, during a brief intermission.

“Sure.”

“Does the other man do that?”

“He does.”

“Then I can do it, I guess.”

“I reckon you can do anything on a horse that you happen to feel like,” said the showman.

The band started up again and Phil sprang to his feet. A paper hoop was raised on the opposite side of the ring, the lad eyeing it hesitatingly.

“I’ll go through it if I break my neck trying,” he muttered, shutting his lips tightly together.

Smash!

The Circus Boy hurled himself through the tender paper, but the breaking paper stung his face like the crack of a whip lash, and Phil, instead of landing on his feet as he should have done, struck the back of his ring horse on all fours.

Sully growled angrily.

“You make a blunder like that again, and you’ll be sorry for it,” he bullied, shaking an angry fist at Phil, who turned a pair of surprised eyes on the showman.

“See here,” retorted the lad with rising color, “I’m not in the habit of being talked to like that. If you don’t like my riding I’ll end the act right here. I’m not obliged to ride for you, you know.”

“Go on, go on!” snapped the owner.

The next hoop Phil took as easily as if he had been doing that very same thing all through the season.

“Fine!” chuckled Sully. “He’s a star performer, even if he does give me as good as I send.”

Phil was hurling himself through a succession of hoops now. Then all at once, to his surprise and disapproval, five hoops of fire flared up before him and on all sides of him.

“Go through them!” shouted the showman.

“I won’t!”

“You can’t stop now. Are you going to let a little thing like that give you an attack of cold feet?” demanded Sully.

Thus appealed to, Phil Forrest thought better of it.

“Yip!—yip!” he cried sharply to the ring horse, riding straight at the first ring which he took without difficulty, though the hot flame on his cheeks made him shrink himself into a smaller compass than had been the case with the paper rings.

The audience was applauding him wildly, for somehow this slender, youthful figure appealed to them more strongly than had any other performer in the show thus far. One after another Phil took the flaming rings until he came to the last one which he approached with more confidence than he had any of the others.

He hurled himself at it with less caution than before. As he entered the hoop of fire his elbows caught it, and instantly the lad felt the fire burning through his silk ring shirt.

Without an instant’s hesitation the boy leaped up into the air, clearing his horse by a full two feet.

The force of his throw sent the ring of fire soaring through the air, as he had, with quick intuition, imagined that it would.

Phil threw a splendid backward somersault almost slipping off the hips of the ring horse.

“Great!” exploded the owner.

The audience applauded wildly.

But the next instant Sully was not shouting approving words. The burning ring had slipped neatly over his own head and before he could throw it off, his clothes, as well, were on fire. Throwing himself down in the sawdust the showman rolled and rolled, uttering loud imprecations and threats, while audience and performers fairly screamed with delight.

He was up in a flash, expecting to find Phil making a dash for freedom.

“Stop him!” he bellowed.

Phil Forrest sat on the rump of the ring horse, grinning broadly at the predicament of the owner of the Sully Hippodrome Circus.

CHAPTER XIV

A Dash For Freedom

“Well, you are a star rider, anyway,” announced Sully, with emphasis when he was once more leading Phil to the carriage to take him back to the linen closet on board the private car.

But Sully was less violent, and there was a twinkle in his eyes that Phil did not fail to catch.

“He’s planning something,” thought the boy, after being once more locked in his compartment. “I shouldn’t be surprised if I had ridden a little too well today. But it’s going to be the means of getting me my freedom. Someone surely will see me and recognize me.”

That night Phil rode again, winning even greater applause than he had done at the afternoon performance. But a closer watch was kept over him, as Sully had imagined that the opportunities were greater for escape than in broad daylight. Phil had reasoned it out the same way, but he was in no hurry. He had done up his money in a little bag which he hung about his neck each time before going into the ring, so that it might not be stolen while he was performing, for, it will be remembered that the lad had no trunk in which to keep his valuables.

No chance to escape presented itself during the evening, however, and the lad was forced to return to his imprisonment again after the night performance.

“If you expect me to be in working order you should give me a decent place to sleep,” he told Sully, while they were sitting at lunch in the private car that night.

Sully grinned and winked an eye.

“See anything green in my eye?”

“No. It’s all red. I guess you see red most of the time.”

“If you’ll give me a promise, I’ll let you sleep in a berth in this car tonight.”

“What promise?” asked Phil, though he knew pretty well what the showman would demand.

“That you won’t try to escape.”

“I’ll make no such promise.”

“Then it’s the linen closet for your.”

“All right; I will sleep in the linen closet. I suppose you will want me to ride again tomorrow?”

“Sure thing!”

“Then don’t forget the twenty-five dollars in advance.”

“Say, that’s more money than I’ll pay for that act, good as it is,” protested the showman.

“Very well; then I will stay in the closet and you can cut your bareback out. You do not have to pay it unless you want to.”

Sully growled and handed out the money.

Phil put it in his pocket with a smile and half audible chuckle that did not tend to make Sully feel any the less irritable.

“Perhaps it is a good thing that I am a prisoner if I have got to stay with this outfit.”

“Why?” snapped the showman.

“Because some of your light-fingered gentlemen would be dipping into my pocket, when I wasn’t looking, and take the money away from me. That’s the way you would get it back.”

“That will be about all for you, boy,” growled the showman. “That is, unless you are willing to tell me what you are here for?”

The Circus Boy laughed lightly.

“I have nothing new to say to that question.”

“You’ve done your part well. You must have got busy pretty quick to have tipped off Sparling before we caught you.”

“Tipped him off to what?” inquired Phil.

“Well, never mind what. You know and so do I.”

After that the lad was sent to his closet to spend the night. The next day was a repetition of the previous one, except that Phil rode better than ever, if that were possible. But as he was riding under the name of the performer who had been injured, he could not make himself known.

Saturday came along, with the lad apparently as far from making his escape as ever. But what he had hoped would come to pass had done so in a measure. That is, the owner of the show had become a little careless in watching the boy.

Instead of accompanying Phil into the ring, Sully satisfied himself with standing by the entrance to the paddock, next to the bandstand.

This left Phil free to do pretty much as he chose, but he was almost as closely confined as if he were in the owner’s private car, so far as getting away was concerned. But the boy’s mind was working actively.

As he sat on the back of the broad-backed ring horse that afternoon, his eyes were looking over the tent questioningly.

“I believe I can do it,” mused Phil. “If conditions are the same tonight that they are this afternoon I am going to try it.”

Just then the band struck up and the lad rose gracefully to his feet ready to go through his act for the edification of the great audience.

Phil was making more money than ever before in his circus career, and he now had only one act instead of several. But he cared little for this. It was merely a means to an end.

At night he accompanied Sully to the lot as usual. Phil might have appealed to a policeman, or to one of the many people about him. It will be remembered, however, that he had given his word that he would do nothing of the sort, and Phil Forrest was not the boy to break his word after once having given it. He proposed to get away by his own efforts or else wait until rescued by the Sparling show.

As had been the case with the afternoon show Sully remained over by the bandstand while Phil went through his act.

“I’ll finish my performance,” decided the lad. “I want to give him his money’s worth whether he deserves such treatment or not, and then I’ll make my try. I can do it, I believe.”

Nothing of what was passing in the mind of the Circus Boy, of course, was suspected by the owner of the show. Phil had just rounded off his act by a backward somersault and the attendant had slipped the bridle over the head of the ring horse preparatory to leading the animal back to the paddock and horse tent.

“You run along. I will ride him back,” directed Phil innocently.

“Why?”

“Because I prefer to.”

“Very well,” answered the groom, turning away and walking slowly toward the paddock, while Phil, who had in the meantime slipped off to the ring, was quickly drawing on his slippers.

By this time Mr. Sully was looking at him, wondering why Phil did not get out of the ring, for another act was coming on, the performers for which already were moving down the concourse.

All at once the Circus Boy threw himself to the back of his mount, landing astride.

Phil brought his riding whip down on the back of the surprised animal with a force that sent the horse forward with a snort. They bounded out of the ring. Instead, however, of turning toward the paddock exit, Phil headed straight for the other end of the tent. There an exit led into the menagerie tent, or where that tent had been, for by this time it had been taken down and carted away to the train. A canvas flap hung loosely over the entrance, but it was not fastened down, as Phil well knew, being left free so people could pass in and out at will.

“Stop him!”

It was the voice of Sully and might have been heard in every part of the big top, though the people did not know what the command meant.

For the moment the circus attendants did not understand either. They had not noticed Phil riding away in the wrong direction.

“Stop him, I say!”

An attendant discovered what was going on and started on a run for Phil, who brought his whip down on the flanks of the ring horse again and again, driving the animal straight at the attendant. The result was that the fellow was bowled over in a twinkling. The horse cleared the man at a bound.

At this the audience roared. They saw that something unusual was taking place, though they did not understand what it all meant.

Half a dozen men ran toward Phil, while Sully himself was charging down the concourse as fast as he could go, roaring out his commands at the top of his powerful voice.

“Get a horse and follow him!” he shouted. “Run back and send one of the men out around the tent to head him off! He’s running away with my best ring horse!”

Phil swept through the exit, bowling over two men who were standing there on guard, and nearly running down a group of boys who were standing just outside trying to get a glimpse into the tent.

As he gained the outer air he heard the hoof beats of a running horse bearing down on him from the left side of the big top.

The Circus Boy knew what that meant. They were after him already.

CHAPTER XV

Outwitting the Pursuers

“Oh, if only I had a faster horse!” Forrest breathed. “I am afraid this old ring horse never will be able to get away from them.”

Phil was urging the animal with voice and whip, but it was difficult to get the animal into a faster pace than his regular ring gait—the gait that he had been following for many years. This was scarcely faster than a man could trot.

Phil espied a pole wagon partially loaded, just ahead of him. At sight of it a sudden idea occurred to him. He acted at once.

Riding close to the wagon the lad slipped off and, giving the horse a sharp blow with the whip over one hip, Phil ducked under the wagon.

The ring horse galloped on a few rods and then stopped.

“I guess it’s time I was getting away from here,” decided the lad. “I’ll be caught sure, if I do not hurry.”

The lot was in an uproar. Men were running this way and that, and above the din could be heard the voice of the owner, roaring out orders.

Phil, being still in his pink tights, was a conspicuous figure. He knew that if a ray from a torch should chance to rest on him for a moment, they would discover him at once.

Running in a crouching position the boy made for the further side of the lot, where he hoped to get far enough away so that he could straighten up and make better time.

He did finally reach a safe place, and climbing a board fence, dropped on the other side and lay down to await developments. These were not long coming. All at once he discovered half a dozen men running directly toward him. Whether they had caught sight of him or not, he did not know. He did know that it was time to leave.

Phil left. Springing up, he fairly flew over the ground.

The men caught sight of him, as he realized when one of them uttered a yell. But Phil was a faster runner than any of them and in a few minutes, darting this way and that, and finally doubling on his tracks in a wide circle, he succeeded in outwitting them.

“The question is, what am I going to do now?” he asked himself, pausing abruptly. “In this rig I don’t dare go into the town, or they will nab me on some trumped up charge and then I shall be worse off. Now I am free, even if I haven’t got much on me in the way of clothing. I might as well not have anything so far as keeping warm is concerned.” Phil shivered, for the night was cool and a heavy dew falling.

“I know what I’ll do. I’ll slip back to the lot and perhaps I shall be able to find something to put on. There’s usually plenty of coats lying about on the wagons.”

Now that the uproar had ceased Phil crept back toward the circus lot, lying down in the grass whenever he heard a sound near him and peering into the darkness.

At the risk of being discovered he crawled up to a wagon, climbed aboard and searched it diligently for clothes. He found none. Keenly disappointed, Phil made his way to the pole wagon under which he had taken refuge in his first effort at getting away. This, he found, was loaded ready to be taken to the train. At any moment, now, a team might be hitched to it.

“I guess I’ll have to hurry!” muttered the lad. Phil’s knowledge of circus affairs stood him in good stead now.

To the boy’s delight, he found a bundle in which were a coat and a pair of overalls, rolled up and stowed under the driver’s seat.

“Fine!” chuckled Phil. “It’s a good deal like stealing, but I have to have them and I’ll send the fellow a new pair if ever I get back to my own show. He’ll be mad in the morning when he goes to get his clothes. I wish I had a hat and pair of shoes. But I guess I ought to be thankful for what I already have.”

Saying this, Phil dropped from the wagon and quickly got into the clothes. They were old and dirty, but he did not mind that. They were clothes and they would cover his conspicuous ring costume, which was the most important thing for him to consider at the present moment.

“Now, I’ll buy a ticket and get started for Corinto,” he decided.

Phil reached under the neck of his shirt for his little bag of money.

“Oh, pshaw! I’ve lost it. Let me see, did I put my money in there before I entered the ring?”

For the life of him he was unable to say whether he had done so, or whether his money was still in his clothes back in the dressing tent.

“Well, I shall never see that money again, I am thinking. If I left it in my clothes it is gone by this time, and if I didn’t it is gone anyway,” was his logical conclusion.

The first thing to be done now was to get off the lot, which Phil did as quickly as possible. Clad in the soiled, well-worn garments with his coat buttoned tightly about his neck, the lad attracted no special attention. Getting well away from the circus grounds, he halted to consider what his next move should he.

“I guess I’ll go over to the station and get some information,” he decided. This he did, but the lights looked so bright in the station that he did not consider it prudent to enter. So Phil waited about until he saw one of the railroad switchmen coming in from the yards.

“How far is it to Corinto, please?” he asked.

“Fifty miles.”

“Whew! So far as that?”

“Yes. Belong to the show?”

“Well, not exactly. I’m with them, but I can’t say that I belong to the outfit, and I’m glad I don’t.”

“Should think you would be glad,” growled the switchman, who evidently held the Sully combination in no high regard.

“Which way do the trains go for Corinto?”

“That way. That track runs right through without a break. It’s a single track road all the way.”

“Thank you.”

“Going to hit the ties?”

“I’m likely to before I get there,” laughed Phil, again thanking his informant and starting away, for he saw some people approaching whom he thought belonged to the show.

Leaning up against a freight car the lad considered what he had better do. At first he was inclined to try to steal a ride on the circus train, but after thinking the matter over he concluded that this would be dangerous.

“If they catch me again they surely will handle me pretty roughly, and they may throw me off the train. A few knocks more or less might not make much difference, but I am not anxious to be thrown from a rapidly moving circus train. I guess I’ll walk. Let me see, tomorrow will be Sunday, and it is fifty miles to Corinto. I should be able to make the town by tomorrow night sometime. Yes, I’ll try it.”

Having formed this resolve, Phil started manfully off for his long walk to Corinto. He did not stop to consider that he would be hungry before he got there.

He left the yards, for these were now full of employees busily engaged in loading the cars. Off near the outskirts of the town he turned back to the tracks.

For two hours he plodded along cheerfully, but by this time the rough traveling over the ties so hurt his feet, clad as they were in light slippers, that he could scarcely walk. Phil took off the slippers and trotted about in the damp grass at the side of the railroad track, until getting some relief, then started on again.

An hour later the first of the circus trains thundered by him. He could see the dim lights in the sleepers, and now and then he made out the figure of a man stretched out under a cage on a flat car.

“Anyway, I would rather be walking than locked up in that narrow linen closet,” decided the Circus Boy philosophically, once more taking up his weary journey.

At sunrise Phil found that he was too tired to go much further without taking a rest, so, as soon as he found a wooded place, he climbed a fence and lay down in the shade of the trees, where he quickly went to sleep.

The afternoon was well along when finally he awakened, sore and stiff in every joint.

“If I should try to ride a bareback horse now I should fall off for sure,” he moaned, rubbing his lame spots vigorously. “My, but I am hungry! I wonder how far I am from Corinto?”

A mile post a little further along told him that he had covered just twenty miles of his journey. He still had thirty miles to go—a long distance for one in his condition.

All during the rest of the day Phil was obliged to take frequent rests. Whenever he came to a stream he would halt and thrusting his feet into the cooling water, keep them there for some time. This helped him considerably, for his feet were swollen and feverish. The sun beating down on his head made him dizzy and faint, which was made the more disturbing because of his empty stomach.

He managed, just before sunset, to get a sandwich at a farmhouse, though he was looked upon with suspicion by the housewife who gave him the food. Phil offered to do something to pay for the slender meal, but the woman refused and bade him be on his way.

“I don’t blame her. I must be a tough looking customer,” grinned the boy, again climbing the fence and starting along the track. He fought shy of villages during daylight, fearing that he might be arrested for vagrancy and locked up. That would defeat his plans.

“I simply must get to Corinto and warn Mr. Sparling,” he gritted. “He doesn’t know the plans these people have to harm him. If it were not for that I wouldn’t try to go any further today. I could get somebody to help me out for a day or so, until I could write to Mr. Sparling.”

Now and then he met a tramp or two, but none that he thought looked any more disreputable than he himself did. He passed the time of day pleasantly, with such, and continued on his way.

Late in the evening he once more lay down for a rest. But Phil did not permit himself to sleep long. He feared he should not be able to wake up until morning if he did, and then he never would reach the show town in time to warn Mr. Sparling of the impending danger.

At daylight he was still ten miles from his destination.

“I must make it. I shall make it!” he breathed, starting on a run, having found a path at the side of the track.

However, he could not keep this up for long, and was soon obliged to settle back into his former slow pace.

At last Phil came in sight of the church spires of a town.

“I believe that is Corinto,” he said, shading his eyes and peering off at the distant town. “At any rate I can’t be far from it now.”

The knowledge was almost as good as a meal. Its effect on Phil Forrest was magical. He forgot all about his tender feet and empty stomach as he swung into a good strong pace.

All at once he halted and listened. The blare of the big horns of a circus band reached his ears.

“The parade has started. I must hurry now. The Sully wretches may do something to the parade,” Phil cried, starting away on a run. Nor did he slacken his pace until he had gotten well into the town. Now he could hear two bands playing, and knew that the rival parades were under way.

“Where is the circus lot—where is the parade,” he asked a man as he dashed by.

The man pointed off to the right and Phil took the next corner with a rush. As he swung into that street he saw the banners of the Sparling show fluttering in the breeze as the parade moved majestically toward him. Taking to the street, for the sidewalks were crowded, Phil ran with all speed. Mr. Sparling, in his carriage at the head, saw him coming. At first he did not recognize the lad; then all at once he discovered who the boy was.

Phil dashed up to the carriage. Mr. Sparling reached out a hand and pulled him in.

“Phil!” he cried.

“Quick, get the tents guarded! Sully’s gang are going to cut the guy ropes. Look out for the parade too. I suspect they will try to break it up!”

CHAPTER XVI

The Battle of the Elephants

“What!”

“Yes, hurry!” and Phil sank back, weak from lack of food and the severe strain he had put upon himself.

Mr. Sparling grasped the meaning of the lad’s words in a flash. Snatching a whistle from his pocket he blew two short, shrill blasts. A mounted man came riding up at a gallop.

“Go to the lot! Have the tents surrounded. Let no one through who doesn’t belong to the show. I trust you to look out for our property. An attempt may be made to do us damage while we are out on parade. Now, ride!”

The man did ride. He whirled his horse and set it at a run down the line, headed toward the circus lot.

“I’ve got to get back there myself, Phil. Can you stand it to stay in the carriage until it reaches the lot?”

“Yes, but I don’t look fit. I—”

“Sit up and look wise. The people will think you are a clown and they’ll split their sides laughing. I’ll talk with you later. You must have had a rough time of it.”

“I have had.”

Mr. Sparling jumped out of the carriage, and, ordering a rider to dismount, took the latter’s horse, on which he, too, rode back to the lot with all speed.

Phil pulled himself together. Half a block further on the people, espying him, did laugh as Mr. Sparling had said they would.

Phil grinned out of sheer sympathy.

“I must look funny riding in this fine carriage with four white horses drawing me through the streets. I don’t blame them for laughing. If I had something to eat, now, I would be all right. I am getting to have as much of an appetite as Teddy Tucker has. I—”

Phil paused, listening intently.

“I hear another band and it is coming nearer,” he exclaimed. “That must be the Sully show. I forgot in my excitement, to ask Mr. Sparling about them. I wonder where they are?”

The music of the rival band grew louder and louder, but strain his eyes and ears as he would, Phil was unable to locate the other show’s line of parade.

“Where’s that band?” he called up to the driver of his carriage.

“Off that side of the town, I guess,” he answered, waving his whip to the right of them.

“Well, I think they are pretty close to us and I don’t like the looks, or rather the sound of things.”

At that moment Phil’s carriage was drawn across an intersecting street. He looked up the street quickly.

“There they are!” he cried.

Less than a quarter of a block up the street he saw the other parade sweeping down upon them, bands playing, flags flying and banners waving. Phil’s quick, practiced eyes saw something else too. The elephants were leading the rival parade, with horsemen immediately at their rear, the band still further back.

This being so unusual in a parade, the Circus Boy knew that there must be some reason for the peculiar formation. The elephants should have been further back in the line, the same as were those of the Sparling show.

Phil divined the truth instantly.

“They’re going to break up our parade!” he cried. “That’s what they are hoping to do. Drive on! I’m going to get out and run back to tell the parade manager. They’ll do us a lot of damage.”

Phil leaped from the carriage and ran down the street, his coat wide open showing his pink riding shirt beneath it.

“Where’s the parade manager?” he cried.

“Gone to the lot. Boss sent him back.”

Phil groaned. Something must be done and done quickly. The rival parade must be nearing their street by this time.

A thought occurred to him. Phil dashed for the elephant herd.

“Mr. Kennedy!”

“Yes?”

“Sully’s show is going to run into us at that corner there.”

“They don’t dare!”

“They do and they will. Swing your elephants out of line and throw them across that intersecting street. I’ll bet they won’t get by our bulls in a hurry.”

“Great! Great, kid! I’d never thought of that.”

“You’ll have to hurry. The other fellows are almost here and their elephants are leading the parade. Sully’s just looking for trouble!”

The voice of the elephant trainer uttered a series of shrill commands that sounded like so many explosions. The elephants understood. They swung quickly out of line and went lumbering down the street.

“Hey, there, that you, Phil?”

It was Teddy on old Emperor’s back in the same frog costume that he had worn for that purpose the first season with the show.

“Yes, what’s left of me,” answered Phil, running fast to keep up with the swiftly moving elephants.

Just before reaching the intersecting street he managed to get ahead of Kennedy and his charges.

“Hurry, hurry! They’re right here,” howled the Circus Boy.

The trainer, with prod and voice, urged the elephants into even quicker action than before. Two minutes later they swung across the street down which the rival parade was coming, and, at the command of their keeper, the huge animals turned, facing the other body of paraders.

“We’re just in time! There they are!” cried Phil excitedly.

“I should say so. They were going to do what you said they would, the scoundrels!”

“Can you hold them till our people get by, do you think?”

“Can I hold them? I can hold them till all the mill ponds in Canada freeze up!” exploded the elephant trainer.

Phil walked forward to meet the Sully parade. The owner of that show was well up toward the front of the line on horseback.

“You’ll have to wait till our line gets by, sir,” announced Phil, with a suggestive grin. “We’ve got your little game blocked, you see.”

“You!”

Sully fairly hurled the word at the disreputable looking Circus Boy.

“Yes; you see I got away. Are you going to stop?”

“No, not for any outfit that James Sparling runs. Where is he? Afraid to come out and show himself, eh? Sends a runaway kid out to speak for him. Get out of the way, or I’ll run you down!”

Phil’s eyes snapped.

“You had better not try it, if you know what’s good for you!”

“Move on! Break through their line!” commanded Sully.

Phil turned and waved his hand.

“They are going to try to break through, Mr. Kennedy,” he called.

Kennedy uttered several quick commands. The Sully elephants swung down toward him, their trunks raised high in the air. The leader, a big tusker, uttered a shrill cry.

It was the elephants’ battle cry, but Phil did not know it. Kennedy did.

For the first time, thus far, the Sparling herd of elephants began to show signs of excitement. Their trainer quieted them somewhat with soothing words here, a sharp command there, and occasionally a prod of the hook.

All at once the leading tusker of the Sully herd lunged straight at old Emperor. In another instant nearly every elephant in each herd had chosen an opponent and the battle was on in earnest.

Trumpetings, loud shrieks of rage and mighty coughs made the more timid of the people flee to places of greater safety.

As the crash of the meeting elephants came, Phil ran back to the street where his own parade was standing.

“Move on!” he shouted. “Follow your route without the elephants. And you, bandmaster, keep your men playing. When you have gone by, we will give the other show a chance to go on if there’s enough left of them to do so.”

Realizing that Phil had given them sensible advice, the Sparling show moved on with band playing and colors waving, but above the uproar could be heard the thunder of the fighting elephants.

Two of the rival show’s elephants had been tumbled into a ditch by the roadside. Then Kennedy had a lively few minutes to keep his own animals from following and putting an end to the enemies they had tumbled over.

The tusks of the two big elephants, when they met, sounded like the report of a pistol. Such sledge hammer blows as these two monsters dealt each other made the spectators of the remarkable battle gasp.

All at once they saw something else that made them stare the harder.

On the back of Emperor, lying prone was stretched a strange figure. From it they saw the head of a boy emerge. Slowly the frog costume that he had worn, slipped from him and dropped to the ground.

“Teddy!” shouted Phil. “He’ll be killed!”

“W-o-w!” howled Teddy Tucker, who had been so frightened in the beginning that he could not get down, and now he could not if he would.

“Let go and jump off! I’ll catch you!” shouted Phil.

“I—I can’t.”

“Mr. Kennedy, can’t you get him off?”

But the trainer had his hands more than full keeping his charges in line, for at all hazards they must not be allowed to get away from him, as in their present excited state there was no telling what harm they might do.

The Sparling people suddenly uttered a great shout. Emperor was slowly forcing his antagonist backward, the Sully elephant gradually giving ground before the mighty onslaught of old Emperor. Seeing their leader weakening, the other elephants also began retreating until the line was slowly forced back against Sully’s line of march. The owner was riding up and down in a frightful rage, alternately urging his trainer to rally his elephants, and hurling threats at Phil Forrest and the organization he represented.

“Had we better not call our bulls off, Mr. Kennedy?” shouted Phil. “Our parade has gone by this time.”

“Yes, if I can. I don’t know whether I can stop them now or not.”

“You get the others away. I’ll try to take care of Emperor and Jupiter. Emperor will give in shortly, after he knows the other elephant is whipped.”

“He won’t give in till he kills him,” answered Kennedy. “Better look out. He’s blind, crazy mad.”

“I’m not afraid of him. Hang on now, Teddy. We will have you out of your difficulty in a few minutes.”

Teddy had been hanging on desperately, his eyes large and staring. Every time the long trunk of Sully’s big tusker was raised in the air, Teddy thought it was being aimed at his head and shrank closer to Emperor’s back. But the tusker probably never saw Teddy at all. He was too busy protecting himself from old Emperor’s vicious thrusts.

At last the tusker began to retreat in earnest. First he would turn, running back a few rods; then he would whirl to give a moment’s battle to Emperor.

Emperor was following him doggedly.

Phil decided that it was time to act. He rushed up to Emperor’s head during one of these lulls and called commandingly.

Emperor, with a sweep of his trunk, hurled Phil Forrest to the side of the street. But Phil, though shaken up a bit, was not harmed in the least.

He was up and at his huge friend almost at once.

“Emperor! Emperor!” he shouted, getting nearer and nearer to the head of the enraged beast.

Finally Phil stepped up boldly and threw both arms about Emperor’s trunk.

“Steady, steady, Emperor!” he commanded.

This time the elephant did not hurl Phil away. Instead, he stopped hesitatingly, evidently not certain whether he should plunge on after his enemy or obey the command of his little friend.

Phil tucked the trunk under his arm confidently.

“That’s a good fellow! Come along now, and we’ll have a whole bag of peanuts when we get back to the lot.”

The elephant coughed understandingly, it seemed. At least he turned about, though with evident reluctance, and meekly followed the Circus Boy, his trunk still tucked under the latter’s arm.

The Sully elephants had been whipped and driven off, though none had been very seriously injured. Some fences had been knocked over and a number of people nearly frightened to death—but that was all. Phil had saved the day for his employer’s show and had come out victorious.

The Circus Boy was in high glee as he led Emperor back toward the lot, where the parade was drawing in by the time he reached there.

Teddy, on the big elephant’s head, was waving his arms excitedly.

“We licked ’em! We licked ’em!” he howled, as he caught sight of Mr. Sparling hurrying toward them.

CHAPTER XVII

Monkeys in the Air

As the result of that victory, the Sparling shows did a great business in Corinto. The owner, considering that his rival had been severely enough punished, made no further effort to have him brought to justice, though Phil could hardly restrain him from making Sully suffer for the indignities he had heaped on young Forrest.

Phil found his money that day when he removed his ring shirt. The string that had fastened his money bag about his neck had parted, letting the bag drop. This money he handed to Mr. Sparling as rightfully belonging to him.

Of course the showman refused it, and wanted to make Phil a present besides, for the great service he had rendered. As it chanced, one of Mr. Sparling’s own staff was attending the Sully show when Phil made his escape, and much of the latter’s discomfort might have been prevented had he only been aware of that fact.

Teddy assumed the full credit for the victory of old Emperor, and no one took the trouble to argue the question with him.

Soon after these exciting incidents the Sparling shows left Canada behind and crossed the Niagara River. It was with a long drawn sigh of relief that they set eyes on the Stars and Stripes again.

After showing at the Falls, the outfit headed southwest. The season was getting late, the cotton crop in the south was going to market, and it was time for all well managed shows whose route lay that way to get into Dixie Land. The Circus Boys, too, were anxious to tour the sunny south again. This time they were going to follow a route they had never been over before, something that was still a matter of great interest to the boys.

Mr. Sparling upon learning that there was a traitor in his camp who was supplying secret information to the Sully show as to the route of the Sparling circus, had at once set a watch for the offender. It was not long before the traitor was caught red-handed. He was, of course, dismissed immediately, despised by all who knew what he had been doing.

No more had been seen of the Sully Hippodrome Circus after the meeting of the two organizations in Corinto, though that crowd had been heard of occasionally as hovering on the flanks of the Sparling shows.

“I don’t care where they go,” said Mr. Sparling, “so long as they don’t get in the same county with me. I am liable to lose my temper if they get that near to me again, and then something will happen for sure.”

The Sparling show got into the real southland when it made Memphis, Tennessee, on October first, a beautiful balmy southern fall day. All season Phil had been keeping up his practice on the trapeze bar, until he had become a really fine performer. He had never performed in public, however, and hardly thought he would have a chance to do so that season. He hoped not, if it were to be at some other performer’s expense, as had usually been the case.

“When somebody gets hurt it’s Phillip who takes his place,” said the lad to himself.

“Which means that you are always on the job,” replied Mr. Sparling who had chanced to overhear the remark. No serious accidents had occurred in sometime, however, and it was hoped by everyone that none would. Accidents, while they are accepted by show people in the most matter-of-fact way, always cast a gloom over the show. Even the loss of a horse will make the sympathetic showman sad.

After a splendid business in Memphis the show ran into Mississippi where it played a one day stand at Clarksdale, and where the showmen experienced the liveliest time they had had since they met the Sully organization in Canada.

The afternoon performance had just come to an end, and the people were getting ready to leave their seats under the big top, when a great commotion was heard under the menagerie top.

Most of the performers were in the dressing tent, changing their dress for supper, but a roar from the audience, followed by shouts of laughter, attracted their attention sharply, and as soon as they could clothe themselves sufficiently, the performers rushed out into the ring again.

Suddenly the people, upon looking toward the menagerie tent, saw a troop of diminutive animals sweeping into the big top. At first the people did not recognize them.

“They’re monkeys!” shouted someone. “They’re going to give us a monkey show.”

“No. The beasts have gotten out of their cage,” answered another.

He was right. A careless attendant had hooked the padlock of the monkey cage in the staple, but had not locked it. An observant simian had noticed this, but did not make use of his knowledge until the keeper had gone away.

Peering out to make sure that no one was looking, the monkey reached out its hand and deftly slipped the padlock from its place.

The rest was easy. A bound against the cage door left the way open, and the hundred monkeys in the cage, big and little were not slow to take advantage of the opportunity thus offered.

Chattering wildly, they poured from the wagon like a small cataract. A moment later the attendants discovered them and gave chase. At about the same time the monkeys discovered that something was going on under the big top. Being curious little beasts, they concluded to investigate. Then, too, the attendants were pressing pretty close to them, so the whole herd bolted into the circus tent with a shouting crowd of circus men in pursuit.

The yells of the audience, added to those of the attendants, sent the nimble little fellows scurrying up ropes, center and quarter poles, all the time keeping up their merry chatter, for freedom was a thing they had not enjoyed since they had been captured in their jungle homes.

Some of the ring men tried to shake the monkeys down from the poles, just as they would shake an apple tree to get the fruit. But the little fellows were not thus easily dislodged. The attempt served only to send them higher up. They seemed to be everywhere over the heads of the people.

Finally, having thoroughly investigated the top of the tent, several of the larger simians decided to take a closer look at the audience. At the moment the audience did not know of this plan, or they might have taken measures to protect themselves.

The first intimation they had of the plans of the mischievous monkeys, was when a woman uttered a piercing shriek, startling everyone in the tent.

“What is it?” shouted someone.

“Oh, my hat! My hat!” she cried after discovering what had happened to her.

The eyes of the audience wandered from her up to where a monkey was dangling by its tail far above their heads. The animal had in its hands a flower-covered hat, so large that when the monkey tried to put it on, it almost entirely concealed his body. So suddenly had the hat been torn from the head of the owner that hatpins were broken short off while the little thief “shinned” a rope with his prize.

Failing to make the hat fit, Mr. Monkey began pulling the flowers out; then picking them to pieces, he showered the particles down over the heads of the audience.

This was great sport for the monkey, but no fun at all for the owner of the hat. The woman hurried from her seat, red-faced and humiliated. Phil Forrest had chanced to be a witness to the act. He stepped forward as she descended to the concourse and touched his hat.

“Was the hat a valuable one, madam?” he asked.

“Very.”

“I am sorry. If you will come with me to the office of the manager I am quite sure he will make good your loss.”

“Do you belong to the circus, sir?”

“I do.”

The woman gladly accompanied him to Mr. Sparling, and there was made happy by having the price of her ruined hat handed over to her without a word of objection.

In the meantime trouble had been multiplying at a very rapid rate under the big top. Everyone was shouting, attendants were yelling orders to each other, and now Mr. Sparling, hurrying in, added his voice to the din.

Hats in all parts of the tent seemed to fly toward the roof almost magically, to come tumbling down a few minutes later hopeless wrecks.

Once the monkeys got a tall silk hat. This they used for an aerial football, tossing it to each other as they leaped from rope to rope at their dizzy height.

One monkey was discovered peering down at a certain point in the audience with an almost fascinated gaze. Something down there attracted him. Cautiously the little fellow let himself down a rope to the side wall, then, unnoticed by the people, crept down through the aisle. Slowly one black little hand reached up and jerked from the head of an old gentleman a pair of gold spectacles.

The man uttered a yell as he felt the spectacles being torn from him, and made a frantic effort to save them. But the glasses, in the hands of the monkey, were already halfway up the aisle and a moment more the monkey was twisting the bows into hard knots and hurling pieces of glass at the spectators.

“Catch them! Catch them!” shouted Mr. Sparling.

“How, how?” answered a showman.

“Somebody—”

“I’ll go up and get them,” spoke up Teddy Tucker. Teddy simply could not keep out of trouble. He was sure to be in the thick of it whenever a disturbance was abroad.

“That’s a good plan. How are you going to do it?”

“I’ll show you. I’ll shake ’em down if you will catch them when they reach the ring.”

“Yes, but be careful that you don’t fall.”

“Don’t you worry about me!”

Teddy untied a rope from a quarter pole, straightened it out and throwing off his coat and hat, began going up the rope hand over hand. The monkeys peered down curiously from their perches, chattering and discussing the little figure that was on its way up to join them.

Teddy reached the platform of the trapeze performers. From there he climbed a short rope that led to a smaller trapeze bar higher up, thence to the aerial bars, where the whole bunch of monkeys were sitting, scolding loudly.

“Shoo!” said Teddy. “Get out of here! Better get a net and catch them down there,” shouted Teddy, standing up on the bars without apparent thought of his own danger.

“Look out that we don’t have to catch you!” called Mr. Sparling warningly.

Teddy picked his way gingerly across the bars shooing the monkeys ahead of him, now holding to a guide rope so that he might not by any chance slip through and drop to the ring forty feet below him, and all the while waving his free hand to frighten the monkeys.

A few of them leaped to a rope some eight or ten feet away, down which they went to the ring and up another set of ropes before the show people below could catch them.

While Teddy was thus engaged, the whole troop of monkeys swung back on the under side of the aerial bars beneath his feet.

“Shoo! Shoo!” he shouted. “You rascals, I’ll fix you when I get hold of you, and don’t you forget that for a minute.”

He turned, cautiously making his way back, when the lively, mischievous little fellows shinned up the rope by which he had let himself down to the serial bars.

“I’ll drive you all over the top of this tent, but I’ll get you,” Teddy cried.

Down below the audience was shouting and jeering. The people refused to leave the tent so long as such an exhibition was going on. No one paid the least attention to the “grand concert” that was in progress at one end of the big top, so interested were all in the Circus Boy’s giddy chase.

“I’m afraid he will fall and kill himself,” groaned Mr. Sparling.

“You can’t hurt Teddy,” laughed Phil. “He can go almost anywhere that a monkey could climb. But he’ll never get them.” Phil was laughing with the others, for the sight was really a funny one.

“Oh, look what they’ve done!” exclaimed one of the performers.

“They’ve pulled up the rope,” said Mr. Sparling hopelessly.

“Now he certainly is in a fix,” laughed Phil.

The monkeys, after shinning the rope, had mischievously hauled it up after them, acting with almost human intelligence. One of them carried the free end of it off to one side and dropped it over a guy rope. This left Tucker high and dry on the aerial bars with no means at hand to enable him to get back to earth.

The audience caught the significance of it and howled lustily.

“Now, I should like to know how you are going to get down?” shouted Mr. Sparling.

Teddy looked about him questioningly, and off at the grinning monkeys, that perched on rope and trapeze, appeared to be enjoying his discomfiture to the full.

“I—I guess I’ll have to do the world’s record high dive!” he called down. There seemed no other way out of it.

CHAPTER XVIII

Teddy Takes a Drop

“Throw him a rope!” shouted someone.

“Yes, give him a rope,” urged Mr. Sparling.

“No one can throw a rope that high,” answered Phil. “I think the first thing to be done is to get the monkeys and I have a plan by which to accomplish it.”

“What’s your plan?”

“Have their cage brought in. We should have thought of that before.”

“That’s a good idea,” nodded Mr. Sparling. “I always have said you had more head than any of the others of this outfit, not excepting myself. Get the monkey cage in here.”

While this was being done Phil hurried out into the menagerie tent, where, at a snack stand, he filled his pockets with peanuts and candy; then strolled back, awaiting the arrival of the cage.

“We shall be able to capture our monkeys much more easily if the audience will please leave the tent,” announced Mr. Sparling. “The show is over. There will be nothing more to see.”

The spectators thought differently. There was considerable to be seen yet. No one made a move to leave, and the manager gave up trying to make them, not caring to attempt driving the people out by force.

The cage finally was drawn up between the two rings. This instantly attracted the attention of the little beasts. Phil stood off from the cage a few feet.

“Now everybody keep away, so the monkeys can see me,” he directed. Phil then began chirping in a peculiar way, giving a very good imitation of the monkey call for food. At the same time he began slowly tossing candy and peanuts into the cage.

There was instant commotion aloft. Such a chattering and scurrying occurred up there as to cause the spectators to gaze in open-mouthed wonder. But still Phil kept up his weird chirping, continuing to toss peanuts and candy into the cage.

“As I live, they are coming down,” breathed Mr. Sparling in amazement, “never saw anything like it in my life!”

“I always told you that boy should have been a menagerie man instead of a ring performer,” nodded Mr. Kennedy, the elephant trainer.

“He is everything at the same time,” answered Mr. Sparling. “It is a question as to whether or not he does one thing better than another. There they come. Everybody stand back. I hope the people keep quiet until he gets through there. I am afraid the monkeys never will go back into the cage, though.”

There was no hesitancy on the part of the monkeys. They began leaping from rope to rope, swinging by their tails to facilitate their descent, until finally the whole troop leaped to the top of the cage and swung themselves down the bars to the ground.

Phil lowered his voice to a low, insistent chirp. One monkey leaped into the cage, the others following as fast as they could stretch up their hands and grab the tail board of the wagon. Instantly they began scrambling for the nuts and candies that lay strewn over the floor.

The last one was inside. Phil sprang to the rear of the cage and slammed the door shut, throwing the padlock in place and snapping it.

“There are your old monkeys,” he cried, turning to Mr. Sparling with flushed, triumphant face.

The audience broke out into a roar, shouting, howling and stamping on the seats at the same time.

“Now, you may go,” shouted Mr. Sparling to the audience. “Phil, you are a wonder. I take off my hat to you,” and the showman, suiting the action to the word, made a sweeping bow to the little Circus Boy.

Still the audience remained.

“Well, why don’t you go?”

“What about the kid up there near the top of the house?” questioned a voice in the audience.

“That’s so. I had forgotten all about him,” admitted the owner of the show.

“Oh, never mind me. I’m only a human being,” jeered Tucker, from his perch far up near the top of the tent. This brought a roar of laughter from everybody.

“We shall have to try to cast a rope up to him.”

“You can’t do it,” answered Phil firmly. Nevertheless the effort was made, Teddy watching the attempts with lazy interest.

“No, we shan’t be able to reach him that way,” agreed Mr. Sparling finally.

“Hey down there,” called Teddy.

“Well, what is it? Got something to suggest?”

“Maybe—maybe if you’d throw some peanuts and candy in my cage I might come down.”

This brought a howl of laughter.

“I don’t see how we are going to make it,” said Mr. Sparling, shaking his head hopelessly.

“I’ll tell you how we can do it,” said Phil.

“Yes; I was waiting for you to make a suggestion. I thought it funny if you didn’t have some plan in that young head of yours. What is it?”

“What’s the matter with the balloon?”

“The balloon?”

“Yes.”

“Hurrah! That’s the very thing.”

The balloon was a new act in the Sparling show that season. A huge balloon had been rigged, but in place of the usual basket, was a broad platform. Onto this, as the closing act of the show, a woman rode a horse, then the balloon was allowed to rise slowly to the very dome of the big tent, carrying the rider and horse with it.

The act was a decided novelty, and was almost as great a hit as had been the somersaulting automobile of a season before.

The balloon stood swaying easily at its anchorage.

“Give a hand here, men. Let the bag up and the boy can get on the platform, after which you can pull him down.”

“That won’t do,” spoke up Phil. “He can’t reach the platform. Someone will have to go up and toss him a rope. He can make the rope fast and slide down it.”

“I guess you are right, at that. Who will go up?”

“I will,” answered the Circus Boy. “Give me that coil of rope.”

Taking his place on the platform the lad rose slowly toward the top of the tent as the men paid out the anchor rope.

“Halt!” shouted Phil when he found himself directly opposite his companion.

“Think you can catch it, Teddy?”

“Yep.”

“Well, here goes.”

The rope shot over Teddy’s head, landing in his outstretched arm.

“Be sure you make it good and fast before you try to shin down it,” warned Phil.

“I’ll take care of that. Don’t you worry. You might toss me a peanut while I’m getting ready. I’ll go in my cage quicker.”

Phil laughingly threw a handful toward his companion, three or four of which Teddy caught, some in his mouth and some in his free hand, to the great amusement of the spectators.

“They ought to pay an admission for that,” grinned Phil.

“For what?”

“For seeing the animals perform. You are the funniest animal in the show at the present minute.”

“Well, I like that! How about yourself?” peered Teddy with well-feigned indignation.

“I guess I must be next as an attraction,” laughed the boy.

“I guess, yes.”

“Haul away,” called Phil to the men below him, and they started to pull the balloon down toward the ground again.

“Get a net under Tucker there,” directed Mr. Sparling.

“I’m not going to dive. What do you think?” retorted Teddy.

“There is no telling what you may or may not do,” answered the showman. “It is the unexpected that always happens with you.”

Phil nodded his approval of the statement.

In the meantime Teddy had made fast the end of the rope to the aerial bar, and grasping the rope firmly in his hands, began letting himself down hand under hand.

“Better twist your legs about the rope,” called Phil.

“No. It isn’t neces—”

Just then Teddy uttered a howl. The rope, which he had not properly secured, suddenly slipped from the bar overhead.

Teddy dropped like a shot.

CHAPTER XIX

The Circus on an Island

Teddy landed in the net with a smack that made the spectators gasp.

“Are you hurt,” cried Mr. Sparling, running forward.

Teddy got up, rubbing his shins gingerly, working his head from side to side to make sure that his neck was properly in place.

“N-n-no, I guess not. I’ll bet that net got a clump that it won’t forget in a hurry, though. Folks, the show is all over. You may go home now,” added Teddy, turning to the audience and waving his hand to them.

The seats began to rattle as the people, realizing that there was nothing more to be seen, finally decided to start for home.

“It is lucky, young man, that I had that net under you,” announced Mr. Sparling.

“Lucky for me, but a sad blow to the net,” answered Teddy humorously, whereat Mr. Sparling shook his head hopelessly.

The tent was beginning to darken and the showman glanced up apprehensively.

“What’s the outlook?” he asked as Mr. Kennedy passed.

“Just a shower, I guess.”

The owner strode to the side wall and peered out under the tent, then crawled out for a survey of the skies.

“We are in for a lively storm,” he declared. “It may not break until late tonight, and I hardly think it will before then. Please tell the director to cut short all the acts tonight. I want every stick and stitch off the lot no later than eleven o’clock tonight.”

“Shall we cut out the Grand Entry?”

“Yes, by all means. If possible I should like to make the next town before the storm breaks, as it’s liable to be a long, wet one.”

“I don’t care. I’ve got a rubber coat and a pair of rubber boots with a hole in one of them,” spoke up Teddy.

“And, Teddy Tucker,” added the owner, turning to the Circus Boy. “If you mix things up tonight, and delay us a minute anywhere, I’ll fire you. Understand?”

Teddy shook his head.

“You don’t? Well, I’ll see if I can make it plainer then.”

“Why, Mr. Sparling, you wouldn’t discharge me, now, would you? Don’t you know this show couldn’t get along without me?”

The showman gazed sternly at Teddy for a moment, then his face broke out in a broad smile.

“I guess you’re right at that, my boy.”

The cook tent came down without delay that afternoon, and on account of the darkness the gasoline lamps had to be lighted a full two hours earlier than usual.

The show at the evening performance was pushed forward with a rush, while many anxious eyes were upon the skies, for it was believed that the heaviest rainstorm in years was about to fall.

By dint of much hard work, together with a great deal of shouting and racket, the tents were off the field by the time indicated by Mr. Sparling, and loaded. A quick start was made. Long before morning the little border town of Tarbert, their next stand, was reached.

Mr. Sparling had all hands out at once.

“Get to the lot and pitch your tents. Everything has got to be up before daylight,” he ordered. “You’ll have something to eat just as soon as you get the cook tent in place.”

That was inducement enough to make the men work with a will, and they did. The menagerie and circus tents had been laced together, lying flat on the ground, when the storm broke.

“That will keep the lot dry, but hustle it! Get the canvas up before it is so soaked you can’t raise it,” commanded the owner.

By daylight the tents were in place, though men had to be stationed constantly at the guy ropes to loosen them as they strained tight from the moisture they absorbed.

The rain seemed to be coming down in sheets. Fortunately the lot chosen for pitching the tents was on a strip of ground higher than anything about it, so the footing remained fairly solid. But it was a cheerless outlook. The performers, with their rubber boots on, came splashing through a sea of mud and water on their way to the cook tent that morning, Phil and Teddy with the rest.

“Looks like rain, doesn’t it,” greeted Teddy, as he espied Mr. Sparling plodding about with a keen eye to the safety of his tents.

“I wish the outlook for business today were as good,” was the comprehensive answer.

When the hour for starting the parade arrived, the water over the flats about them was so deep and the mud so soft that it was decided to abandon the parade for that day.

“I almost wish we hadn’t unloaded,” said the owner. “It looks to me as if we might be tied up here for sometime.”

“Yes,” agreed Phil. “The next question is how are the people going to get here to see the show?”

“I was thinking of that myself. The answer is easy, though.”

“What—”

“They won’t come.”

“Why? Are they drowned out?”

“No; the town is high enough so they will not suffer much of any damage, except as the water gets into their cellars. No; they are all right. I wish we were as much so, but there’ll be no use in giving a show this afternoon.”

“Wait a minute,” spoke up Phil, raising one hand while he considered briefly.

“Of course, you have an idea. It wouldn’t be you if you hadn’t. But I am afraid that, this time, you will fall short of the mark.”

“No, not if you will let me carry out a little plan.”

“What is it?”

“When I came over I noticed a strip of ground just a few rods to the north of the lot, and running right into it, that was higher than the flats. It was a sort of ridge and fairly level on top.”

“I didn’t see that.”

“I did. It was showing above the water a few inches and looked like hard ground. If you don’t mind getting wet I’ll take you over and point it out.”

The showman agreed, though as yet he did not understand what Phil’s plan was.

Phil led the way to the north side of the lot, then turning sharply to the left after getting his bearings, walked confidently out into the water followed by Mr. Sparling. The ground felt firm beneath their feet. As a matter of fact it was a stratum of rock running out from the nearby mountains.

“Boy, you’ve struck a way for us to get out when time comes for us to do so. That mud on the flats will be so soft, for several days, that the wheels would sink in up to the hubs. The stock would get mired now, were they to try to go through.”

“But not here.”

“No; I rather think that’s so. What’s your plan?”

“We have plenty of wagons that are not in use—take for instance the pole wagons. Why not send our wagons over to the village and bring the people here? I am sure they will enjoy that,” suggested Phil.

“Splendid,” glowed the showman. “But I’m afraid the horses never would be able to pull them over.”

“Think not?”

“I said I was afraid they would not be able to.”

“I had considered that, sir.”

“Oh, you had?”

“Yes.”

“Of course, I might have known you had. Well, what is it?”

“I have an even better scheme, and it will be great advertising—one that few people in town will be able to resist.”

“Yes? I am listening.”

“Well, in the first place, have the long pole wagons fixed up to bring the people over. We can use our ring platforms to make a bottom for the passengers to sit on.”

“Yes, that will be easy.”

“Then, take some side wall poles, stand them up along the sides of the wagon and build a roof with canvas. That will keep the inside of the wagon as dry as a barn.”

“A splendid idea. But how are you going to get the folks over here after you have done that?”

“Wait, I am coming to that. What do you say to hitching the elephants to the wagons and hauling the people back and forth? Nothing like that has ever been done, has it?”

Mr. Sparling tossed up his hat regardless of the fact that the rain was beating down on his head and running down his neck.

“Nothing ever been done to compare with it, since P. T. Barnum ploughed up his farm with Jumbo. By the great Dan Rice, that’s a scheme!” shouted Mr. Sparling enthusiastically.

“But you will have to hurry if you are going to put the plan into operation,” urged Phil.

“What would you suggest, Phil?”

“I would suggest that you send men into town on horseback, right away, having them call at every house, at the post office, the hotel and every other place they can think of, telling the people what we propose to do. Teddy and I will take horses and go out with the rest, if you say so. The rain won’t hurt us, and besides, it will be great fun. What do you say, sir?”

Mr. Sparling hesitated for one brief second.

“Come on!” he shouted as with hat in hand he splashed toward the lot followed a short distance behind by Phil.

The arrangements suggested by the Circus Boy were quickly made, and a company of horsemen rode over to the village to tell the people how they might see the show without getting wet. While this was being done the pole wagons were being rigged for the purpose, and the elephants were provided with harness strong enough to stand the strain of the heavy loads they would have to draw.

The wagons were to be driven along the village streets at one o’clock, the circus to begin at half-past two. That would give the show people plenty of time to prepare for the performance.

The suggestion met with great enthusiasm. Few people had ever had the privilege of riding behind an elephant team, and they gladly welcomed the opportunity.

At Phil’s further suggestion a separate wagon had been prepared for the colored people. When all was ready the elephants were first driven across the ridge without their wagons, to show the animals that the footing was safe. Then they were hooked to the covered pole wagons and the work of transporting the village to the lot was begun.

The show grounds were on an island, now, entirely surrounded by water. Some of the clowns had rigged up fishing outfits and sat on the bank in the rain trying to catch fish, though there probably was not a fish within a mile of them, according to Phil’s idea.

“That’s good work for a fool,” gloated Teddy.

“It takes a wise man to be a fool, young man,” was the clown’s retort.

“Perhaps you don’t know that the river has overflowed a few miles above here, and that this place is full of fish?”

“No; I don’t know anything of the sort. The only water I see coming is from right overhead. Maybe there’s fish swimming around up there; I don’t know. Never caught any up there myself.”

After a time the clowns tired of their sport and went back to their dressing tent to prepare for the afternoon performance, the only performance that would be given that day, as it would not be safe to try to transport the people across the water in the dark. And, besides, the owner of the show hoped to be able to get his show aboard the cars before night.

In the big top a slender rope had been stretched across the blue seats from the arena back to the sidewall. This was the “color line.” On one side of it sat the colored people, on the other the white people.

After all were seated, however, the line was taken down and colored and white people sat elbow to elbow. All were perfectly satisfied, for the color line had been drawn. The rest did not matter.

The show people entered into the spirit of the unusual exhibition with the keenest zest, and the Sparling show had never given a better entertainment than it did that afternoon. The clowns, even though they had not been successful as fishermen, where wholly so when they entered the ring. Teddy and his donkey, which he had named January, after the manner of most clowns who own these animals, set the whole tent roaring, while Shivers and his “shadow” made a hit from the moment they entered.

“I’ve got the greatest bunch of people to be found in this country,” confided Mr. Sparling proudly to the surgeon.

“Especially those two boys, eh?”

“Yes. They can’t be beaten. Neither can a lot of the others.”

A fair-sized house had been brought over to see the show, and after the performance was ended they were taken back to their homes in the pole wagons, as they had been brought over.

“I’ll tell you what you ought to do,” said Teddy confidentially, just before the show closed.

“Well, what is it?” questioned Mr. Sparling.

“You ought to leave those folks here.”

“Leave them here?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“Why, they couldn’t get back, and they would have to go to the evening performance again. You’d get ’em going and coming then. Do you see?”

The showman tipped back his head, laughing long and loud.

“Yes; I see.”

“Then why not do it?”

“Young man, this show doesn’t do things that way. We do business on the square, or we don’t do it at all. I admire your zeal, but not your plan.”

“Yes,” agreed Phil, who stood near; “I sometimes think Teddy Tucker’s moral code does need bolstering up a bit.”

“What’s that?” questioned Teddy. “What’s a moral code?”

“I’ll explain it to you some other time when we are not so busy,” replied Phil.

“Nor so wet,” added Mr. Sparling. “You see, we want to come to this town to show again some other time.”

“I don’t,” responded Teddy promptly. “I’ve had all I want of it for the rest of my natural life. I can get all the fun I want out of performing on dry ground, instead of the edge of a lake that you are expecting every minute to tumble into.”

CHAPTER XX

Disaster Befalls the Fat Lady

“Help, help! Oh, help!”

“Coming,” shouted Teddy Tucker, leaping from the platform of the sleeping car where he had been lounging in the morning sun.

The Fattest Woman on Earth was midway down the steep railroad embankment with the treacherous cinders slowly giving way beneath her feet, threatening every second to hurl her to the bottom of the embankment and into the muddy waters of a swollen stream that had topped its banks as the result of the storm that had disturbed the circus so much.

The Sparling shows did not succeed in getting fully away from the island until the middle of the day following the events just narrated.

This made it necessary to skip the next stand, so the show ran past that place, intent on making St. Charles, Louisiana, sometime that night.

The train had been flagged on account of a washout some distance ahead, and while it was lying on the main track many of the show people took the opportunity to drop off and gather flowers out in the fields near the tracks.

The Fat Woman was one of these. She had found it a comparatively easy thing to slide down the bank further up the tracks, after finding a spot where she could do so without danger of going right on into the creek below.

But the return journey was a different matter. She had succeeded in making her way halfway up the bank when, finding herself slipping backward she uttered her appeal for help.

“Stick your heels in and hold to it. I’ll be there in a minute,” shouted Teddy, doing an imitation of shooting the chutes down the embankment, digging in his own heels just in time to save himself from a ducking in the stream.

“There goes that Tucker boy, headed for more trouble,” nodded a clown. “Watch him if you want to see some fun. Fat Marie is in trouble already, and she’s going to get into more in about a minute.”

Teddy picked himself up, and, running up behind the Fat Woman, braced his hands against her ample waist and began to push.

“Start your feet! Start your feet! Make motions as if you were walking!” shouted Teddy.

Marie did not move.

“Oh, help!” she murmured. “Help, help!”

“Go on. Go on! Do you think I can stay in this position all day, holding up your five hundred pounds? My feet are slipping back already. I’m treading water faster’n a race horse can run right this minute.”

“I guess he’s started something for himself all right,” jeered the clown. “Told you so. Hey, there goes the whistle! The train will be starting. We’d better be making for the sleeper.”

All hands sought a more suitable climbing place, hurried up the railroad embankment and ran for the train. A crowd gathered on the rear platform, where they jeered at Tucker and his burden.

“Come—come down here and help us out,” howled Teddy. “You—you’re a nice bunch, to run away when a lady is in trouble! Come down here, I say.”

Just then the train started.

Phil, at that moment, was up forward in Mr. Sparling’s car, else he would have tried to stop the train; or, failing to do that, he would have gone to his companion’s assistance.

By this time Teddy had turned and was bracing his back against the Fat Woman, his heels digging into the shifting cinders in a desperate attempt to prevent the woman’s slipping further down.

“You’ll have to do something. I’m no Samson. I can’t hold the world on my back all the time, though I can support a piece of it part of the time. Do something!”

“I—I can’t,” wailed the Fat Woman. “There goes the train, too. We’ll be left.”

“No, we won’t.”

“Yes, we shall.”

“No; we won’t be left, ’cause—’cause we’re left already. Wow! I’m going! Save yourself!”

The cinders slipped from under Teddy’s feet, and, with the heavy burden bearing down upon him, he was unable to get sufficient foothold to save himself.

The result was that Teddy sat down suddenly. Fat Marie sat down on him, and Teddy’s yell might have been heard a long distance away. Those on the tail end of the circus train saw the collapse, then lost sight of the couple as the train rolled around a bend in the road.

Down the bank slid the Fat Woman, using Tucker as a toboggan, with the boy yelling lustily. Faster and faster did they slide.

Suddenly they landed in the muddy stream with a mighty splash, Teddy still on the bottom of the heap. When she found herself in the water Marie struggled to get out, and Teddy quickly scrambled up, mouth, eyes and ears so full of water that he could neither see, hear nor speak for a moment. He was blowing like a porpoise and trying to swim out, but the swift current was tumbling him along so rapidly that he found himself unable to reach the bank only a few feet away.

Marie, screaming for help, floated down rapidly with the current. When finally Teddy succeeded in getting his eyes open he discovered that she had lodged against a tree across the stream, where her cries grew louder and more insistent than ever.

Teddy was swept against her with a bump. He frantically grabbed for a limb of the fallen tree. As he did so his legs were drawn under it, so that it required all his strength to pull himself up to the tree trunk.

He sat there rubbing the water out of his eyes and breathing hard.

“Quick, get me out of here or I’ll drown!” moaned the Fat Woman.

“Drown, if you want to. I’ve got my own troubles just this minute. What did you ever get me into this mix-up for? That’s what I get for trying to be a good thing—”

Marie’s screams waxed louder.

“All right. If you’ll only stop that yelling I’ll get you on dry land somehow. Can’t you pull yourself up nearer the bank?”

“No. My dress is caught on something.”

Teddy peered over, and, locating the place where she was caught, tried to free her. The lad was unable to do so with one hand, so, in a thoughtless moment, he brought both hands to the task. He lost his balance and plunged into the torrent head first, his body disappearing under the log. Teddy shot to the surface on the other side, flat on his back.

The Circus Boy did not shout this time. He was too angry to do so. He turned over and struck out for the bank which he was fortunate enough to reach. Quickly clambering up, Teddy sat down to repeat his process of rubbing the water out of his eyes.

“Are you going to let me lie here and drown?” cried the Fat Woman.

“It looks that way, doesn’t it, eh?”

Teddy got up and hurried to her just the same. Throwing off his wet coat he set to work with a will to get Marie out. The water was shallow and she managed to help herself somewhat, therefore after great effort Teddy succeeded in towing her to land. The woman was a sight and Teddy a close second in this respect.

“I’m drowned,” she moaned as he dragged her out on the bank, letting her drop sharply.

“You only think you are. I suppose you know what we’ve got to do now, don’t you?”

“N-n-n-no.”

“We’ve got to walk to the next stand.”

“How—how far is it?”

“Maybe a hundred miles.”

“Oh, help!”

As a matter of fact they were within five miles of St. Charles, where the Sparling show was billed to exhibit that afternoon and evening.

“I’m afraid they’ll miss you in the parade today, but what do you think will happen if we don’t reach the show in time for the performance this afternoon?”

“I—I don’t know.”

“I do. We’ll get fined good and proper.”

“It—it’s all your fault, Teddy Tucker.”

Teddy surveyed her wearily.

“If you’d held me up I shouldn’t have fallen in and—and—”

“Drowned,” growled Teddy.

“Yes.”

“And if you hadn’t sat on me I shouldn’t have fallen in, and there you are. Now, get up and we’ll find a place to climb up the bank. We can’t stay here all day and starve to death. Come on, now.”

“I—I can’t.”

“All right; then I’ll go without you.” Teddy started away, whereupon the Fat Woman wailed to him to come back, at the same time struggling to her feet, bedraggled and wet, her hair full of sand and her clothes torn.

“If they’d only start a beauty show in the side top you would take first prize,” grinned the boy. “Hurry up.”

Marie waddled along with great effort, making slow headway.

“We shall have to go further along before we can get up the bank. That is, unless you want to take the chance of falling into the creek again.”

It was some distance to the place where the creek curved under the railroad bed, and they would be obliged to go beyond that if they expected to get the Fat Woman out without a repetition of the previous disaster.

After a while they reached the spot for which Teddy had been heading.

Marie surveyed the bank up which she must climb.

“Can you make it?”

“I—I’ll try.”

“That’s the talk. Take a running start, but slow up before you get to the top, or with your headway you’ll go right on over the other side and down that embankment. You ought to travel with a net under you, but it would have to be a mighty strong one, or you’d go through it.”

Marie uttered a little hopeless moan and began climbing up the bank once more, but bracing each foot carefully before throwing her weight upon it. Teddy, in the meantime, had run up to the top where he sat down on the end of a tie watching the Fat Woman’s efforts to get up to him.

“Oh, help!”

“Help, help,” mimicked Teddy.

“I can’t go any further, unless you come down here and push.”

“Push? No thank you. I tried that before. It would take a steam engine to push you up that bank, because you’d let the engine do all the pushing. You wouldn’t help yourself at all.”

“I’ll fall if you don’t help me.”

“Well, fall then. You’ve got a nice soft piece of grass to land on down there. I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”

“What?”

“I’ll take hold of your hand if you’ll promise to let go the minute you feel you’re going to fall.”

“I—I don’t want to let go. I want to hold on if I feel I’m going to fall,” wailed Marie.

“No, you don’t. ‘United we stand, divided we fall,’ ” quoted Teddy solemnly.

“I’ll promise; I’ll promise anything, if you will come help me.”

Teddy rose and slid down the bank to her.

“Give me your hand.”

Marie extended a fat hand toward him, which he grasped firmly.

“Now gather all your strength and run for it. We’ll be at the top before you know it. Run, run, run!”

The command was accompanied by a jerk on Marie’s arm, and together they started plowing up the bank.

“Here we are. One more reach, and we’ll be on hard ground. Then—”

“Help!” screamed Marie.

Both her feet flew out. One caught Teddy, tripping him and down they rolled amid a shower of cinders, both landing in a heap at the foot of the embankment.

“That settles it. I thought you were going to let go,” growled Teddy.

“I—I couldn’t.”

“You mean you didn’t. Now, you can take your choice; go up the bank alone or stay here. I suppose I have got to stay here with you, but I really ought to leave you. Somehow, I’m not mean enough to do it, but I want to.”

Teddy stretched out on the grass in the bright sunlight to dry himself, for he was still very wet, while Marie sat down helplessly and shook out her hair.

They had been there for nearly two hours when the rails above them began to snap.

“Guess there’s a train coming. Just my luck to have it run off the track and fall on me about the time it gets here.”

The sound told him the train was coming from the direction his own train had gone sometime before.

“It’s a handcar,” shouted the lad as a car swung around the bend and straightened out down the track.

“Oh, help,” wailed the Fat Woman.

“Hey, hey!” Teddy shouted.

Someone on the handcar waved a hat and shouted back at him.

“It’s Phil, it’s Phil! They’re coming for us, Marie,” cried Teddy. “Now, you’ve got to climb that bank unless you want to stay here and starve to death. Let me tell you it’s me for the handcar and a square meal.”

Phil, hearing of his companion’s misfortune, had requested Mr. Sparling to get him a handcar that he might go in search of Marie and Teddy. This had been quickly arranged, and with three Italian trackmen Phil had set out, he himself taking his turn at the handle to assist in propelling the car.

“What’s happened?” shouted Phil, leaping from the car and running down the bank, falling the last half of the way and bringing up in a heap at the feet of Teddy Tucker.

“That’s the way we came down, a couple of times,” grinned Teddy. “Marie took a header into the creek and I went along. Got a rope?”

“Yes, there’s one on the handcar. Why?”

“Marie can’t get up the bank. You’ll have to pull her up.”

The rope was hurriedly brought, and after being fastened about her waist, the Italians were ordered to pull, while Phil and Teddy braced themselves against the Fat Woman’s waist and pushed with all their might. At last they landed her, puffing and blowing and murmuring for more help, at the top of the embankment. She was quickly assisted to the handcar, when the return journey was begun.

“Next time you fall off a train, I’ll bet you go to the bottom alone,” growled Teddy. “The show ought to carry a derrick for you.”

“Oh, help!” moaned the Fat Woman, gasping for breath as she sat dangling over the rear end of the handcar.

“We shall miss the parade, I fear,” announced Phil consulting his watch.

“Well, I don’t mind for myself, but I could weep that Fat Marie has to miss it,” answered Teddy soberly. “I don’t like to see her miss anything that comes her way.”

“She doesn’t, usually,” grinned Phil.

After a long hard pull they succeeded in reaching the next town with their well loaded handcar. With the help of Phil and Teddy, the Fat Lady was led puffing to the circus lot. The parade had just returned and the paraders were hurrying to change their costumes, as the red flag was up on the cook tent. Mr. Sparling saw the Circus Boys and their charge approaching, and motioned them to enter his office tent.

“Where did you find them, Phil?”

“At the bottom of a railroad embankment, about five miles back, according to the mile posts.”

“A couple of fine specimens you are,” growled the showman. “Well, Marie, what have you to say for yourself?”

“I—I fell down the bank.”

“Pshaw! What were you doing on the bank?”

“I got off to pick some flowers when the train stopped, and when I tried to get back I—I couldn’t.”

“Don’t you know it is against the rules of the show to leave the train between stations?”

The Fat Lady nodded faintly.

“Discipline must be maintained in this show. You are fined five dollars, and the next time such a thing happens I’ll discharge you. Understand?”

“Help, oh help!” murmured Marie.

Teddy was grinning and chuckling over the Fat Lady’s misfortune.

“And, young man, what were you doing off the train?” asked the showman, turning sternly.

“Me? Why, I—I went to Marie’s rescue.”

“You did, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I reckon it will cost you five dollars, too.”

The grin faded slowly from Teddy’s face.

“You—you going to fine me?” he stammered.

“No, I’m not going to. I already have done so.”

“It doesn’t pay to be a hero. A hero always gets the sharp end of the stick. But who’s going to pay me for the clothes I ruined?”

Mr. Sparling surveyed the boy with the suspicion of a twinkle in his eyes.

“Well, kid, I reckon I shall have to buy you a new suit, at that. Marie!”

“Ye—yes, sir,” responded the woman.

“Go downtown and see if you can find some new clothes that will fit you. If not buy two suits and splice them together.”

“Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”

“Have the bill sent to me. Tucker, you do the same. But remember, discipline must be maintained in this show,” warned the owner sternly.

CHAPTER XXI

On a Flying Trapeze

The lesson lasted Teddy for a few hours; then he forgot all about it. But he was made the butt of the jokes of the dressing tent for several days.

That afternoon Phil, while attending to some correspondence for Mr. Sparling, had occasion to write to a trapeze performer about booking with the Sparling show for the coming season.

“I have been thinking, Mr. Sparling,” said Phil, “that I should like to perform on the flying trapeze next season. You know I have been practicing for sometime.”

Mr. Sparling glanced up from his papers.

“I’m not surprised. I guess that’s the only thing you haven’t done in the show thus far.”

“I haven’t been a fat woman or a living skeleton yet,” laughed Phil.

“What can you do on the bars?”

“I can do all that your performers do. Sometimes I think I might be able to do more. I can do passing leaps, two-and-a-halfs, birds’ nest and all that sort of thing.”

“Is it possible? I had no idea you had gotten that far along.”

“Yes. I have been wishing for a chance to see how I could work before an audience.”

“Haven’t you enough to do already?”

“Well, I suppose I have, but you know I want to get along. The season is nearly closed now, and I shall not have another opportunity before next spring, possibly. As long as you are going to engage some other performers for next year I rather thought it might be a good plan to offer myself for the work.”

“Why, Phil, why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t like to.”

“You can have anything in this show that you want. You know that, do you not?”

“Yes, sir,” answered the Circus Boy in a low tone. “And I thank you very much.”

“When do you want to go on?”

“Any time you think best. Would you prefer to have me go through a rehearsal?”

“Not necessary. You have been practicing with Mr. Prentice, the head of the trapeze troupe, haven’t you?”

“Yes, sir.”

“If you say you are fit, I am willing to take your word for it. In view of the fact that you already have worked with the aerial people all you will have to do will be to go on. I shall enjoy seeing you do so, if you think you can stand the added work.”

“I can do so easily. When shall I try it?”

“Whenever you wish.”

“What do you say to trying it tonight?”

“Certainly; go on tonight, if you want to. I’ll make it a point to be on hand and watch the act.”

“Thank you, very much. You are more kind to me than I have any reason to expect.”

“No such thing,” snapped the showman. “Send Mr. Prentice to me and I will give the necessary orders.”

Phil, full of pleasurable anticipation, hurried to convey the good news to Mr. Prentice. The result was that, instead of four performers appearing in the great aerial act that evening, there were five.

Phil shinned the rope to the trapeze perch, hand over hand, the muscles standing out on his arms as he made the ascent, with as much ease as he would walk to the dressing room, and perhaps even with less effort.

Phil, with perfect confidence in himself, swung out and back to give himself the momentum necessary to carry him to where Mr. Prentice was now hanging head down ready to catch him.

The catcher slapped his palms sharply together, the signal that on the return flight Phil was to let go and throw himself into the waiting arms of the other.

In a graceful, curving flight the Circus Boy landed in the iron grip of Mr. Prentice, and on the return sweep sprang lightly into the air, deftly catching his own trapeze bar which carried him to his perch.

Next he varied his performance by swinging off with his back to the catcher, being caught about the waist, then thrown back to meet his trapeze bar.

“He’s the most graceful aerial performer I ever saw on a bar,” declared Mr. Sparling. “He is a wonder.”

The next variation of the act was what is known as a “passing leap,” where, while the catcher is throwing one performer back to his trapeze bar, a second one is flying toward the catcher, the two supple bodies passing in the air headed in opposite directions. In this case, his opposite partner was a young woman, the successor to little Zoraya who had been so severely injured earlier in the season.

“Fine, Phil!” she breathed as they passed each other, and the Circus Boy’s face took on a pleased smile.

“Try a turn next time,” said Mr. Prentice, as he threw Phil lightly into the air toward his trapeze. “Think you can do it?”

“I can try, at least.”

Phil got a wide swing and then at a signal from the catcher, shot up into the air. He threw a quick somersault, then stretched out his hands to be caught. He was too low down for Mr. Prentice to reach him and Phil shot toward the net head first.

Though he had lost his bearings during the turn he had not lost his presence of mind.

“Turn!” shouted a voice from below, the watchful ringmaster having observed at once that the lad was falling, and that he was liable to strike on his head in the net with the possible chance of breaking his neck.

Phil understood, then, exactly what his position was, and, with a slight upward tilt of his head, brought his body into position so that he would strike the net on his shoulders.

He hit the net with a smack, bounded high into the air, rounding off his accident by throwing a somersault on the net, bounding up and down a few times on his feet.

The audience, quick to appreciate what he had done, gave Phil a rousing cheer.

He shook his head and began clambering up the rope again.

“What happened to me?” he called across to the catcher.

“You turned too quickly.”

“I’ll do it right this time.”

The band stopped playing, that its silence might emphasize the act. Then Phil, measuring his distance with keen eyes, launched into the air again. But instead of turning one somersault he turned two, landing fairly into the outstretched arms of Mr. Prentice, who gave him a mighty swing, whereat Phil hurled himself into a mad whirl, performing three more somersaults before he struck the net.

The audience howled with delight, and Mr. Sparling rushed forward fairly hugging the Circus Boy in his delight.

“Wonderful!” cried the showman. “You’re a sure-enough star this time.”

CHAPTER XXII

In a Lively Blow-Down

From that moment on, until the close of the season, Phil Forrest retained his place on the aerial trapeze team, doubling up with his other work, and putting the finishing touches to what Mr. Sparling called “a great career on the bars.”

But Phil, much as he loved the work, did not propose to spend all his life performing above the heads of the people. He felt that a greater future was before him on the ground at the front of the house.

Only a week remained now before the show would close for the season. Even in Texas, where they were showing, the nights had begun to grow chilly, stiffening the muscles of the performers and making them irritable. All were looking forward to the day when the tents should be struck for the last time that season.

“What’s the next stand?” asked Phil in the dressing tent a few nights after his triumphal performance on the trapeze.

“Tucker, Texas,” answered a voice.

“What’s that?” shouted a clown.

“Tucker, I said.”

“Any relation to Teddy Tucker?”

“I hope not,” laughed the head clown.

“A place with that name spells trouble. Anything by the name of Tucker, whether it’s Teddy or not, means that we are in for some kind of a mix-up. I wish I could go fishing tomorrow.”

All in the dressing tent chuckled at the clown’s sally.

“I know what you’d catch if you did,” grumbled Teddy.

“Now, what would I catch, young man?” demanded the clown.

“You’d catch cold. That’s all you can catch,” retorted Teddy, whereat the laugh was turned on the clown, much to the latter’s disgust.

Tucker proved to be a pretty little town on the open plain. There was nothing in the appearance of the place to indicate that they might look for trouble. However, as the clown had prophesied, trouble was awaiting them—trouble of a nature that the showman dreads from the beginning to the end of the circus season.

The afternoon performance passed off without a hitch, the tent being crowded almost to its capacity, Phil Forrest throwing himself into his work in the air with more spirit and enthusiasm than he had shown at any time since he took up his new work.

At Mr. Sparling’s request, however, the lad had omitted his triple somersault from the trapeze bar. The showman considered the act too dangerous, assuring Phil that sooner or later he would be sure to break his neck.

Phil laughed at the owner’s fears, but promised that he would try nothing beyond a double after that. He remembered how quickly he had lost himself when he attempted the feat before. Few men are able to do it without their brains becoming so confused that they lose all sense of direction and location.

The evening house was almost as large as that of the afternoon, as usual the audience being made up principally of town people, the country spectators having returned to their homes before night. The night set in dark and oppressive.

Soon after the gasoline lights were lighted the animals began growling, pacing their cages restlessly, while the lions roared intermittently, and the hyenas laughed almost hysterically.

It sent a shiver down the backs of nearly everyone who heard it—the shrill laugh of the hyenas reaching clear back to the dressing tent.

Teddy Tucker’s eyes always grew large when he heard the laugh of the hyena.

“B-r-r-r!” exclaimed Teddy.

“You’ll ‘b-r-r-r’ worse than that before you get through,” growled a performer.

“Why?”

“ ’Cause it means what somebody said the other night—trouble.”

“What kind of trouble does it mean?” asked Phil.

“I don’t know. Some kind of a storm, I guess. You can’t always tell. Those animals know more than we human beings, when it comes to weather and that sort of thing,” broke in Mr. Miaco the head clown.

“Well, you expected something would happen in a town called Tucker, didn’t you?”

“Are you going to be with this show next season, Teddy?” questioned the clown who had taunted him before.

“I hope to.”

“Then I sign out with some other outfit. I refuse to travel with a bunch that carries a hoodoo like you with it. I feel it in my bones that something is going to happen tonight, and just as soon as I can get through my act I’m going to run—run, mind you, not walk—back to the train as fast as my legs will carry me. That won’t be any snail’s pace, either.”

The performers joked and passed the time away until the band started the overture, off under the big top. This means that it is about time for the show to begin, and that the music is started to hurry the people to their seats.

All hands fell silent as they got busy putting the finishing touches to their makeup.

“All acts cut short five minutes tonight,” sang the voice of the ringmaster at the entrance to the dressing tent.

“You see,” said the clown, nodding his head at Teddy.

“No, I hear,” grumbled Teddy. “What’s it all about?”

“Don’t ask me. I don’t know. I’m not running this show.”

“Lucky for the show that you aren’t,” muttered the Circus Boy.

“What’s that?”

“I was just thinking out loud, I guess.”

“It’s a bad habit. Don’t do it when I’m around. All hoodoos talk to themselves and in their sleep.”

The show was started off with a rush, the Grand Entry having been cut out again, as is frequently the case with a show where there is a long run ahead, or a storm is expected. That night those in the dressing tent could only surmise the reason. The hyena’s warning was the only thing to guide the performers in their search for a reason for the haste. But they took the situation philosophically, as they always had, and prepared for the performance as usual.

The performance had gotten along well toward the end, and without the slightest interruption. All hands were beginning to feel a certain sense of relief, when the shrill blasts of the boss canvasman’s emergency whistle were heard outside the big top.

Phil had just completed his trapeze act and was dropping into the net when the whistle sounded.

He glanced up and made a signal to the others in the air. They dropped, one by one, to the net and swung themselves to the ground, where they stood awaiting the completion of the piece that the band was playing.

“Wind, isn’t it?” questioned Mr. Prentice.

Phil nodded.

He was listening intently. His keen ears caught a distant roar that caused him to gaze apprehensively aloft.

“I am afraid we are going to have trouble,” he said.

“It has been in the air all the evening,” was the low answer. “Wonder if they have the menagerie tent out of the way?”

It was being taken down at that moment, the elephants having been removed to the train, as had part of the cages.

All at once there was a roar that sent the blood from the faces of the spectators. The boss canvasman’s whistle trilled excitedly.

“There go the dressing tents,” said Phil calmly as a ripping and rending was heard off by the paddock. “I hope it hasn’t taken my trunk with it. Glad I locked the trunk before coming into the ring.”

The band stopped playing suddenly. The tent was in absolute silence.

“It’s a cyclone!” shouted a voice among the spectators.

A murmur ran over the assemblage. In a moment they would be in a mad rush, trampling each other under foot in their efforts to escape.

Phil bounded toward the band.

“Play! Play!” he shouted. “They’ll stampede if you don’t. Play, I tell you!”

The bandmaster waved his baton and the music of the band drowned out the mutterings of the storm for the moment.

Suddenly the roaring without grew louder. Ropes were creaking, center and quarter poles lifting themselves a few inches from the ground, dangerously.

“It’s blowing end on,” muttered Phil, running full speed down the concourse in his ring costume.

“Keep your seats!” he shouted. “There may be no danger. If the tent should go down you will be safer where you are. Keep your seats, everybody.”

Phil dashed on, shouting his warning until he had gotten halfway around the tent. Mr. Prentice had taken up the lad’s cry on the other side.

Then the blow fell.

The big top bent under the sweep of the gale until the center poles were leaning far over to the north. Had the wind not struck the tent on the end it must have gone down under the first blast. As it was, canvas, rope and pole were holding, but every stitch of canvas and every pole was trembling under its burden.

“Sit steady, everybody! We may be able to weather it.”

Phil saw that, if the people were to run into the arena and the tent should fall, many must be crushed under the center and quarter poles.

Up and down he ran shouting words of encouragement, and he was thus engaged when Mr. Sparling worked his way in from the pad room, as the open enclosure between the two dressing tents is called. Phil had picked up the ringmaster’s whip and was cracking it to attract the attention of the people to what he was trying to tell them.

Somehow, many seemed to gain confidence from this plucky, slender lad clad in silk tights, who was rushing up and down as cool and collected as if three thousand persons were not in deadly peril.

Nothing but Phil Forrest’s coolness saved many from death that night.

A mighty roar suddenly drew every eye in the tent to the south end where the wind was pressing against the canvas with increasing force.

Phil stood near the entrance, the flap of which had been quickly laced and staked down when the canvasmen saw the gale coming upon them.

He turned quickly, for the roar had seemed to be almost at his side. What he saw drew an exclamation from Phil that, at other times, might have been humorous. There was no humor in it now.

“Gracious!” exclaimed the lad.

There, within twenty feet of him stood a lion, a huge, powerful beast, with head up, the hair standing straight along its back, the mane rippling in the breeze.

“It’s Wallace,” breathed the lad, almost unable to believe his eyes. The biggest lion in captivity, somehow in the excitement had managed to escape from his cage.

“Now there’ll be a panic for sure! They’ve seen him!”

“Sit still and keep still! He won’t hurt you!” shouted Phil. “Now, you get out of here!” commanded Phil, starting toward Wallace and cracking the ringmaster’s whip in the animal’s face.

Just for the briefest part of a second did Wallace give way, then with a terrific roar, he bounded clear over the Circus Boy’s head, bowling Phil over as he leaped, and on down to the center of the arena.

Phil had not been hurt. He was up and after the dangerous beast in a twinkling. The audience saw what he was trying to do.

“Keep away from him!” bellowed Mr. Sparling.

“Throw a net over him!” shouted Phil.

However, between the storm and the escaped lion, none seemed to have his wits about him sufficiently to know what was best to do. Had the showmen acted promptly when Phil called, they might have been able to capture the beast then and there.

Seeing that they were not going to do so, and that the lion was walking slowly toward the reserved seats, Phil sprang in front of the dangerous brute to head him off.

The occupants of the reserved seats were standing up. The panic might break at any minute.

“Sit down!” came the command, in a stern, boyish voice.

Phil faced the escaped lion, starting toward it with a threatening motion of the whip.

“Are you ever going to get a net?”

“Get a net!” thundered Mr. Sparling. “Get away from him, Phil!”

Instead of doing so, the Circus Boy stepped closer to the beast. No one made the slightest move to capture the beast, as Phil realized might easily be done now, if only a few had the presence of mind to attempt it.

Crack!

The ringmaster’s whip in Phil’s hands snapped and the leather lash bit deep into the nose of Wallace.

With a roar that sounded louder than that of the storm outside the lion took a quick step forward, only to get the lash on his nose again.

Suddenly he turned about and in long, curving bounds headed for the lower end of the tent. Mr. Sparling sprang to one side, knowing full well that it would be better to lose the lion than to stir up the audience more than they already were stirred.

Phil was in full pursuit, cracking his whip at every jump.

Wallace leaped through the open flap at the lower end of the tent and disappeared in the night.

Just as he did so there came a sound different from anything that had preceded it. A series of reports followed one another until it sounded as if a battery of small cannon were being fired, together with a ripping and tearing and rending that sent every spectator in the big tent, to his feet yelling and shouting.

“The tent is coming down! The tent is coming down!”

Women fainted and men began fighting to get down into the arena.

“Stay where you are!” shouted Phil. Then the Circus Boy did a bold act. Running along in front of the seats he let drive the lash of his long whip full into the faces of the struggling people. The sting of the lash brought many of them to their senses. Then they too turned to help hold the others back.

With a wrench, the center poles were lifted several feet up into the air.

“Look out for the quarter poles! Keep back or you’ll be killed!” shouted Phil.

“Keep back! Keep back!” bellowed Mr. Sparling.

And now the quarter poles—the poles that stand leaning toward the center of the arena, just in front of the lower row of seats—began to fall, crashing inward, forced to the north.

The center poles snapped like pipe stems, pieces of them being hurled half the length of the tent.

Down came the canvas, extinguishing the lights and leaving the place in deep darkness. The people were fairly beside themselves with fright. But still that boyish voice was heard above the uproar:

“Sit still! Sit still!”

The whole mass of canvas collapsed and went rolling northward like a sail suddenly ripped from the yards of a ship.

The last mighty blow of the storm had been more than canvas and painted poles could stand.

CHAPTER XXIII

The Lion Hunt

For a moment there was silence. Then the people began shouting.

“Bring lights, men!” thundered the owner of the show.

Being so near the outer edges of the tent, the people had escaped almost without injury. Many had been bruised as the canvas swept over them, knocking them flat and some falling all the way through between the seats to the ground, where they were in little danger.

“Wait till the lights come! Phil! Phil!”

Phil Forrest did not answer. He had been knocked clear into the center of the arena by a falling quarter pole, and stunned. The Circus Boy’s head was pretty hard, however, and no more than a minute had passed before he was at work digging his way out of the wreck.

“Phillip!”

“Here!”

“Thank heaven,” muttered the showman. “I was afraid he had been killed. Are you all right?” Mr. Sparling made his way in Phil’s direction.

“Yes. How—how many were killed?”

“I hope none,” replied Mr. Sparling. “As soon as the lights are on and all this stuff hauled out of the way we shall know.”

Most of the canvas had been blown from the circus arena proper so that little was left there save the seats, a portion of the bandstand, the wrecks of the ruined poles and circus properties, together with some of the side walls, which still were standing.

By this time the tornado, for such it had developed into, had passed entirely and the moon came out, shining down into the darkened circus arena, lighting it up brightly.

About that time torches were brought. The people had rushed down from the seats as soon as the big top had blown away.

“I want all who have been injured to wait until I can see them,” shouted Mr. Sparling. “Many of you owe your lives to this young man. Had you started when the blow came many of you would have been killed. Has anyone been seriously hurt?”

A chorus of “no’s” echoed from all sides.

The showman breathed a sigh of relief. A bare half dozen had to be helped down from the seats, where they had been struck by flying debris, but beyond that no one obeyed Mr. Sparling’s request to remain.

The men had run quickly along under the seats to see if by any chance injured persons had fallen through. They helped a few out and these walked hurriedly away, bent on getting off the circus lot as quickly as possible after their exciting experiences.

“No one killed, Phil.”

“I’m glad of that. I’m going to look for Wallace. Better get your men out right away, or he’ll be too far away for us ever to catch him again. Have the menagerie men gone to look for him?”

“I don’t know, Phil. You will remember that I have been rather busily engaged for the past ten or fifteen minutes.”

“We all have. Well, I’m going to take a run and see if I can get track of the lion.”

“Be careful. Better get your clothes on the first thing you do.”

“Guess he hasn’t any. His trunk and mine have gone away somewhere,” nodded Teddy.

“Never mind the clothes. I’m on a lion hunt now,” laughed Phil, starting from the enclosure on a run.

“Nothing can stop that boy,” muttered Mr. Sparling. The owner was all activity now, giving his orders at rapid-fire rate. First, the men were ordered to gather the canvas and stretch it out on the lot so an inventory might be taken to determine in what shape the show had been left. Others were assigned to search the lot for show properties, costumes and the like, and in a very short time the big, machine-like organization was working methodically and without excitement.

It must not be thought that nothing was being done toward catching the escaped lion. Fully fifty men had started in pursuit immediately after the escape. They had been detained for a few minutes by the blow down, after which every man belonging to the menagerie tent, who could be spared, joined in the chase.

The lion cage, one of the few left remaining on the lot, had been blown over as it was being taken away. The shock had burst open the rear door and Wallace was quick to take advantage of the opportunity to regain his freedom. An iron-barred partition separated him from his mate. Fortunately this partition had held, leaving the lioness still confined in the cage.

The attendants quickly righted the cage, making fast the door so that there might be no repetition of the disaster.

Seeing Phil hurrying away Teddy took to his heels also, and within a short distance caught up with his companion.

“You going to look for that lion, Phil?”

“Yes.”

“So am I.”

“You had better stay here, Teddy. You might get hurt.”

“What about yourself?”

“Oh, I’m not afraid,” laughed Phil.

“Don’t you call me a coward, Phil Forrest. I’ve got as much sand as you have any time.”

“Why, I didn’t call you a coward. I—”

“Yes, you did; yes, you did!”

“Don’t let’s quarrel. Remember we are on a lion hunt just now. Hey, Bob.” hailed Phil, discovering one of the menagerie attendants.

“Hello.”

“Which way did he go?”

“We don’t know. When the blow down came we lost all track of Wallace. He’s probably headed for the open country.”

“Where are the searchers?”

“All over. A party went west, another north and the third to the east.”

“What about the village—did no one go that way to hunt for him?”

“No; he wouldn’t go to town.”

“Think not?”

“Sure of it.”

“Why not?”

“He’d want to get away from the people as quick as he could. You don’t catch Wallace going into any town or any other place where there’s people.”

“I noticed that he came in under the big top where there were about three thousand of them,” replied Phil dryly.

“He was scared; that’s what made him do that.”

“And that very emotion may have sent him into the town. I’m going over there to start something on my own hook. Are you going along Teddy?”

“You bet I am. I always did like to hunt lions.”

“When you are sure you are going away from the lion, instead of in his direction,” suggested Phil, laughingly. “What’s that you have in your hand?”

“It’s an iron tent stake I picked up on the lot. I’ll fetch him a wallop that’ll make him see stars if I catch close enough sight of him.”

“I don’t think you will get quite that close to Wallace.”

“I’ll show you.”

By this time the word had spread all over town that the whole menagerie of the Sparling Combined Shows had escaped. The streets were cleared in short order. Here and there, from an upper window, might be seen the whites of the frightened eyes of a Negro peering down, hoping to catch sight of the wild beasts, and fearful lest he should. “If it was an elephant we might trail him,” suggested Teddy.

“That’s not a half bad idea. The dust is quite thick. I wish we had thought to bring a torch with us.”

“I’ll tell you where we can get one.”

“Where?”

“One of the markers set up to guide the wagon drivers to the railroad yards. There’s a couple on the next street above here. I saw them just a minute ago.”

“Teddy you are a genius. And to think I have known you all this time and never found it out before. Come on, we’ll get the torches.”

They started on a run across an open lot, then turning into the street above, saw the torches flaring by the roadside half a block away. Jerking the lights up the lads ran back to the street they had previously left.

“Where shall we look?”

“We might as well begin right here, Teddy. I can’t help believing that Wallace is somewhere in the town. I don’t believe, for a minute, that he would run off into the country. If he has he’ll be back in a very short time. You remember what I tell you. If we can get track of him we’ll follow and send word back to the lot so they can come and get him.”

“Why not catch him ourselves?”

“I don’t think we two boys had better try that. I am afraid it would prove too much for us.”

“I’ve got a tent stake. I’m not afraid. Why didn’t you bring a club?”

“I have the ringmaster’s whip. I prefer that to a club when it comes to meeting a wild lion. Hello, up there!” called Phil, discovering two men looking out of a window above him.

“Hello yourself. You fellows belong to the circus?”

“Yes. Have you seen anything of a lion around this part of the town?”

“A tall fellow about my size, with blue eyes and blonde hair,” added Teddy.

“Stop your fooling, Teddy.”

“A lion?”

“Yes.”

“Only one?”

“That’s all,” replied Phil a bit impatiently. “Have you seen him?”

“Why, we heard the whole menagerie had escaped.”

“That is a mistake. Only one animal got away—the lion.”

“No; we haven’t seen him, but we heard him a little while ago.”

“Where, where?” questioned the boy eagerly.

“Heard him roar, and it sounded as if he was off in that direction.”

“O, thank you, thank you,” answered Phil.

“Say, are you in the show did you say?” now catching sight of Phil’s tights under the bright moonlight.

“Yes.”

“What do you do?”

“I am in the big trapeze act, the flying rings and a few other little things.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes. Well, you’ll have to excuse us. We must be going.”

“You boys are not going out after that lion alone, are you?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Great Caesar! What do you think of that? Wait a minute; we’ll get our guns and join you.”

“Please, I would rather you would not. We don’t want to kill the lion, you see.”

“Don’t want to kill him?” questioned the man in amazement.

“Certainly not. We want to capture him. If the town’s people will simply stay in their homes, and not bother us, we shall get him before morning and no one will be the worse for his escape. Wallace is worth a few thousand dollars, I suppose you are aware. Come along, Teddy.”

Leaving the two men to utter exclamations of amazement, the lads started off in the direction indicated by the others.

“What did I tell you, Teddy? That lion is in the town at this very minute. He’s probably eating up someone’s fresh meat by this time. Hold your torch down and keep watch of the street. You keep that side and I’ll watch this. We will each take half of the road.”

The Circus Boys had been around the animals of the menagerie for nearly three years now, it will be remembered, and they had wholly lost that fear that most people outside the circus feel for the savage beasts of the jungle. They thought little more of this lion hunt, so far as the danger was concerned, than if they had been chasing a runaway circus horse or tame elephant.

All at once Teddy Tucker uttered an exclamation.

“What is it?”

“I’ve landed the gentleman.”

“You sure?”

“Yes; here are his tracks.”

“That’s so; you have. Don’t lose them now. We’ll run him down yet. Won’t Mr. Sparling be pleased?”

“I reckon he will. But we have got to catch the cat first before we can please anybody. I wonder how we’re going to do it?”

“We shall see about that later.”

The boys started on a trot, holding their torches close to the ground. Their course took them about on another street leading at right angles to the one they had been following.

All at once they seemed to have lost the trail. Before them stood a handsome house, set well back in a green lawn. The house was lighted up, and evidently some kind of an entertainment was going on within.

“He’s gone over in some of these yards,” breathed Phil. “Let’s take the place that’s lighted up, first. He’d be more likely to go where there is life. He—”

Phil’s words were cut short by a shriek of terror from the lighted house followed by another and another.

“He’s there! Come on!”

Both boys vaulted the fence and ran to the front door. By this time shriek upon shriek rent the air. The lads burst into the house without an instant’s hesitation.

“Upstairs!” cried Phil, bounding up three steps at a time.

A woman, pale and wide-eyed, had pointed that way when she saw the two boys in their circus tights and realized what they had come there for.

In a large room a dozen people, pale and frightened were standing, one man with hand on the door ready to slam it shut at first sign of the intruder.

“Where—where is he?” demanded Phil breathlessly.

“We were playing cards, and when somebody looked up he saw that beast standing in the door here looking in. He—he went down in the back yard. Maybe you will be able to see him if you go in the room across the hall there. There’s a yard fenced off there for the dogs to run in.”

Phil bounded across the hall followed by two of the men.

“Does that stairway lead down into the back yard?” questioned Phil.

“Yes, yes.”

“Was the door open?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Is it open now?”

“Yes. We can feel the draft.”

“Show me into the room and I’ll take a look.”

One of the men, who evidently lived in the house, stepped gingerly across the hall, turned the knob and pushed the door in ever so little. Phil and Teddy, with torches still in hand, crowded in.

As they did so their guide uttering a frightened yell, slammed the door shut, and Phil heard a bolt shoot in place.

The boys found themselves in a large room running the full depth of the house. It had been rigged up, as a gymnasium, with the familiar flying rings, parallel bars and other useful equipment.

All this they saw instinctively. But what they saw beyond all this caused the Circus Boys to pause almost spellbound.

“He’s in there! He’s in there!” shouted half a dozen voices at the same moment. Then the lads heard the people rush down the stairs and out into the street shouting and screaming for help.

Crouching in the far corner of the room, lashing its tail, its evil eyes fixed upon them, was the lion Wallace.

“Wow!” breathed Teddy.

Phil with eyes fixed upon the lion reached back one hand and tried the door behind him. It was locked.

“Teddy, don’t make any sudden moves,” cautioned Phil in a low voice. “We’re locked in. Give me your torch. Now edge over to that open window and drop out. We can’t both try it, or Wallace will be upon us in a flash. When you get out, run for the lot. Run as you never ran before. Get the men here. Have them rush Wallace’s cage here. Be careful until you get out. Those people have locked us in. I shouldn’t dare open the door anyway, now, for he’d catch us before we could get out. I know the ways of these tricky cats.”

“Phil, he’ll kill you!”

“He won’t. I’ve got the torches. They’re the best weapons a man could have—they and the whip.”

Teddy edged toward the window while Phil with a stern command to the lion to “charge!” at the same time cracking the whip and thrusting the torches toward the beast, checked the rush that Wallace seemed about to make.

Teddy dropped from the window a moment later. Then began an experience for Phil Forrest that few boys would have had the courage to face.

Not for an instant did the Circus Boy lose his presence of mind. He took good care not to crowd Wallace, giving him plenty of room, constantly talking to him as he had frequently heard the animal’s keeper do, and keeping the beast’s mind occupied as much as he could.

Now and then Wallace would attempt to creep up on Phil, whereupon the lad would start forward thrusting the torches before him and crack the whip again. Wallace was afraid of fire, and under the menacing thrusts of the torches would back cowering into his corner.

For a full half hour did Phil Forrest face this deadly peril, cool, collected, his mind ever on the alert, standing there in his pink tights, almost a heroic figure as he poised in the light of the flaring torches, the smoke of which got into his lungs and made him cough. He did all he could to suppress this, for it disturbed and irritated Wallace, who showed his disapproval by swishing his tail and uttering low, deep growls of resentment.

Phil backed away a little so as to get nearer the window that he might find more fresh air. Wallace followed. Phil sprang at him.

“Charge!” he commanded making several violent thrusts with the torches, at which Wallace backed away again and crouched lower. Phil saw that the lion was preparing to jump over his head; and, discovering this, the lad held one torch high above his head and kept it swaying there from side to side.

Suddenly he made another discovery.

The light seemed to be growing dim. A quick glance at the flames of the torches told him what the trouble was.

He dared not let his eyes dwell on the flame for more than a brief instant for the glare would so blind him that he would not be able to clearly make out the lion. To lose sight of Wallace for a few seconds might mean a sudden and quick end to Phil Forrest, and he knew it full well.

The lad backed a bit closer to the window, keeping his torches moving rapidly to hide his movements.

Wallace, watching the torches did not observe the action.

“The torches are going out,” breathed Phil. “If the folks don’t come soon I’ve got to jump through window glass and all or Wallace will spring.”

Phil was in a desperate situation.

CHAPTER XXIV

Conclusion

“Down, Wallace! Charge!”

The Circus Boy’s whip cracked viciously, while the dying torches formed thin circles of fire as they were swung above the lad’s head.

“I shan’t be able to hold him off much longer. Wallace knows, as well as I do, that his turn is coming in a short time. If I happen to be within reach then, something surely is going to happen. Hark! What’s that?”

Distant shouts were borne faintly to Phil’s ears. He listened intently, catching another and welcome sound. The latter was the rumble of a heavy wagon, being driven rapidly along the paved street of the town.

“It’s a circus wagon,” breathed the lad, recognizing the sound instantly. “I hope it is the wagon.”

He listened intently, keeping the torches moving, now and then cracking his whip and uttering sharp commands to Wallace.

The animal was growing more and more restless. His wild instincts were returning to him.

The torches were so low, now, that Phil could scarcely see the beast. Then, all at once, he realized that Wallace was creeping toward him unmindful of the lash or of the fading torches.

Phil waited, peering into the shadows. He was not afraid, as he recalled his sensations afterwards; but a strange little thrill seemed to be racing up and down his spinal column.

Then the lad did a daring thing. He sprang forward to meet Wallace. The astonished lion halted for a brief instant, and in that instant the Circus Boy thrust one of the torches full in his face. The flame burned the nose of the king of beasts and singed his brow as well.

Uttering a mighty roar Wallace cleared the floor, springing backwards and landing against the wall with such force as to jar several panes of glass from the window nearby.

“Phil! Phil! Are you there?” came a hesitating voice from behind the lad. It was the voice of Teddy Tucker on a ladder at one side of the window from which he had jumped earlier in the evening.

“Yes, yes. Be careful. Did you bring them?”

“We’ve got the cage. Mr. Sparling is here, too. He’s half worried to death. What shall we do?”

“Have them draw the cage up in the back yard and back it against the open door. When that’s done some of you come upstairs and throw the door open. Be sure to leave a light in the hall, but jump into the room across the hall as soon as you open the door. Wallace will scent his mate and I’ll wager he’ll trot right downstairs and jump into his cage. Have someone standing by to close the doors on him. Hurry now. Tell them my torches won’t last five minutes longer.”

Teddy slid down the ladder without waiting to place feet or hand on the rungs, and Phil’s anxious ears told him the men were drawing the cage around to the rear yard.

Soon he heard footsteps on the back stairs. Wallace was showing new signs of agitation.

“All ready, in there?”

“All ready,” answered Phil.

Teddy jerked the door open and leaping across the hall, shut himself in the room opposite. Wallace paused, his tail beating the wall behind him; then uttering a roar that shook the building, the shaggy beast leaped into the hall. There he paused for an instant. One bound took him to the foot of the stairs. The next landed him in the cage next to his mate. The cage doors closed behind him with a metallic snap.

Wallace was safe.

“Got him!” shouted a voice from below.

Phil drew a long sigh of relief. Someone dashed up the stairs on a run. It was Mr. Sparling. He grabbed Phil Forrest in his arms, hugging him until the dead torches fell to the floor with a clatter and the lad begged to be released.

“My brave Phil, my brave boy!” breathed the showman. “No one but you could have done a thing like that. You have saved the lives of many people this night, and what is more you have captured the most valuable lion in the world—you and Teddy. I don’t know what to say nor how to say it. I—”

“I wouldn’t try were I in your place,” grinned Phil. “I presume you will have to settle with these people for the slight damage that has been done to their house.”

“I’ll settle the bills; don’t you worry about that.”

“Any more lions lying around loose in here?” questioned Teddy, poking his head in through the open door. “I and my little club are ready for them if there are.”

“Shall we be going, Mr. Sparling?”

“Yes.”

Together the three made their way down the stairs just as the cage was being driven from the yard. As soon as he could find the owner of the house the showman paid him for the damages.

“What shape is the big top in?” asked Phil as they walked slowly back toward the lot.

“Bad, very bad. I might say that it comes pretty near being a hopeless wreck. Still it may be patched up.”

“I am sure of it. I know a blown-down tent is not half as hopeless as it looks. I saw the Robinson shows with a blown-down tent once.”

“I have been thinking the matter over, Phil.”

“Yes.”

“We have only a few days more to go before the close of the season, and it seems to me that the best plan would be to close right here and go in. What do you think?”

“I think,” answered Phil Forrest slowly, “that I should turn all hands loose and fix that tent up so the show will be able to make the next stand and give a performance by tomorrow night at latest. It can be done. If the tent is too badly torn to set up a six pole show, make it a four pole show, or use the menagerie tent for the circus performance. I should never have it said that the Sparling Combined Shows were put out of business by a gale of wind.”

Mr. Sparling halted.

“Phil, there is an old saying to the effect that you can’t ‘teach an old dog new tricks.’ It’s not true. You have taught me a new trick. The Sparling shows shall go on to the close of the season. We’ll make the next town, somehow, and we’ll give them a show the like of which they never before have seen.”

“If they had been here tonight they would have seen one such as they never saw before,” grinned Teddy.

“Yes.”

“A sort of Wild South instead of Wild West show,” added the irrepressible Teddy.

All that night the showmen worked, Phil not even taking the time to discard his gaudy ring clothes. The next morning both he and Teddy were sights to behold, but the show had been loaded, and the big top straightened out and put in shape so that it could be pitched when the next town was reached. At last the boys decided to hunt up their trunks. They found them, after a long search. Getting behind a pole wagon they put on their clothes. An hour later they were on their way to the next stand, tired but proud of their achievements and happy.

The news of the accident to the show, as well as the capture of the big lion, Wallace, by the Circus Boys, had preceded them to the next town. Once more Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker were hailed as heroes, which they really had proved themselves to be.

A very fair performance, considering their crippled condition, was given that afternoon. By the next day the show was on its feet again, and from then on to the close of the season, no other exciting incidents occurred.

Two weeks later the big top came down for the last time that year. On the afternoon of that happy day, the associates of the Circus Boys gave a banquet for the two lads under the cook tent, at which Teddy Tucker distinguished himself by making a speech that set the whole tent in an uproar of merriment.

Good-byes were said, and the circus folks departed that night bag and baggage to scatter to the four quarters of the globe, some never to return to the Sparling shows. Phil and Teddy returned to Edmeston to finish their course at the high school, from which they were to graduate in the following spring.

How the lads joined out with the circus the next season will be told in a succeeding volume entitled, “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI; Or, Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River.” This was destined to be one of the most interesting journeys of their circus careers—one filled with new and exciting experiences and thrilling adventures.

Until then we will leave them to continue their studies in the little village of Edmeston.

THE END

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI

or

Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River

First Published 1912

CONTENTS

I. Making a Lively Start

II. January Lends a Foot

III. A Day of Memories

IV. Their Curiosity Aroused

V. The Circus Boys’ Surprise

VI. A Bolt from the Clouds

VII. In New Quarters

VIII. January on the Rampage

IX. Phil Forrest to the Rescue

X. All Aboard for the Gulf!

XI. Egg, Egg, Who’s Got the Egg?

XII. Trying Out a New Act

XIII. A Narrow Escape

XIV. The Pilot Gets a Surprise

XV. An Unwelcome Visitor

XVI. Betrayed by a Sneeze

XVII. Eavesdroppers!

XVIII. Making a Capture

XIX. Teddy Joins the Band

XX. A Capture in the Air

XXI. A Circus Boy Missing

XXII. Overboard Into the River

XXIII. The Roman Chariot Races

XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

Making A Lively Start

“Have you had any trouble with Diaz, Teddy?”

“Who’s he?”

“The new Spanish clown.”

“Oh!”

Teddy Tucker’s face grew serious.

“What about him, Phil?”

“That is what I am asking you. Have you had any misunderstanding—angry words or anything of the sort with him?” persisted Phil Forrest, with a keen, inquiring glance into the face of his companion.

“Well, maybe,” admitted the Circus Boy, with evident reluctance. “What made you think I had?”

“From the way he looked at you when you were standing in the paddock this afternoon, waiting for your cue to go on.”

“Huh! How did he look at me?”

“As if he had a grudge against you. There was an expression in his eyes that said more plainly than words, ‘I’ll get even with you yet, young man, you see if I do not.’ ”

“Wonderful!” breathed Teddy.

“What do you mean?”

“You must be a mind reader, Phil Forrest,” grumbled Teddy, digging his heel into the soft turf of the circus lot. “Can you read my mind? If you can, what am I thinking about now?”

“You are thinking,” answered Phil slowly, “that you will make me forget the question I asked you just now. You are thinking you would rather not answer my question.”

Teddy opened his eyes a little wider.

“You ought to go into the business.”

“What business?”

“Reading people’s minds, at so much per read.”

“Thank you.”

“I wish you’d read the mind of that donkey of mine, and find out what he’s got up his sleeve, or rather his hoofs, for me this evening.”

“Do you know of what else you are thinking?”

“Of course I do. Think I don’t know what I am thinking about? Well! What am I thinking about?”

“At the present moment you are thinking that you will do to Diaz what he hopes to do to you some of these days—get even with him for some fancied wrong. Am I right?”

“I’ll hand him a good stiff punch, one of these fine spring mornings, that’s what I’ll do,” growled Tucker, his face flushing angrily.

“Teddy Tucker, listen to me!”

“I’m listening.”

“You will do nothing of the sort.”

“I won’t?”

“No.”

“You just wait and see.”

“Since we started out on our fourth season with the Sparling Combined Shows this spring, you have behaved yourself remarkably well. I know it must have pained you to do so. I give you full credit, but don’t spoil it all now, please.”

“Spoil it?”

“Yes. You must remember that this is now a Big show—larger this season than ever before, and you must not expect Mr. Sparling to excuse your shortcomings as he did in the old days.”

“I’m not afraid of Boss Sparling.”

“You have no occasion to be, as long as you do your duty and attend to business. We owe him a heavy debt of gratitude, both of us. You know that, don’t you, Teddy?”

“I—I guess so.”

“What is the trouble between you and Diaz?” persisted Phil Forrest, returning to his original inquiry.

“Well,” drawled Teddy, “you know their act?”

“Yes.”

“Throwing those peaked hats clear across the arena and catching the hats on their heads, just like a couple of monkeys.”

“I didn’t know monkeys ever did that,” smiled Phil.

“Well, maybe they don’t. The trained seals do, anyhow.”

Phil nodded.

“They—the Spaniards—were doing that the other day when I was going out after my clown act. I had picked up the ringmaster’s whip, and as one of the hats went sailing over my head I just took a shot at it.”

“Took a shot at it?”

“Yes. I fired at it on the wing, as it were. Don’t you understand?” demanded the lad somewhat impatiently.

Phil shook his head.

“I hit it a crack with the ringmaster’s whip and I hit the mark the first shot. Down came the hat and it caught me on the nose.”

“Then what did you do?”

“Knocked it on the ground, then kicked it out of the ring,” grinned Teddy.

“Of course you spoiled their act,” commented Phil.

“I—I guess I did.”

“That was an ungentlemanly thing to do, to say the least. It is lucky for you that Mr. Sparling did not happen to see you. Do you know what would have happened to you if he had?”

“He would have fined me, I suppose.”

“No. You would have closed right there. He would have had you sent back home by the first train if he had seen you do a thing like that.”

“I don’t care. I can get a job with the Yankee Robinson show any time, now.”

“Not if you were to be discharged from this outfit for bad conduct. I don’t wonder Diaz is angry. Did he say anything to you at the time?”

Teddy nodded.

“What did he say?”

“I didn’t understand all he said. Some of it was in Spanish, but what I did understand was enough,” grinned the boy.

“Strong language, eh?”

“Phil, he can beat the boss canvasman in that line.”

“I am surprised, Teddy Tucker.”

“So was I.”

“I don’t mean that. I am surprised that you should so far forget yourself as to do such a thing. I don’t blame Diaz for being angry, and I warn you that you had better look out for him. Some of those foreigners have very violent tempers.”

“Well, he didn’t tell the boss, at any rate.”

“No. Perhaps in the long run it might have been better for you if he had. Diaz is awaiting his opportunity to get even with you in his own way. Look out for him, Teddy.”

“He had better look out for me.”

“Don’t irritate him. Were I in your place I should go to the clown and apologize. Tell him it was a thoughtless act on your part and that you are sorry you did it—”

“I won’t.”

“As you please, but that is what I would do.”

“You—you would do that?”

“I certainly would.”

“And let him give you the laugh?”

“That would make no difference to me. I should be doing what is right, and that would be satisfaction enough, no matter what he said or did after that.”

Teddy reflected for a moment.

“Well, maybe that would be a good idea. And if he won’t accept my apology, what then—shall I hand him a—”

“Smile and leave him. You will have done the best you could to make amends.”

“All right, I’ll apologize,” nodded the Circus Boy. “I’ll shed a tear or two to show him how sorry I am. Want to see me do it?”

“I should say not. You will do it better provided I am not looking on, but for goodness’ sake don’t make a mess of the whole business. It would be too bad to make an enemy of one of your associates so early in the season. Think how uncomfortable it would be for you all through the summer. He has not been with us long enough to become used to your practical jokes. Perhaps after he gets better acquainted with you, he may not mind your peculiar ways so much,” added Phil, with a short laugh. “Now run along and be good.”

Teddy turned away and slipped through the paddock opening, in front of which the lads had been standing just outside the tent, leaving Phil looking after him with a half smile on his face.

The Circus Boys were again on the road with the Great Sparling Combined Shows. This was their fourth season out, and the readers will remember them as the same lads who in “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS,” had made their humble start in the circus world. During that first season both lads had distinguished themselves—Phil for his bravery and cool headedness, Teddy for getting himself into trouble under all circumstances and conditions. They had quickly risen, however, to the grade of real circus performers, the owner of the show recognizing in each, the making of a fine performer.

In “THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT,” it will be recalled how Phil and his companion won new laurels in the sawdust arena, and how the former ran down and captured a bad man who had been a thorn in the side of the circus itself for many weeks through his efforts to avenge a fancied wrong. By this time the boys had become full-fledged circus performers, each playing an important part in the performance.

It will be recalled, too, how Phil and Teddy in “THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND,” advanced rapidly in their calling; how Phil was captured by a rival show, held prisoner on the owner’s private car, and later was obliged to become a performer in the ring of the rival show. His escape, his long tramp to rejoin his own show, followed by the battle of the elephants—will be well remembered by all the readers of the previous volumes in this series.

During the winter just passed, the lads had been attending the high school at Edmeston, where they made their home, working hard after school hours to keep themselves in good physical condition for the next season’s work.

Spring came. The lads passed their final examinations, and, with their diplomas in their pockets, set out one bright May morning to join the show which, by this time, had come to be looked upon by them as a real home.

They had been on the road less than two weeks now, and were looking forward with keen anticipation to their summer under the billowing canvas of the Great Sparling Shows.

“I think I will take a peep to see how Teddy is getting along with his apology,” decided Phil, turning and entering the paddock. Then he stepped quietly into the dressing tent.

He saw Teddy approach the clown, Diaz, who sat on his trunk making up his face before a hand mirror.

Teddy halted a few feet from the clown, waiting until the latter should have observed him. The clown glanced up, glowered, and slowly placed the mirror on the trunk beside him. He seemed astonished that the boy should have the courage to face him.

Then Teddy, solemn-faced, made his apology. To Phil Forrest’s listening ears it was the most amazing apology he ever had listened to.

“I’m sorry I made a monkey of you,” said Teddy.

“What!” fairly exploded the clown.

“I’m sorry I made a monkey of you,” repeated the Circus Boy in a slightly louder tone. “Maybe I wouldn’t have done so if I had had time to think about it.”

“You make apology to me—to me?” questioned Diaz, tapping his own chest significantly.

“Yes; to whom did you think I was making an apology—to the hyena out under the menagerie top, eh?”

“Bah!”

“I am sorry I made a fool of you, Mr. Diaz.”

“Me—fool?”

“Yes, I guess you are about right. You certainly look the part, and—”

Diaz sprang up with a growl of rage, Tucker giving ground a little as he observed the anger in the painted face before him. Before the lad could raise his hands to protect himself Diaz had grasped Teddy and hurled him across the dressing tent, where he landed in a pail of water.

He was up in a twinkling. His face was flushed and his hands were clenched.

No sooner had he gotten to his feet than he observed that the clown had started for him again. Teddy squared off, prepared for fight. At that moment, however, there came an interruption that turned the attention of the enraged clown in another direction.

Phil Forrest quickly stepped between them facing Diaz.

“What are you going to do?” demanded the Circus Boy in a quiet voice.

“Do?”

“Yes.”

“I punish the monkey-face—”

“You will, eh?” howled Teddy, starting forward.

Phil thrust his companion aside.

“Go away. I will see if I can explain to him,” cautioned Phil, turning to the clown again, just as the latter was making a rush at Teddy.

“One moment, Mr. Diaz. My friend Teddy is not very diplomatic, but he means well. He apologized to you for what he had done, did he not?”

“Yes,” growled the clown.

“Then why not call it square and—”

“I punish him. I fix him!” roared Diaz, making a leap for Teddy, who had managed to edge up nearer to them.

“You will do nothing of the sort,” answered Phil Forrest firmly, again stepping between them.

An angry light glowed in the eyes of the clown. For an instant he glared into Phil’s steady gray eyes, then all of a sudden launched a vicious blow at the boy.

The blow failed to reach the mark. Phil dodged and stepped back a couple of feet.

Another, as swift as the first was sent straight for his head. This blow the Circus Boy skillfully parried, but made no effort to return.

“Mr. Diaz! Mr. Diaz!” warned Phil. “You forget yourself. Please don’t do anything you will be sorry for afterwards.”

“I fix you!” snarled the clown.

“I don’t want to hit you, sir, but you may force me to do so.”

Phil had no time to warn the fellow further, for the clown began to rain blows upon him, though with no great exhibition of boxing skill. Phil could have landed effectively anywhere on the clown’s body had he chosen to do so.

Instead, the boy slowly gave ground, defending himself cleverly. Not one single blow from the powerful fist of Diaz reached him, Phil exhibiting the wonderful self-control that was characteristic of him. He even found opportunity to warn Teddy to get out of the tent until the tempest had blown over.

Teddy, however, stood with hands thrust in his trousers pockets, shoulders hunched forward, glaring at Diaz.

“Don’t you get in this now,” breathed Phil. “Keep away! Keep away! I’ll—”

At that moment Phil stumbled over a trunk, landing on his head and shoulders. Quick as he was he found himself unable to turn over and roll away soon enough to get beyond reach of the angry clown.

Diaz hurled himself upon the slender, though athletic figure of the Circus Boy, almost knocking the breath out of Phil.

No sooner had he done so than something else happened. A body launched itself through the air. The body belonged to Tucker. Teddy landed with great force on the head and shoulders of the enraged clown, flattening the latter down upon Phil with crushing weight, and nearly knocking Forrest senseless.

CHAPTER II

January Lends A Foot

“Stop it!” roared a voice. “We don’t allow ‘roughhouse’ in the dressing tent.”

“Yes,” added another; “go out on the lot if you want to settle your differences.”

Mr. Miaco, the head clown, who had been a true friend to the boys from the beginning of their circus career, had discovered what was going on about the time Teddy decided to mix in in the disagreement. Mr. Miaco sprang up and ran to the struggling heap. Grasping Teddy firmly by the shoulder he tossed the lad aside.

“Now, you stay out of this, unless you want a thrashing from me,” the head clown warned.

The next to feel the grip of his powerful hand was the clown, Diaz, and when Mr. Miaco discovered that the clown had Phil Forrest down, he could scarcely restrain himself from severely punishing the fellow. However, Miaco satisfied himself with hauling Diaz from his victim with little ceremony. Then he jerked the angry clown to his feet.

“Well, sir, what have you to say for yourself?” demanded Miaco, gazing at the other sternly.

“This no business of yours,” growled Diaz.

“That remains to be seen. I’ll decide whether it is any of my affair or not. Phil, what does this mean?”

“Just a little matter between ourselves. Thank you for helping me out.”

“Did he attack you, Phil?”

“He did, but he no doubt thought he had sufficient provocation. Perhaps we should not be too hard on Mr. Diaz.”

“Then the best thing to do is to tell Mr. Sparling. I—”

“Please don’t do anything of the sort,” begged Phil. “In the first place, Diaz’s anger was directed against Teddy, and I had to mix myself in their quarrel. Teddy did something to him a few weeks ago that made the clown very angry, and I don’t blame Diaz.”

“Was there any excuse for his pitching into you in this manner?”

“Well,” laughed Phil, “perhaps the situation did not demand exactly that sort of treatment.”

“How did you come to let him get you so easily?”

“I fell over something.”

“Oh, that’s it?”

“Yes. I wasn’t trying to hit him. I could have done so easily, but I felt that I was in the wrong.”

“Humph!” grunted the head clown. Then he turned to Diaz.

“See here, you fellow!”

“What you want?” demanded Diaz in a surly tone.

“I want to advise you to let those boys alone in the future. They have been with this show a long time, and they are highly thought of by Mr. Sparling. Were he to hear what you have done tonight I rather think you would pack your trunk and quit right here. I shall not tell him. Next time I see you doing any such thing you will have to answer to me. I’m the head clown here, and I won’t stand for one of my men pitching on a boy.”

Teddy was chuckling to himself over the severe rebuke that Miaco was administering to his clown.

“Do you boys intend going on tonight?” Miaco demanded suddenly, turning on Teddy.

“Certainly,” answered Phil.

“Then I should advise you to be getting into your makeups.”

“Why, what time is it?”

“A quarter to eight.”

“Whew! Come on, Teddy.”

A few moments more and peace had been restored in the dressing tent, though Diaz was muttering to himself as he laid the powder over his face, preparatory to his first entry into the ring.

“I am afraid we have not heard the last of Diaz, Teddy,” confided Phil to his companion. “You see what your moment of thoughtlessness has brought upon us, don’t you?”

“You didn’t have to mix in the row. I could have handled him.”

“I am forced to admit that you are right. I sought to avoid trouble and I was the direct cause of a lot of it. There goes the first call. Hurry up!”

The Circus Boys had, indeed, made an enemy. It was noticed, however, that Manuel, the assistant of Diaz, had taken no part in the row. The young man had calmly proceeded with his making up without appearing to take the slightest interest in the affair. Whether or not his apparent indifference was merely assumed was not known.

The two boys were not performing on the flying rings this season. They had retained all their other acts, however, though the star act was the flying trapeze, in which Phil Forrest was now one of the leading performers.

Teddy rode his donkey, January, took part in the ground tumbling, acted as shadow again for the clown Shivers, besides making himself generally useful in some of the other acts.

As for Phil’s bareback riding, he occupied the center ring in this act, as he had done the season before. He had come to be perhaps the most useful man with the Sparling show.

“I advise you to look out for that fellow. He is a dangerous customer,” warned Miaco under his breath, as Phil sat down on his horse during a rest in the performance.

The Circus Boy nodded his understanding, but appeared little disturbed at Miaco’s warning. Like the seasoned circus man that he was, he had learned to take things as they came, making the best of every situation when he came face to face with it.

Diaz and his assistant were entering the ring as Phil left it. They began throwing their hats, winning great applause, for their act was a clever one of its kind. At about the same time, Teddy Tucker and January came on, the Circus Boy howling, January braying and bucking, beating the air with his heels, for he had been taught some entirely new tricks during the winter.

The ringmaster held up his hand for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, let me introduce to you, January. As January is the first month of the year, so is this January first in the donkey world. You will observe how docile and kind he appears. Yet, ladies and gentlemen, the management of this show will give a hundred dollars to any person who can stick on his back for a full minute—only sixty seconds, ladies and gentlemen. Do you know of any easier or faster way to make money? Six thousand dollars an hour if you stay that long. Who will be the first to earn the money?”

It was the first time the announcement had been made from the ring. Mr. Sparling had given his consent, even though he had not seen the act. He had, however, observed Teddy engaged in a tussle with the beast that afternoon, and could readily understand that what Teddy told him about January’s contrariness was not overdrawn.

A colored man came down from the audience, and, throwing off his coat, announced his intention of riding the mule.

January appeared to have no objection, permitting the colored man to get on his back without offering the least opposition. To Teddy, who stood in front of the animal, grinning, there was a glint in the eye of the mule that spelled trouble for the colored man.

Suddenly January reared, then as quickly tipped the other way until it appeared to the spectators as if he were standing on his head.

The rider suddenly landed on his back in the sawdust.

“The gentleman loses,” announced the ringmaster. “Is there any other gentleman in the audience who thinks he can earn one hundred dollars a minute—six thousand dollars an hour?”

No one appeared to be anxious to make the attempt.

Manuel, in the meantime, had drawn closer, paying strict attention to the words of the ringmaster.

“You give money for riding the burro?” questioned the little Spaniard.

“Burro? This is no Mexican burro, this is a donkey!” sniffed Teddy contemptuously.

The ringmaster instantly scented an opportunity to have some fun, and at the same time make the audience laugh. He glanced about to see if Mr. Sparling were under the big top, and not seeing him, instantly decided to take a long chance.

“Do you think you can ride January, sir?”

“I ride burro.”

“Very well, it is your privilege to do so if you can. Ladies and gentlemen, this clown has never before attempted this feat. He thinks he can ride the donkey. If he succeeds he will receive the reward offered by the management of the show, just the same as you would have done had you performed the feat.”

Teddy stroked January’s nose, then leaning over, the Circus Boy whispered in the animal’s ear.

“January,” he said, “you’ve got a solemn duty to perform. If you shirk it you are no longer a friend of mine, and you get no more candy—understand? No more candy.”

January curled his upper lip ever so little and brayed dismally.

“That’s right; I knew you would agree to the sentiment.”

“Get away from his head, Master Teddy. The Spanish clown is about to distinguish himself,” announced the ringmaster.

Manuel was an agile little fellow. While the announcement was being made he had been taking mental measurement of the beast and deciding upon his course of action.

Ere Teddy had stepped back the Spaniard took a running start, and, with a leap, landed fairly on the back of the donkey.

The latter, taken by surprise, cleared the ground with all four feet and bucked, but the rider had flung his arms about the donkey’s neck, clinging with both feet to the beast’s body, grimly determined to win that hundred dollars or die in the attempt.

“Go it, January,” encouraged Teddy. “Give it to him! Soak him hard!”

January stood on his hind feet, then on his head, as it were, but still the Spaniard clung doggedly.

By this time the donkey had begun to get angry. He had been taken an unfair advantage of and he did not like it. Suddenly he launched into a perfect volley of kicks, each kick giving the rider such a violent jolt that he was rapidly losing his hold.

“Keep it up! Keep it up! You’ve got him!” exulted the Circus Boy.

The audience was howling with delight.

“There he goes!” shrieked Teddy.

Manuel, now as helpless as a ship without a rudder, was being buffeted over the back of the plunging animal.

Manuel was yelling in his native language, but if anyone understood what he was saying, that one gave no heed. Teddy, on the other hand, was urging January with taunt and prod of the ringmaster’s whip.

Suddenly the Spanish clown was bounced over the donkey’s rump, landing on the animal’s hocks. It was January’s moment—the moment he had been cunningly waiting and planning for. The donkey’s hoofs shot up into the air with the clown on them. The hoofs were quickly drawn back, but the Spanish clown continued right on, sailing through the air like a great gaudy projectile.

The audience yelled its approval.

Manuel landed with a crash in the midst of the lower grandstand seats. A second later there was a mix-up that required the united services of a dozen ring attendants to straighten out.

In the meantime, Teddy Tucker was rolling on the ground near the center pole, howling with delight, while January, with lowered head, was trotting innocently toward the paddock.

The ringmaster’s whistle trilled for the next act, and the show went on with its characteristic dash and sprightliness.

However, Teddy Tucker’s plan to get one of the Spanish hat-throwing clowns into trouble had been an entire success. He had succeeded, also, in making another bitter enemy for the Circus Boys.

CHAPTER III

A Day of Memories

Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show, had been a witness of the latter part of Teddy’s act. The showman was standing over near the entrance to the menagerie tent when Manuel took his unexpected flight, and the proprietor sat down on the grass, laughing until the tears started from his eyes.

The act had been a breach of discipline, so Mr. Sparling prudently kept himself out of sight until the show had progressed further.

Later in the evening he chanced to pass Teddy out in the paddock.

“Well, my lad, how is January working tonight?” he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Never better, sir, thank you.”

“I presume he obeys your commands perfectly, eh?”

“Does everything I tell him to, Mr. Sparling. I can do anything with that donkey. Why, I could wink at him and make him kick your head off. I—”

“I’ll take your word for it, young man—I’ll take your word for it. Let me warn you to be careful that you do not tell him to do anything that will interfere with the programme. We must have our acts clean cut, and embodying nothing that has not been arranged for in advance. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” answered Teddy, giving the owner a keen, inquiring glance.

“I’ll bet he saw that,” mused the lad. “He’s letting me off easy because he had to laugh, just the same as the rest of the people did.”

“What did Mr. Sparling have to say?” questioned Phil, who had emerged from the dressing tent just as Teddy was walking away from the showman.

Teddy told him.

“You got off pretty easy, I must say. It is a wonder he did not discipline you for that.”

“Do you think he saw Manuel fly?”

“He did, or else someone told him. Be careful, Teddy! You are laying up trouble for all of us,” warned Phil.

“I got even with Mr. Hat Thrower, just the same,” grinned Tucker.

Teddy was the happiest boy in the show that night, and he went to his sleeping quarters chuckling all the way.

The show, this season, had opened in Chicago, and was now working its way across the state of Illinois. The route had caused considerable comment among the show people. They did not understand what the plans of the owner might be.

Ordinarily, give a showman the first week or two of the show’s route and he will tell you just what parts of the country the show will visit during that particular season. The performers were unable to do so in this instance. Phil Forrest was as much perplexed as the others, but he made no mention of this to Mr. Sparling.

“He has some surprise up his sleeve, I am sure,” decided Phil shrewdly.

The next morning Phil asked Mr. Miaco, the head clown, if he knew where they were going.

“I do not,” answered the clown. “This route has kept me guessing. Boss Sparling may be headed for Australia for all I know. He’s just as likely to go there as anywhere else. Has the Spaniard bothered you since that mix-up?”

“No.”

“Well, keep away from him. That is my advice.”

“I shall not bother him. You may depend upon that, Mr. Miaco. I can’t say as much for Teddy.”

“Teddy put up that job with January last night, didn’t he?”

“He hasn’t said so.”

“Not necessary. I saw the whole thing. Lucky for Teddy that Mr. Sparling did not happen to be about.”

“I am not so sure that he was not.”

“What?”

Phil explained what Mr. Sparling had said to Teddy out in the paddock.

“Yes, he saw it all right, but I guess he doesn’t know about the trouble in the dressing tent yesterday.”

“No, I think not. I hope he does not hear of it, either. I do not wish Mr. Sparling to think that I am a troublemaker, or that I was mixed up in an unseemly row in the dressing tent. I should feel very much humiliated were I to be called to account for a thing like that. What are all those flags flying for in town today?”

“Don’t you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

“You don’t know what day this is?”

“No, sir.”

“This is Decoration Day.”

“Oh, that’s so.”

“We lose all track of days in the show business. I’ll wager you do not even know what town we are performing in today,” laughed the clown.

“I shall have to confess that I do not.”

“I thought so. Of course you know we are in the state of Illinois?”

“Yes, I think I have heard something to that effect,” grinned Phil.

By the time the boys had eaten their breakfast, and had strolled over toward the tents, they found the dressing tents in place and the performers busily engaged in unpacking their belongings, hanging their costumes on lines stretched across the dressing tent, and making such repairs in the costumes as were found to be necessary, for a showman must be handy with the needle as well as with bar and trapeze.

Phil’s trunk was next to that of Diaz. The Circus Boy did not mind this at all, but the clown appeared to feel a continual resentment at the fact.

“Good morning, Mr. Diaz,” greeted the lad, with a sunny smile. “Shall we shake hands and be friends?”

Diaz glared at him, but made no reply. He did not even appear to have observed the hand that was extended toward him.

“I am sorry you feel that way about it, sir. If I was hasty I beg you will forgive me,” urged Phil.

Diaz turned his back on him.

“Very well, sir,” said the Circus Boy, a little proudly and with slightly heightened color, “I shall not trouble you again.”

Phil turned away and began unpacking his trunk, giving no further heed to the sullen clown.

“The Honorable Mr. Diaz says ‘nix,’ ” laughed Teddy, who had been an amused witness to the one-sided conversation, the word “nix” being the circus man’s comprehensive way of saying, “I refuse.”

“Don’t stir him up, Teddy,” warned Phil.

“Say, what’s going on over in the women’s dressing tent?”

“I did not know that anything out of the ordinary was happening there,” said Phil. “Why?”

“I see a lot of folks going in and out.”

“Nothing unusual about that, I guess.”

“Yes, there is.”

“What makes you think so?”

“ ’Cause they’re carrying flowers in and making a great fuss. I’m going over to find out. Come along?”

“No, thank you. You had better keep out. You know you are not supposed to go in the other dressing tent.”

Teddy was not disturbed by the warning. He turned and started for the women’s dressing tent, where he saw several of the other performers passing through the entrance. Phil, who had stepped to the door of his own dressing tent, observed the same thing.

“I guess there must be something going on over there. I shall have to find out what it means,” he thought.

“May I come in, Mrs. Waite?” called Phil from the entrance.

“Sure. Come in Phil,” smiled the wardrobe woman.

Teddy had not wasted the breath to ask permission to enter, but the moment he stepped inside something caught his eyes, causing them to open a little wider.

Two trunks had been drawn up in the center; over them was thrown an American flag. At one end a flag on a standard had been planted, and on the trunks, flowers and wreaths had been placed.

“What’s that thing?” asked Teddy.

“That is my grave, Master Teddy,” answered Mrs. Waite in a low tone.

“Your grave?”

“Yes.”

“Pshaw! That’s a funny kind of grave. What’s buried there—your pet poodle?”

“Teddy! Teddy!” whispered Phil reprovingly.

“Go ’way. This is some kind of a joke,” growled Teddy.

“It is not a joke, though I do not understand the meaning of it just yet. You say this is your grave, Mrs. Waite?” asked Phil.

“Yes, Phil. You know my husband was a soldier?”

“No, I did not know that, Mrs. Waite. Will you tell me all about it?”

Phil was deeply interested now.

“My husband was killed at the battle of Gettysburg. He lies in Woodlawn Cemetery. I am never at home on Decoration Day. I am always on the road with the circus, so I cannot decorate the real grave.”

“I understand,” breathed the Circus Boy.

“Being unable to decorate my husband’s real grave, I carry my grave with me. Each Memorial Day morning I prepare my grave here in the dressing tent, and decorate it as you see here, and all my friends of the circus are very good and thoughtful on that occasion.”

“How long have you been with the show—how many years have you been decorating this little property grave, Mrs. Waite?” asked Phil.

“Thirty years, Phil.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes, and it seems no more than two.”

“Do you intend remaining with the show much longer—aren’t you ever going to retire?”

“Yes. I am going to retire. I am getting old. I have laid up enough money to keep me for the rest of my life, and I am going to take a rest after two years more with this outfit.”

“I am afraid you will miss the show,” smiled the lad.

“I know I shall. I shall miss the life, the color, and I shall miss my boys and my girls. I love them all very much.”

One after another, the women of the circus had come in to the dressing tent, depositing their little floral remembrances on the property grave while Mrs. Waite was talking.

Teddy, as soon as he fully comprehended the meaning of the scene, had slipped out. In a little while he returned. He brought with him a bunch of daisies that he had gathered on the circus lot. These he had tied with a soiled pink ribbon that he had ripped from one of his ring costumes.

Phil saw the daisies, and, noting their significance, smiled approvingly.

“Teddy has a heart, after all,” was his mental comment.

Teddy Tucker proceeded to the flag-draped grave, gently placed his offering upon it, then turned away.

As he did so, he was observed to brush a hand across his eyes as if something there were blurring his sight.

CHAPTER IV

Their Curiosity Aroused

“Phil, I have an idea that you are wondering where we are bound for?” said Mr. Sparling, with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“I will confess that I have been somewhat curious,” smiled the boy. “From the route I could not imagine where you were heading.”

“You are not the only one who has been guessing. Our rivals are positively nervous over the movements of this show. They think we are going to jump into the Mississippi River, or something of the sort—”

“Or float on it,” added Phil.

Mr. Sparling eyed him keenly.

They were in the owner’s private tent, discussing the business of the show itself, as these two did every day of the season, for Mr. Sparling had come to place no little reliance on the judgment of his young Circus Boy.

“What made you say that, Phil?”

“I had no particular reason. Perhaps I thought I was saying something funny.”

“Nothing very funny about that,” answered the showman.

“I agree with you.”

“I thought perhaps you might ask me where we were routed for this season.”

“And I thought you would tell me when you wished me to know,” answered the boy.

“It was not because I did not wish you to know our route, Phil. I rather thought I should like to give you a surprise.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We are going to surprise the show world at the same time, so you see you are not the only one who will be surprised.”

“You arouse my curiosity, Mr. Sparling.”

“Still you refuse to ask where we are going,” replied the showman, laughing heartily. “I have made my arrangements with the utmost secrecy because I did not wish any of the opposition shows to get a line on my plans. Not one of them has done so thus far. Tomorrow they will know. Or at least by the day after tomorrow. I am not going to let you in on my little secret today either. Do you think you can possess your soul in patience until then?”

“I think there will be no trouble about that. If I have restrained my curiosity so far I surely can control it until tomorrow. We show at Milledgeville tomorrow, do we not?”

“That’s what the route card says and I guess the route card is right.”

“Small town, is it not?”

“Yes, one of the little river towns. Do you know much about the river?”

“Nothing except what I observed when we played the southern states last season. I should like to take a trip down the river, and hope I may have an opportunity to do so one of these days.”

“You’ll have the opportunity, all right.”

“Sir?”

“I said you would have the opportunity.”

“I hope so.”

“Perhaps sooner than you think, too. How is your friend, Tucker, getting along?”

“Pretty well, thank you. I guess he is working better this season than he did last. His acts are much more finished, don’t you think so?”

“Yes. I noticed that he nearly finished a clown with one of his acts the other night,” answered Mr. Sparling dryly, whereat both laughed heartily. “Have you had any trouble, with any of the men?”

“Do you mean myself, personally?”

“Either or both of you?”

“Some slight disagreements. What trouble we have had has been due wholly to our own fault,” answered Phil manfully.

“With whom?”

“I would rather not say anything about it, if you will permit me to remain silent.”

“You are a queer boy, Phil.”

“So I have been told before,” answered the lad, laughing.

“And your friend Teddy is a confounded sight more so. I’m afraid he would have a hard time with most any other show in spite of the fact that he is an excellent performer.”

“I have told him as much.”

“Oh, you have?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What does he say?”

“He doesn’t take my advice very seriously, I am afraid. Teddy is all right at heart, however.”

“I agree with you.”

Phil then related to Mr. Sparling the incident of the dressing tent, when Teddy gathered the daisies to place on the “grave” in memory of Mrs. Waite’s soldier dead, to all of which the showman listened with thoughtful face. Mr. Sparling rose, walked to the door of the tent, then returned and sat down.

“You never knew that I was a soldier, too, did you, Phil?”

“No, sir. Were you really?”

“Yes. I fought with the South. I was a drummer boy in a Georgia regiment,” said the showman reminiscently. “Perhaps had I been older I might have done differently, but I loved my Sunny South and I love it now.”

“So do I,” added Phil Forrest fervently.

“But the war is over. It is the show business that concerns us most intimately at the present moment. I want to say that you are doing excellent work on the flying trapeze this season.”

“Thank you. I am doing my best.”

“You always do. Whatever you attempt you go at with all the force you possess, and that is no slight factor, either. I have been waiting to talk seriously with you for sometime. You have finished your studies, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“What are your plans for the future?”

“I have no immediate plans beyond continuing in the show business. I am trying to lay up some money so I can go into business some of these days.”

“What business?”

“Circus business, of course. It is the only business I know anything about, and I know very little about that, it seems to me.”

“Let me tell you something, Phil. Nine-tenths of the men who have been in it nearly all their lives know no more about the circus business than you do. Many of them not so much. You are a born showman. Take my word for it, you have a very brilliant career before you. You spoke, sometime ago, about wishing to go to college.”

“I should like to go.”

“Under the circumstances I would advise against it, though I am a thorough believer in the value of an education. You have a good start now. Were you to go to college you would spend four years there and when you finished, you would find that the show world had been moving right along just the same. You would be out of it, so to speak. You would have been standing still so far as the circus was concerned, for four full years. Think it over and some of these days we will have another talk.”

“What would you advise, Mr. Sparling?”

“I don’t advise. I am simply pointing out the facts for you to consider, that’s all.”

“I thank you, Mr. Sparling. I already owe you a debt of gratitude. I shall never forget all you have done for Teddy and myself, and I am sure Teddy also appreciates it.”

“You owe me nothing.”

“Oh, yes, I do! I shall never be able wholly to pay the debt, either.”

“We will drop that side of the case, my boy. You will want to pack all your things for moving tonight.”

“You mean my dressing-room trunk?”

“I mean all your belongings.”

Phil looked his surprise.

“I have special reference to your stuff in the sleeper.”

“May I ask why, Mr. Sparling.”

“Because tonight will be the last night you will spend on the sleeping car for sometime, in all probability.”

“I don’t understand. Am I to leave the show?”

“Leave the show?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I should say not. You leave the show? I would rather lose any ten men in it than to have you go away. I trust you never will leave it for any length of time—at least not while I am in the business. No, you are going on a little trip—the show is going on a little trip. That is the surprise I have in store for you. You will know tomorrow morning. Not another word now, Phil Forrest. Run along and get ready for the performance.”

The Circus Boy hurried over to the dressing tent, full of curiosity and anticipation of what awaited him on the morrow. Strange to say, Phil had not the least idea what the plan of the owner of the show might be.

The surprise was to be a complete one.

CHAPTER V

The Circus Boys’ Surprise

“Come, Phil and Teddy. I want you to take a little walk with me,” called Mr. Sparling early next morning after they had finished their breakfast.

That morning orders had been given in each of the sleeping cars, for the performers to pack their belongings, ready to be moved from the cars.

The show people could not understand it, and gossip was rife among them as to the meaning of the unusual order.

Orders also had been given to the various heads of departments to prepare to desert the train, bag and baggage.

“Where are we going?” demanded Teddy suspiciously.

“For a walk. You need not go along, unless you wish to,” added the showman.

“Of course I wish to go. Do you think I want to stay on the lot when anything is going on somewhere else, eh?”

“There would be plenty going on, if you remained. I am sure of that,” replied Mr. Sparling, with a short laugh. “Come along, boys.”

Still wondering what it was all about, Phil and Teddy walked along with their employer. They passed on through the business street of the town, then turned off sharply, heading for the north. A few moments of this and they turned to the left again.

“Hello, there’s the river,” announced Teddy.

“Yes, that is the river.”

“I wish I could take a boat ride.”

“You shall have one tonight.”

“Good!”

Phil glanced at Mr. Sparling inquiringly.

“Oh, look at that funny boat!” cried Teddy. “It’s yellow. I’ve heard of a yellow dog, but I can’t say that I ever heard of a yellow boat. And it has a paddle wheel on behind. Well, if that isn’t the limit! Why, there are three of them. What are they, Mr. Sparling?”

Phil’s eyes already were widening. He had caught sight of something that shed a flood of light on the mystery—the surprise that Mr. Sparling had in store for them. But he was not positive enough to commit himself.

A moment more, and he knew he was not wrong.

“Teddy, if you will read the words on the side of that boat nearest to us, you will understand, I think.”

“T-h-e,” spelled Teddy.

“The,” finished Phil.

“S-p-a-r-l-i-n-g, Sparling. C-o-m-b-i-n-e-d Shows. Well, what do you think of that?”

“I hardly know what to think, yet,” answered Phil Forrest. “The Sparling Combined Shows. Do you mean to say—?”

“I haven’t said a word,” answered Mr. Sparling, with a merry twinkle in his eyes. “I am waiting for you to say something.”

“I—I am afraid I am too much astonished to say much. Do you mean we are going to take to the river?”

“Exactly.”

“With the show?”

“Yes.”

“Hooray!”

“What’s that?” demanded Teddy.

“Didn’t you hear?”

“I heard, but I don’t understand. What’s it all about? What is it about those yellow boats over there?”

“The Sparling Circus is going down the Mississippi,” Mr. Sparling informed him.

“On those things?”

“On those boats.”

“Then I think I’ll walk. You don’t catch me riding on any boat that has to have a wheel on behind to help push it along. No, siree, not for mine!”

“But, Teddy, they are fine boats,” said Phil.

“They are among the few typical Mississippi River steamers,” broke in Mr. Sparling. “I got them far up the river last winter. When I first conceived the plan of sending my show down the river, on the river itself, I took a trip out here to look over the ground—”

“You mean the water,” corrected Teddy innocently.

“A little of both, my boy. I found that no show since the early days of the barnstorming outfits had ever attempted the feat. I learned a number of things that made me all the more anxious to try it. The next question was a boat. I heard of some of the old broad-beamed river craft that were out of commission up stream. I found them exactly suited to our requirements, and I rented them for the season. It cost quite a sum to have them fixed up, but you will find them just the thing for our work. What do you think of the idea?”

“Great!” breathed Phil. “It fairly takes my breath away.”

“When—when do we move in?” asked Teddy Tucker wonderingly.

“We begin moving in this morning. I have given the orders to have the property removed from the trains and brought here, now—that is, all that will not be needed for today’s performances. Tonight all hands will sleep on the boats. How will you like that, boys?”

“Fine!” answered Phil, with glowing eyes.

“I’ll tell you after I try it,” added Teddy prudently.

Across the sides of each boat, in big black letters, were the words, “The Sparling Combined Shows.” Below this lettering appeared the names of the boats. The “River Queen” was the name emblazoned on one, several shades more yellow than the other two.

“I guess we shall have to call her the ‘Yellow Peril,’ ” laughed Phil. “Don’t you think that would be an appropriate name?”

Mr. Sparling laughed good-naturedly.

The companion boat to the “Queen” was named the “Mary Jane.” Teddy promptly renamed her the “Fat Marie,” in honor of The Fattest Woman on Earth, much to the amusement of Phil and Mr. Sparling.

The “Nemah” was the third boat of the fleet, a much smaller craft than either of the others. The owner intended to use the “Nemah” as the Flying Squadron of the show, the boat that went ahead of the main body of the show, bearing the cook tent, kitchen equipment and as much other property as could be loaded on it.

“Well, Teddy,” said Mr. Sparling, “in view of the fact that you and Phil have renamed the ‘River Queen’ and the ‘Mary Jane,’ I suppose you will not be satisfied until you have rechristened the ‘Nemah.’ What will you call her?”

“ ‘Little Nemo,’ ” answered the lad promptly.

“You boys beat anything I ever came across in all my circus experience,” remarked Mr. Sparling.

“Where do we sleep?” asked Phil.

“The cabins are all on the upper decks. The lower decks will be used wholly for the equipment. I have had all the partitions ripped out, down there, and the deck flooring lowered a little so that the elephants will have room to stand. I have also had smaller wheels put on all the wagons. Had I not done so the wagons would not have gone in through the openings on the sides.”

“What about the tent poles?” asked Phil. “You never will be able to drive a pole wagon on board.”

“You have an eye to business, I see. Have you noticed that the center poles are spliced this season?”

“Yes, I did observe that.”

“It was for the purpose of easier handling. The poles will all be swung to the upper decks in bundles. In the morning they will be lowered to the wagons, which can be done without much difficulty. All the poles, except those belonging to the big top, will go out on the ‘Little Nemo,’ as you have named her. At first, handling the show will be a little awkward, but we shall soon get the hang of it and fit into the new arrangement just as if we had been always traveling on boats. Traveling on the water, you see, we shall be able to show on both sides of the river all the way down, which we could not do were we traveling by train. That will give us a long season, short runs overnight and a fine outing. Everybody will be delighted with the change, don’t you think so?”

“If not, they will be pretty hard to please, I should say,” rejoined Phil. “Why, it will be a regular vacation—all summer!”

“How far do we go?” asked Teddy.

“The length of the river.”

“To the Gulf of Mexico?”

“Yes. New Orleans probably will be our last stand of the season. That is, if we do not get wrecked on the big river.”

“We can swim out if we do,” suggested Teddy.

“I hope nothing of the sort will occur. I think our new plans will make a great hit along the river.”

“They cannot help but do so. We shall have a fine business, I know,” smiled Phil,” and our rivals will be green with envy.”

“May we go on board?”

“I hardly think you will have time this morning, Teddy. You boys had better get back to the lot now. I will let you run the show, Phil, as I shall be busy most of the day arranging for the transfer to our new quarters. I chose Saturday for the purpose, as it will give us plenty of time. We probably shall not get away from here much before daylight.”

“What boat do we berth on?”

“The ‘Fat Marie,’ ” answered the showman, with a laugh. “I believe I’ll have these new names of yours painted on the boats. They certainly make a hit with me. Skip along, now!”

Almost too full of the new plans to talk, the Circus Boys hurried back to the circus lot. Mr. Sparling’s surprise had been a surprise, indeed.

By the time they reached the lot the news had been circulated that the show was to take to the river, and the show people were discussing excitedly the new plan.

All was bustle and excitement, and the occupants of the dressing tent, who were preparing for the parade, crowded about the boys to hear of the new boats.

The Sparling show had never gone along with the snap and enthusiasm that it did that afternoon. The performers were on their mettle and the little town was treated to a performance such as it had never seen before.

Teddy distinguished himself by landing on his head on the somersaulting mat, narrowly escaping breaking his neck, and Phil took an unexpected header into the big net during his trapeze act, getting a jolt that made his head ache for an hour afterwards. Nothing else of an exciting nature occurred during the afternoon performance, but at the evening show the circus people were not so fortunate.

At that performance they met with excitement enough to last them for a long time.

CHAPTER VI

A Bolt from the Clouds

“The old hen has laid an egg! The old hen has laid an egg!”

The performance was moving merrily on, the gasoline lamps shedding a bright glow over the golden haze of the circus tent, when a diminutive clown rushed into the arena bearing something in his arms.

To the spectators it was just another clownish act, and they laughed uproariously. The circus people, however, realized at once that something not down on the bills was taking place, and they cast wondering glances at the little clown, who was dancing about in high glee.

“Get out of here!” growled the ringmaster angrily. “What do you mean by breaking into the performance in this way. Out of here, I say!”

“The old hen has laid an egg!” repeated the clown, holding aloft the object that all might see.

Teddy Tucker, for it was he, cared nothing for the crowds occupying the seats. In fact, it is doubtful that he gave any thought to them at all.

“What do you mean?” demanded the ringmaster.

“The ostrich. Don’t you see?”

“The ostrich?”

“Yes, she’s laid an egg.”

Quick to appreciate the value of the clown’s interruption, the ringmaster took the great egg that Teddy had brought in, and held it aloft.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced, as the band suddenly ceased playing, “wonders never cease in the Great Sparling Shows. You have been treated to startling feats of skill upon the lofty flying swings; you have witnessed desperately dangerous displays of unrivaled aerialism, and you are about to observe the thundering, furious Roman chariot races three times about the arena—”

“Say, what are you trying to get at?” growled Teddy Tucker. “Give me back that egg.”

“But a sensation greater than all of these is in store for you, though you did not know it. The tallest hen in the world has laid an egg for your instruction and amusement—the ostrich has immortalized the town of Milledgeville by laying an egg within its sacred precincts, and my friend, Teddy Tucker, in discovering it, has accomplished an achievement beside which the discovery of the north or south pole is a cheap side show.”

The audience yelled its approval and appreciation.

“Young man, what do you intend to do with this wonderful and rare specimen?”

“What do I intend to do with it?”

“Yes. Is it your purpose to present it to this beautiful little city, to be placed among its other treasures in the city hall?”

“Well, I guess not!”

“What, then?”

“I’m going to eat it. That’s what I’m going to do with it,” answered Teddy in a voice loud enough to be heard all over the big top.

The people shouted.

“Give me that egg!” demanded the Circus Boy, grabbing the big white ball and marching off toward the paddock with it, to the accompaniment of the laughter and applause of the audience.

“Now that we have seen this remarkable Easter achievement, the performance will proceed,” announced the ringmaster, blowing his whistle and waving his hand.

The band struck up; the performers, grinning broadly, took up their work where they had left off upon the entrance of Teddy Tucker with the giant egg.

The incident had served to put both performers and audience in high good humor. Mr. Sparling was not present to witness it. He was busy down by the docks, attending to the loading of such of the show’s equipment as was ready to be packed away for shipment on the Sparling fleet.

Perhaps it was just as well for Teddy, that the owner of the show was not present, as he might have objected to the Circus Boy’s interruption of the performance.

Teddy was irrepressible. He stood in awe of no one except the Lady Snake Charmer, and did pretty much as he pleased all the time. Yet, beneath the surface, there was the making of a manly man, a resolute, sturdy character of whom great things might be expected in the not far distant future.

As the performance proceeded an ominous rumbling was suddenly heard.

“I think it is going to storm,” Phil confided to his working mate on the flying trapeze.

“Sounds that way. Is that thunder I hear?”

“Yes.”

“Guess it won’t amount to much. Just a spring shower. You will find a lot of them along the river for the next month or so.”

“I have always heard that rivers were wet,” replied Phil humorously, swinging off into space, landing surely and gracefully in the arms of the catcher in the trapeze act.

“I think we had better cut the act short.”

“Oh, no, let’s go on with it,” answered Phil. “I am not afraid if you are not.”

“Afraid nothing. I remember still what a narrow escape we had last season just before that blow-down, when Wallace, the big lion, made his escape. That was a lively time, wasn’t it?”

“Rather,” agreed Phil.

The ringmaster motioned to them to bring their act to a close, and the band leader, catching the significance of the movement, urged his musicians to play louder. The crash of cymbals and the boom of the bass drum and the big horns almost drowned out the rumbling of the thunder.

Those up near the dome of the tent, still going through their acts, now heard the patter of heavy rain drops on the canvas top. The lights throughout the tent flickered a little under the draught that sucked in through the openings in the tent and the open space at the top of the side walls.

The audience showed signs of restlessness.

“It is only a spring shower, ladies and gentlemen,” announced the ringmaster. “You have no cause for alarm. The hats of the ladies are perfectly safe. This tent is waterproof. You could soak it in the Mississippi without getting a drop of water through it. That’s the way the Sparling show looks out for its patrons. Nothing cheap about the Sparling outfit!”

A laugh greeted his remarks.

A blinding flash faded the gasoline lamps to a ghostly flame. A few seconds later a crash that shook the earth followed, causing the audience to shiver with nervous apprehension.

Teddy had come out and was gazing aloft. He grinned at Phil, noting at the same time that all the lofty performers were preparing to come down.

“Hello, fraid-cats up there!” jeered the Circus Boy.

“You get out of here!” snapped the ringmaster. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

“I’m working.”

“Yes, I see you working. Go on about your business and don’t bother me. Don’t you think I have anything else to do except to watch you, in order to prevent your breaking up the performance?”

“You ought to thank me for keeping you busy,” chuckled Teddy, making a lively jump to get out of the way of the long lash that snapped at his heels.

Perhaps there was method in Teddy Tucker’s movements. He strolled out into the concourse, gazing up at the crowded seats, winking and making wry faces at the people, as he moved slowly along, causing them to laugh and shout flippant remarks at him.

This was exactly what he wanted them to do. It gave Teddy an opportunity to talk back, and many a keen-pointed shaft did he hurl at the unwary who had been imprudent enough to try to make sport of him.

While this impromptu act was going on the minds of the people were so occupied that they forgot all about the storm.

The rain was now beating down on the big top in a deluge, and despite the ringmaster’s assurance that the canvas would not leak, a fine spray was filling the tent like a thin fog, through which the lights glowed in pale circles.

“Even the lamps have halos,” Teddy informed the people. “I had one once, but the ringmaster borrowed it and forgot to return it. But I don’t care. He needs a halo more than I do.”

A howl greeted this sally.

Teddy was about to say something else, after the first wave of laughter had swept over the audience, but no one heard him speak.

Another flash, more brilliant, more blinding than any that had gone before it, lighted up the tent. The big top seemed suddenly to have been filled with fire. Thin threads of it ran down quarter and center pole; circles of it raced about the iron rings used in various parts of the tent, then jumped into the rigging, running up and down the iron braces and wire ropes used to brace the apparatus.

The flash was accompanied by a report that was terrifying. At that instant a great ball of fire descended from the damp top of the tent, dropping straight toward the concourse. Teddy Tucker chanced to be standing just beneath it. He had glanced up when the report came, to see if any damage had been done aloft.

“Wow!” breathed Teddy.

Just then the ball burst only a few feet above his head, scattering fire in all directions.

Teddy fell flat to the ground.

He was up almost at once.

“I’m all right! How’s the rest of the family?” he howled.

The rest of the family were too much concerned with what was taking place in the big top to notice the Circus Boy’s humor.

Then Teddy observed that the center pole was split from end to end. The lightning bolt had followed it from its peak to the ground. Several of the side poles had already given way, and the lad saw the dome of the tent slowly settling.

“Hitch it! Anchor it!” he bellowed.

The attendants were too frightened to give heed to his words.

Phil Forrest was coming down a rope, hand under hand, as rapidly as he could travel.

“Snub the rope or you’ll have the tent down on you!” he shouted.

Teddy darted forward, throwing himself upon the heavy rope that held the dome in place.

At that instant the rope on which Phil Forrest was descending gave way, and Phil came straight down.

He landed on Teddy Tucker’s head and shoulders, knocking Teddy flat on the ground, where the little Circus Boy lay still. Yet he had, with rare presence of mind, snubbed the heavy rope around a tent stake, keeping the free end of the rope in hand, and holding desperately to it.

Nor did Teddy release his grip on the rope, now that he had been knocked unconscious. He held it in place, the strands wound firmly about his arm, though inch by inch he was slipping toward the heavy tent stake. Phil had received a severe shaking-up, but he was on his feet quickly, looking about to see on whom he had fallen.

When he discovered that Teddy had been the victim, Phil groaned.

“I’m afraid I have finished him!”

Teddy had now been drawn along by the rope until his head was against the tent stake.

“Quick! Lend a hand here!” shouted Phil.

He wrenched the rope loose from Tucker’s hands, taking a twist about his own arms and holding on with all his might.

Several ring attendants came to their senses about that time and rushed to his assistance.

“Take care of Teddy!” cried Phil.

The ringmaster turned Teddy over and looked into the lad’s face. At that, Teddy opened his eyes and winked. The ringmaster jerked him to his feet and shook him vigorously.

This restored the boy to his normal condition.

“Hello, folks!” howled Teddy, turning a handspring, falling over a ring curbing as he did so.

The people forgot their fear and greeted Teddy with wild applause. The Circus Boy had saved a blow-down and perhaps many lives as well.

CHAPTER VII

In New Quarters

Though the center pole had been struck by lightning, repairs were soon sufficiently advanced to enable the show to go on and complete the performance. The pole itself was practically ruined.

Fortunately, the show had another one, and the wrecked pole was left on the lot that night as worthless.

After the Roman races the people stood up in their seats and gave three cheers for the boy who had saved many of them from perhaps serious injury or death.

Teddy heard the cheer. He was in his dressing tent changing his clothes, having thus far gotten on only his trousers and undershirt.

He could not restrain his curiosity, so trotting to the entrance he inquired the cause of the commotion.

“They’re cheering for you,” a canvasman informed him.

“For me?”

“Yes.”

Teddy needed no more. Without an instant’s hesitation he ran out into the ring, where he stood smiling, bowing and throwing kisses to them.

“Come and see us again!” yelled the Circus Boy.

“We will that!” answered a chorus of voices.

“I’ll have the big hen lay another egg for you. I—” His voice was drowned in the roar of laughter that followed this sally.

Already the attendants were ripping up the seats, loading them into the wagons, with a rattle and bang. Men were shouting, horses neighing; here and there an animal uttered a hoarse-voiced protest at something, it knew not what.

Circus animals often scent a change, perhaps more quickly than do the people about them.

Performers and others, whose duties did not keep them on the lot, were hurrying to get to the dock where the circus boats were waiting, and where Mr. Sparling was attending to the loading.

Phil and Teddy were in no less haste. Quickly getting their trunks packed, they started off for the river. The moon had come out after the storm and the air was fresh and fragrant, though underfoot the evidences of the storm were still present.

“Did I hurt you much when I fell on you tonight, Teddy?”

“Hurt me?”

“Yes?”

“You knocked the breath out of me. But don’t let a little thing like that worry you. I thought the tent had fallen on me, or at least a center pole. Lucky I was there, wasn’t it?”

“It was.”

“You might have received a bump that you wouldn’t have gotten over right away.”

“I might have done so.”

“I saved your life, didn’t I?”

“Perhaps you did. I had only a few feet to drop, you know. I was ready to drop on all fours lightly when you happened to get in the way—”

“When I happened to get in the way?”

“Yes. Didn’t you?”

“Well, I like that,” growled Teddy indignantly. “Here I run in and save your life, willing to sacrifice my own for you and you say when I ‘happened to get in the way.’ ”

Phil laughed heartily.

“Of course, I appreciate your wonderful self-sacrifice. It was very kind of you to get in the way and let me fall on you. Nothing like having a soft place to fall, is there, old chap?”

Teddy uttered an unintelligible growl.

“That’s right; insult me. I’m only a clown and—and a life-saver—”

“And one of the best fellows a chap could have for his friend, eh? I was only joking, Teddy.”

“I accept your apology. My hand on it,” answered Teddy condescendingly. “Next time you can fall on the ground or any old place. I don’t care. I shan’t try to catch you.”

“If I remember correctly, you could not very well help yourself in this instance. You did not catch me. I caught you—caught you unawares. There is Mr. Sparling and there are the boats. Don’t they look fine, all lighted up inside, their signal lights burning on the outside?”

“They look wet to me.”

Thin wisps of smoke were curling lazily from the funnels of the three boats, for the stokers had not yet started to get up steam. Some hours would elapse before the fleet would be ready to begin its journey down the big river.

“There goes the ‘Little Nemo,’ ” cried Teddy.

The smaller of the three steamboats moved slowly out into the stream, and there came to anchor to await the other boats. The “Fat Marie” was already alongside the long dock, but she now moved up a little further to make room for her companion boat, the “River Queen,” which latter Phil had nicknamed the “Yellow Peril.”

“Let’s see, where do we stow our belongings, Phil?”

“On the ‘Fat Marie.’ ”

“If that name don’t sink her, nothing will,” said Teddy, with a broad grin. “I hope the boat floats better than Fat Marie did when she fell in the creek last season. If not, we’re lost. Let’s go on board and find out where we are going to live.”

“After we speak to Mr. Sparling. Is there anything we can do to help you, Mr. Sparling?” asked Phil, stepping up to the owner of the show, who, hatless, coatless, his hair looking as if it had not been combed in days, was giving orders in sharp, short sentences, answering questions and shouting directions almost in the same breath.

“Oh, is that you, Phil?”

“It is myself, sir,” smiled the lad. “How are you getting along?”

“Much better than I had hoped. You see the ‘Little Nemo’ is already loaded. The ‘Fat Marie’ is well loaded and the ‘Queen’ is taking stuff on board at a two-forty gait.”

“I see you haven’t driven the bulls on yet,” meaning the elephants.

The elephants were standing off beyond the docks, huge shadowy figures, swaying silently in the faint light, for there was a slight haze in the air that even the brilliant moonlight could not wholly pierce.

“No; I thought it best to load the bulls and the ring stock later on. The bulls might get frightened with all the unusual noises around them. After they become more used to this method of traveling they will be all right.”

“What time do we pull out?”

“It will be three o’clock, I think. Perhaps a little later than that.”

“You mean earlier,” suggested Teddy.

The showman turned on him sharply.

“Why, hello, Teddy. Really, you are so small that I did not see you.”

Teddy winced.

“I guess I’m some, even if I am little,” protested the lad warmly.

“You are right. You are not only some, but much. What’s this I hear about trouble on the lot? Some of the men said they heard there had been an accident, but they guessed it didn’t amount to much.”

“It was not very serious,” said Phil.

“Oh, no; nothing of any consequence,” jeered Teddy. “I was struck by lightning, that’s all.”

“What!”

“Hit by balls of fire—and the big hen laid an egg.”

“See here, what are you driving at—”

“And crushed, utterly crushed by my best friend, Phil Forrest. Now, what do you think of that?”

“Teddy, please hitch your tongue to the roof of your mouth for a moment. Now, Phil, tell me what happened. I get so dizzy when Teddy is talking that I almost imagine I am going to be seasick.”

“Pshaw!” growled Teddy.

“We did have a little trouble.”

“Tell me about it.”

“The storm came up while the aerial acts were on. We all shortened our acts at the direction of the ringmaster, and it was well we did so. We had not all gotten down when a bolt of lightning struck the main center pole.”

“You don’t say! Here, men, stow those canvas wagons forward! You must learn to trim the boat, giving her an even load all over! Did the bolt do any damage?”

“Slivered the pole.”

“Wreck it?”

“Yes. Not worth carrying off the lot.”

“What else?”

“Some excitement—”

“Panic?”

“No, but I think there would have been had it not been for my friend, Teddy Tucker. He amused the audience while things were happening up above.”

“Good for you, Teddy Tucker,” said the showman, slapping the Circus Boy on the back.

“Ouch!” howled Teddy.

“I was congratulating you, that’s all,” laughed Mr. Sparling.

“If it is all the same to you, please use a club when you congratulate me. I won’t feel it so much.”

Phil next went on to relate how Teddy had, by his quickness, made fast the rope and probably saved the top from falling in on them, and how he, Phil, had fallen on the boy and knocked him out.

Mr. Sparling surveyed the flushed face of Teddy approvingly.

“Thank you, Teddy,” he said. “I’ll give you a day off to go fishing, sometime, for that.”

“I don’t want to go fishing.”

“Then you are the first showman I ever knew who did not. They are simply crazy over fishing. You’ll see every one of them hanging over the rails in the early morning trying to catch fish.”

“I won’t. You’ll see me asleep about that time, if you look in the right place,” answered Teddy very promptly.

“Teddy deserves your praise, Mr. Sparling.”

“He does, and he has it. I will show my appreciation more fully when I get all this rush out of the way. The loss of the center pole doesn’t amount to much, but the rest does.”

“And the hen laid an egg,” reiterated Teddy.

“Oh, yes, I forgot to tell you. The big ostrich hen laid an egg this evening.”

“Is it possible?”

“Yes; Teddy found it in the hay behind the concert platform.”

The showman’s eyes twinkled.

“What were you doing back there?”

“Looking for a place to take a catnap between acts.”

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

“There’s only one Teddy in the whole wide world!”

“I hope not,” added the boy quickly.

“Where is the egg—what did you do with it?”

“Got it in my bag here, want to see it?”

He handed the egg to Mr. Sparling who turned it over, glancing at it curiously.

“Look out! You’ll drop it!”

“And what are you going to do with it, may I ask?”

“Eat it.”

“What, eat up my property?”

“Eggs belongs to the finder, and—”

“You mean eggs belong to the finder,” corrected Phil.

“Yes, I guess so. Any way, so you say it. I’m going to eat this egg, even if it does give me indigestion all the rest of my life. How do you cook ostrich eggs?”

“I never cooked any, my boy. You will have to consult the cook on that point. Perhaps he may consent to cook it for you.”

“I’ll give you a slice off the white when it’s cooked.”

“Thank you. You are welcome to the whole egg. Better go up and locate yourselves, boys.”

“What number is our room, Mr. Sparling?” asked Phil.

“Number twenty-four, on the upper deck. I have given you a nice, roomy, light and airy cabin that I think will please you. It is one of the best on the ship and you should be very comfortable there.”

“I am sure we shall be, and thank you very much,” said Phil. “Come along, Teddy.”

Together they made their way to the boat and through the crowded, bustling lower deck, where the big canvas-covered wagons were being warped into place, a sort of orderly confusion reigning over everything, the scene lighted by lanterns swinging from hooks all about the deck.

The lads found their cabin, and after lighting the lamp, uttered exclamations of surprise. Instead of the narrow berths they had expected to see, there were white enameled iron bedsteads, a washstand with the same neat finish, and several pictures on the walls.

The cabin was a large one. In the center of it stood a table on which lay a large portfolio and inscribed in gold letters on the outside they read the words, “For the Circus Boys.”

The portfolio was filled with writing materials.

“Oh, isn’t that fine?” exclaimed Phil.

“Yes, it’s a fine egg. I’m going to have the feast of my life when I get it baked—”

“Teddy Tucker!”

“What?”

“What do you think I am talking about?”

“Eggs.”

“I am not. I am talking about this beautiful cabin that Mr. Sparling has fixed for us. Look at it—look at this portfolio. I am afraid you don’t appreciate how good our employer is to us. There is an easy chair for each of us, too. Why, we ought to be very happy.”

“I am happy. So would you be if a hen had laid a five pound egg for you,” retorted Teddy.

“Hopeless, hopeless,” groaned Phil.

Teddy, muttering to himself, carefully laid the egg away in his trunk, first wrapping it up in an old silk ring shirt, then locking the trunk and putting the key in his pocket.

The lad then made a personal and critical examination of the room, tried the springs of the bed, nodded approvingly, sat down in one of the easy chairs and put his feet on the table.

Phil promptly pushed the feet off.

“Here, what are you doing?”

“This is not the dressing room of a circus, Teddy. This is the living room of a couple of young gentlemen. Let’s not forget that. Let us try to keep our cabin looking nice and shipshape, else Mr. Sparling will think we do not appreciate his kindness.”

“Say, Phil!”

“Yes?”

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do!”

“I am listening.”

“We’ll have a spread up here all by ourselves, tomorrow night, after the show. We’ll eat the egg. I’ll get the cook to boil it all day tomorrow—does it take a day to boil an ostrich egg?”

“I should think it might take a month,” laughed Phil. “Yes; I’ll make a martyr of myself and help you eat the egg. I shall never have any peace until that egg is finally disposed of—”

“What’s going on downstairs?” interrupted Teddy.

A commotion was heard out on the dock. There was the tramping of many feet, mingled with loud, angry shouts and sharp commands.

“It sounds to me as if something has been let loose,” said Teddy Tucker wisely.

Something had been “let loose.”

With one accord the Circus Boys sprang up. Rushing out into the corridor they leaped down the after companionway four steps at a jump.

CHAPTER VIII

January on the Rampage

“What’s the row? What’s the row?” bellowed Teddy, who, bolting under a cage and, leaving his hat under the wagon, dashed out to the dock, where their vessel was moored.

The two boys saw an object leaping into the air, performing strange and grotesque antics.

“It’s January!” yelled Teddy. “Whoa, January!”

But January refused to “whoa.” The donkey had objected to going aboard the boat. When the workmen tried to force him, he protested vigorously, biting those in front and kicking those behind him.

“Teddy, get that fool donkey out of here or I’ll throw him in the river,” bawled the owner of the show.

Perhaps January understood the threat. At least he started for Mr. Sparling, snorting.

The showman ducked under a canvas wagon and climbed up the other side of it, giving his orders from the top of the wagon. He knew January. He had had business dealings with the donkey on other occasions.

“Get him out of here, I tell you!”

“Drive him in yourself,” answered a groom. “I wouldn’t try it for a present of the whole confounded show.”

Up to this point those who had not left the dock willingly January had assisted with his ever ready hoofs, and, by the time Teddy reached the scene the donkey had kicked every man off and into the street, excepting the owner of the show himself. As already related, Mr. Sparling had seen fit to leave in haste when January directed his attention to him.

“Whoa, January!” commanded Teddy in a soothing tone.

The donkey, at sound of the Circus Boy’s voice, reared and came down facing Teddy.

“Come here, you beast. Don’t you know you’re going to have a ride on the river? You don’t know enough to know when you are well off. Come, Jany, Jany, Jany. Wow!”

January had responded with a rush. Teddy stepped aside just in time to save himself from being bowled over. But as the donkey ran by him the boy threw both arms about the animal’s neck.

Then began the liveliest scrimmage that the spectators had ever witnessed. Kicking and bucking, the donkey raced from side to side, varying his performance now and then by making a dive toward the crowd, which quickly gave gangway as the people sought for safety.

“Whoa, January! I—I’ll break your neck for this, hang you! Some other donkey has taught you these tricks. You never knew anything about them way back in Edmeston. You—”

Bang!

Teddy was slapped against the side of the “Fat Marie.”

By this time Tucker’s temper was beginning to rise. His first inclination was to hit the donkey on the nose with his free hand, but he caught himself in time. He was too fond of animals, even donkeys, to strike one on the head. It was a rule too, in the Sparling shows, that any man who so far forgot himself as to strike a horse over the head closed with the show then and there.

Now Teddy thought of a new plan. He watched his opportunity. Suddenly, Teddy put his plan into operation.

It must be remembered that the Circus Boy was strong and agile, and that his work in the ring had given him added quickness.

He therefore applied the trick he had thought of; then something happened to January. The donkey struck the planking of the pier flat on his back, his feet beating the air viciously.

“Whoa, January!”

Teddy flopped the animal on its side, then calmly sat down on the donkey’s head. He had thrown the beast as prettily as ever had a wrestler an adversary.

The Circus Boy began mopping the perspiration from his brow.

“Warm, isn’t it?” he said, tilting his eyes up to where Mr. Sparling had been watching the proceedings from the top of a wagon.

“You certainly look the part. Now, what are you going to do with that fool donkey?”

“I’m going to sit on his head until I get ready to get up. Then, if somebody will lend me a whip, I’ll tan his jacket to my own taste.”

January uttered a loud bray.

“Well, do something,” shouted a canvasman. “We can’t wait all night on the gait of that donkey.”

“All right; if any of you fellows think you know the inside workings of a donkey’s mind better than I do, just come and lead this angelic creature on board the ‘Fat Marie.’ ”

“No, no; we don’t know anything about donkeys,” came a chorus of voices. “We don’t want to know anything about donkeys, either.”

“Somebody bring me a bridle, then. Don’t be afraid of him, he is as gentle as a lamb. You wouldn’t hurt a fly, would you, dear January?”

January elevated both hind feet, narrowly missing the groom who had brought the bridle.

After some difficulty the bystanders succeeded in getting the bit between his teeth and the bridle over his head.

“Now, take tight hold of the bridle and lead him. I’ll use persuasive measures at the other end,” directed Teddy.

January fairly hurled himself forward, jerking the groom off his feet at once. But the man hung on stubbornly.

A moment more, and Teddy had fastened a firm grip on January’s tail, not appearing to be in the least afraid of the flying hoofs that were beating a tattoo in the air.

How Teddy did twist that tail! Finally January, in sheer desperation, was forced to give ground. One leap carried him over the gangplank and into the boat. Once within, there was a repetition of the scenes enacted on the dock, except that this time it was the groom who was getting the worst of it, while Teddy sat on the gangway, howling with delight.

At last the donkey was subdued and led to the place where he was to spend the night. But they had to rope him in to prevent his kicking the other stock through the side of the boat.

Fat Marie herself came waddling along about this time, blowing like a miniature steam engine.

“Gangway! Gangway!” shrieked Marie, in a high-pitched, shrill voice.

Teddy was nearly crowded off the gangplank.

“See here, where are you going? Don’t you know there’s a crazy donkey in there?”

“Going to my cabin to seek sweet repose,” squeaked Marie.

“What! Are you going to live on this boat?”

“That’s what. If I can get up to the sky parlor where my ‘boodwah’ is. Come, help me up the stairs; that’s a good boy, Teddy.”

“I helped you once. That was enough for me. Say, Marie?”

“What is it, my lad?”

“If the boat should be wrecked in one of the terrible storms that sweep this raging river you had better grab the anchor the first thing.”

“Why grab the anchor?”

“You’ll sink quicker,” laughed the Circus Boy, darting out to the dock and leaning against a wagon wheel.

By this time Mr. Sparling had descended from his haven of safety, and began issuing orders again.

“Get the bulls in now. No more nonsense. Teddy, you did a good job, but it took you a long time to do it.”

“Yes, sir. Do you think anybody else could have done it quicker?”

“I know they could not. Where is Phil?”

“Guess he went back to his cabin after I finished off January. Going to load the elephants, did you say?”

“Yes.”

“Aren’t you afraid they will sink the boat?”

“Don’t bother us now. You know we did not bother you when you were trying to get your livestock in.”

“I noticed that you didn’t,” answered Teddy, humorously, which remark brought a shout of laughter from everyone within hearing of his voice.

Mr. Kennedy, the elephant-trainer, now ranged his charges in line, with Jupiter, the ill-tempered member of the herd, in the lead. He wanted to get Jupiter in ahead, knowing that the others would follow willingly enough after him. Emperor, the great beast that had such a warm regard for Phil, was third in the line.

“Everybody keep away and don’t make a racket or they will get nervous. I expect to have a little trouble with those bulls the first time. After that they will go one board as meek as a flock of spring mutton,” declared Kennedy. Teddy was close at hand. If there was any prospect of trouble or excitement he wanted to be near enough not to miss a single feature of it.

Mr. Kennedy gave the command for attention.

Each of the elephants to the rear of Jupiter stretched forth a trunk and grasped the tail of the elephant directly in front of him.

“Forward, march!”

“Hip! Hip!” began Teddy.

“That will do, young man,” warned Mr. Sparling.

The line moved slowly forward, Jupiter offering no objection to going where he was ordered.

Just as he reached the gangplank, however, Jupiter halted.

“Forward!”

The elephant’s trunk curled upward and a mighty trumpeting sent the villagers scurrying for places of safety.

Mr. Kennedy prodded the elephant with the sharp point of his hook. The act forced Jupiter to place one foot on the gang plank, throwing his weight upon the planking to test its stability. He felt it give ever so little beneath his feet, and quickly withdrew the foot.

Once more the prod was brought into use. Jupiter waxed angry. With a great cough, he curled his trunk about the heavy gangplank, wrenching it free from its resting place.

Raising the planking high above his head he hurled it into the river.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced Teddy Tucker, in a loud voice, “you have witnessed a most satisfying, edifying, gratifying, ennobling, superb and sublime spectacular prelude, as our press agent would say. But, if you know what’s good for you, you will now hasten to the high places, for there’s going to be something doing around here in about a minute.”

Teddy was no false prophet in this instance.

Strutting up to the angry Jupiter the Circus Boy slapped him playfully on the trunk.

“You bad boy. I thought January was the limit, but I have changed my mind. You—”

Suddenly Jupiter’s trunk curled about the lad. The angry elephant raised the boy far above his head and hurled him up into the air as he had done with the gangway, except that he threw Teddy in another direction.

CHAPTER IX

Phil Forrest to the Rescue

“Catch Teddy! Catch him!” shouted Mr. Sparling.

“The boy has gone into the river!” cried half a dozen voices at once.

“No; the bull threw him toward the boat. He may have shot right on over and into the water or he may still be on the upper deck,” answered Mr. Kennedy, as he plied his prod industriously, shouting his orders to the other elephants that already were showing signs of restlessness.

By this time a boat had been launched from the dock, and half a dozen men had gone in search of the lost gangway that was now floating slowly down the river some distance away.

“Ahoy, boat!” bellowed Mr. Sparling. “Row around to the other side and see if Tucker is in the river.”

At the same time the owner of the show was running toward the “Marie.” He plunged into the mass of equipment on the lower deck, lost his footing and went rolling under a lion’s cage. He was on his feet and bounding up the stairs almost in the next second.

Just as he reached the upper deck he met Phil Forrest emerging from the cabin, attracted by the uproar.

“What’s the matter, sir?”

“Teddy,” answered the showman shortly.

“Oh, that boy again! What is it?”

“Jupiter tossed him.”

“Where is he?”

“Maybe in the river. Help me look for him up here. They are searching for him on the other side of the boat.”

Phil started on a run along one side of the deck, Mr. Sparling taking the other side.

“Here he is. Ahoy, boat! Go and get the gangway. I have the boy here,” called Mr. Sparling.

Phil hurried over to where Mr. Sparling was bending over Teddy, who lay doubled up against the pilot house.

“Is he hurt?”

“I don’t know. I’ll tell you when I get him untangled. He seems to be standing on his head. Lucky if his neck isn’t broken.”

“Teddy’s neck is too tough to be easily broken. I think he is merely stunned,” said Phil.

The showman straightened the Circus Boy out, and Teddy suddenly sat up, rubbing his head and neck gingerly.

“Did January kick me?” he demanded wonderingly.

“No; Jupiter threw you up here. Are you hurt?”

“Hurt?”

“Yes.”

“I’m worse than that. I’m like the carpenter who swallowed a tape measure. I’m dying by inches.”

Mr. Sparling uttered an impatient exclamation.

“Take care of him, Phil. I must get back. There is trouble down there.”

The showman hurried away, and Phil saw at once that his companion had sustained a severe shock, but nothing of a serious nature.

“You’re all right, Teddy. What is the trouble down there?”

Teddy, still rubbing himself, explained what had happened.

Just then there came a call from below.

“Oh, Phil!”

“Yes.”

“Can you come down here?”

“Of course. What is it?”

“Mr. Sparling wants you.”

“I’ll be right there.”

The lad, instead of taking the time to go down the companionway, swung over the side of the boat and dropped lightly to the wharf. Such is the advantage of being a showman.

“Mr. Kennedy is having trouble with the bulls, Phil,” explained Mr. Sparling.

“Yes; so Teddy told me.”

“He thinks you may be able to suggest some way out of our difficulty. Mr. Kennedy has great confidence in your resourcefulness.”

“What have you done thus far?”

Mr. Sparling explained briefly, Phil giving close attention.

“Have they found the gangplank yet?”

“Yes; they are towing it up to the dock now.”

Phil waited until they had hauled the gangway up and put it in place.

“Will you try her, so that I can see how she works, Mr. Kennedy?” asked the lad after the gangway had been chained down so securely that the elephant would have difficulty in ripping it loose.

Jupiter was just as stubborn as he had been before. Phil observed three or four showmen standing near him on the other side.

“Please step back, all of you,” he said. “Mr. Sparling, will you see that no one comes near the elephants? I’ll see what I can do. Back him off, Mr. Kennedy.”

This done, Phil stepped back along the line until he came to the big elephant Emperor.

“Good old Emperor,” cried the Circus Boy soothingly. “Here’s a lump of sugar.”

Emperor tucked the sugar far back in his pink mouth. Then Phil, taking hold of the trunk, petted it affectionately, next tucking it under his arm.

“Come along, old fellow. You need not be afraid,” he said, starting toward the ship, with Emperor following meekly and obediently. At the gangway he stopped and examined the passageway carefully.

“Are you sure it is strong enough to support them, Mr. Kennedy?”

“Yes, it will hold two at once.”

“Very well.”

Once more Phil took hold of the trunk and led Emperor across and into the boat, the elephant making no protest; though, knowing him as he did, Phil saw that the animal was timid. The beast’s confidence in the little Circus Boy overcame his fears, however.

Emperor got another lump of sugar as the result of his obedience.

“See if Jupiter will follow,” called Phil.

Jupiter would not.

Observing this, Phil swung Emperor around and led him to the dock.

“What are you going to do?” asked Mr. Sparling.

“Perhaps nothing at all. If Mr. Kennedy failed I do not see how I shall be able to accomplish anything. Get Jupiter up to the gangway, please.”

This was done.

“When I say the word, you give Jupiter the hook good and hard and quick. I’ll promise you that something will happen. See here; didn’t I tell you fellows to keep away from those elephants?” demanded the boy, observing two figures edging up toward Emperor.

“Clear the dock!” roared Mr. Sparling.

A sudden thought seemed to strike Phil. He left Emperor and stepped around to the other side of the animal walking about and peering into the faces of the people who now were standing back at a respectful distance. Most of them proved to be villagers, with a few circus people sprinkled among them.

“Did you notice who those two men were who were standing on the other side, Mr. Sparling?” he asked in a low tone.

“No; why?”

“I wanted to know.”

“Why do you ask that question?”

“Because I am suspicious of them, that’s all.”

Making sure that the dock was clear, Phil led Emperor up to Jupiter, placing the former’s head against the hips of the stubborn elephant.

“Now!” he shouted, at the same time giving Emperor the signal to push.

The big elephant threw all his great strength into a forward movement. Jupiter, taken off his guard, plunged across the gangplank, with Emperor pushing him along, the former trumpeting wildly in his fear and rage. Another minute, and Jupiter was landed safely on the lower deck of the “Fat Marie.”

CHAPTER X

All Aboard for the Gulf!

Day was breaking.

Clouds of dense black smoke were rolling from the funnels of the Sparling fleet, while steam was hissing from the overburdened safety valves.

The show was ready for its start down the river. The “Little Nemo” had already hoisted anchor and was drifting with the current awaiting the signal to start her engines.

“All ashore that’s going,” sang a voice on each of the two boats lying at the dock.

The boats’ whistles broke out in three deafening, prolonged blasts each.

“Cast off!” bellowed the pilots.

Hawsers were hauled in and the distance between the dock and the boats slowly widened.

“We’re off,” shouted Teddy, waving his hat joyously.

“We will be more so, unless we get some sleep,” warned Phil. “I would suggest that you and I turn in for a few hours. We both need a beauty sleep.”

“I don’t,” answered Teddy promptly.

“Think not?”

“No, sir. I’m handsome enough as it is. Even the fool donkey stands aghast when he comes face to face with my surpassing beauty.”

“How about the elephants?” twinkled Phil.

“Elephants don’t count, at least not after twelve o’clock at night.”

“I move that we turn in just the same. We will sleep until sometime before noon, then we can get up and enjoy the ride. I understand we shall not reach the next stand until sometime this evening. This is going to be a great trip, Teddy.”

“It has been,” nodded the other boy. “Where do we show first?”

“Milroy, I believe is the name of the place. I never heard of it before.”

“And probably you never will want to again, after you have been there. That is the case with most of these little tank towns. A fellow wonders where all the people come from who go to the show.”

The lads went to their cabin and were soon sound asleep. They realized how tired they were when first they got into bed.

“This is great!” muttered Phil, as, lying in his bed, he felt the cool air drifting in over him.

When they awakened the sun was at its zenith.

Phil consulted his watch.

“Wake up, Teddy. It is twelve o’clock.”

Teddy sleepily dragged himself from his bed, pulled himself wearily to the window and threw open the blinds.

“Where are we?” asked Phil.

“Ask the pilot,” grumbled Teddy. “How do you suppose I know? This water looks like a big mud puddle. I’m hungry; aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. What are we going to do for breakfast? I never thought to bring along a lunch.”

“I’ve got an egg,” chuckled Teddy.

“You are welcome to it. I don’t care for any, thank you.”

Just then there came a rap on their door.

Phil opened it and looked out.

“Mr. Sparling wishes to know if you are ready for breakfast?” asked the man, whom they recognized as the showman’s personal servant.

“Am I ready for breakfast?” shouted Teddy. “Tell Mr. Sparling he ought to know better than to ask a question like that. What’s this, a joke? We can’t get any breakfast on this old tub.”

“Mr. Sparling directs me to ask you to join him in his cabin for breakfast in ten minutes.”

“Thank you. Tell him we shall be on hand,” smiled Phil.

“I hope it isn’t a joke,” grumbled Teddy, pulling on his trousers.

“Now, isn’t that fine of Mr. Sparling, old fellow?” asked Phil, with glowing eyes.

“Tell you better after I sample the breakfast. I’m suspicious.”

“You need not be. Mr. Sparling would not be so unkind as to invite us to eat breakfast with him unless he had some breakfast to offer us.”

“Well, I hope it’s straight,” muttered the doubting Teddy. A few minutes later the lads presented themselves at the door of the owner’s cabin.

“Good morning, boys; how did you sleep last night?” he greeted them, with a cordial smile and a handshake for each.

“I was dead to the world,” answered Teddy, with his customary bluntness of speech.

“I guess we all were,” smiled the showman. “All day and all night was rather trying, but we shall not have the same trouble after this; at least not after the next stand. Everything should be in excellent working order after Monday. Sit down and have some breakfast with me.”

An appetizing meal had been spread in the cabin. Teddy surveyed the table with wistful eyes.

“I did not know you were going to serve meals on board,” said Phil.

“I am not, generally speaking. This is different. I would not ask our people to go all day without anything to eat. I have had a cold meal prepared in the main cabin, with hot coffee to wash it down. I thought you boys might like to join me here for a real meal. Having a real meal is one of the privileges of the owner of the show, you know,” replied Mr. Sparling, with a hearty laugh, in which the boys joined.

“I was going to eat my egg,” said Teddy humorously.

“It is very kind of you, Mr. Sparling,” said Phil. “We were just wondering what we should do for breakfast, and Teddy, as he has just told you, was thinking of eating the ostrich egg.”

“Raw?”

“I presume so,” replied Phil, with a short laugh.

“It would make a fellow strong,” declared Teddy in defense of his egg.

“I agree with you, my boy. I ate a piece of one once, and it was quite the strongest thing I ever tackled.”

“That’s a joke. Ha, ha!” replied Teddy, with serious face.

The lads were, by this time, on such terms of intimacy with their employer that they felt free to talk with him as they would to each other. At least Phil did, and in all probability Tucker would have done so at any rate.

“Do we unload tonight, Mr. Sparling?” questioned Phil.

“No, I think not. Tomorrow morning will be time enough. I never like to do any more work on Sunday than is absolutely necessary.”

Phil nodded his approval.

“I believe in observing the day, and besides, our people need the rest and the relaxation. That reminds me of what I wanted to say. You did a very clever piece of work last night, both of you.”

Teddy glanced up in surprise.

“Yes; I got a roughhouse from the donkey and the elephant. I’m a sort of a good thing all around. When the fool donkey gets through wiping up a whole county with me, the elephant takes a hand—a trunk, I mean—and lands me high and dry on the roof of the ‘Fat Marie.’ ”

“You mean the deck,” corrected Phil.

“I don’t know what you call it, but it was hard enough when I struck it. Next time I’m going to have a net spread to catch me. I’ll bet I would have made a hit in the ring with that donkey wrestling bout. I guess I will try it on some of these times, providing I can get the donkey to work the way he did last night.”

“As I said before, there is something I want to ask you, Phil,” repeated the showman.

“Yes, sir.”

“Did it not strike you that Jupiter acted very peculiarly last night?”

“Yes. I did not see the first of it, but I saw enough.”

“What did you think about it?”

“I did not know what to think.”

The showman shot a keen glance at the Circus Boy’s thoughtful, serious face.

“What do you think today?”

“That it was perfectly natural for Jupiter to balk going across the gangplank.”

“How about him having hurled Teddy to the deck of the ‘Fat Marie’?”

“That is different.”

“Did it arouse any suspicions in your mind, my boy?”

Phil reflected for a moment, toying absently with his fork.

“Candidly, it did, Mr. Sparling. It struck me as peculiar at the time, and, as I thought it over, I became more and more convinced that there was some reason for Jupiter’s action beyond what we saw.”

The showman nodded, as if Phil’s suggestion agreed with his own ideas.

“What do you think happened?” he asked.

“What do you think?”

“I will confess that I don’t know, Phil. You had some reason for driving everyone away from the bulls there on the dock, did you not?”

“Yes, I did not want anyone to bother them while we were trying to get them on board.”

“I understand,” said Mr. Sparling, with a nod.

“Did you notice who was there on the dock at the time, Mr. Sparling?”

“No, not particularly.”

“Was it some of the show people?”

“I am unable to say. I saw you drive two men off in particular, but I did not look at them closely. Did you know them?”

“Perhaps. They got away rather too quickly for me to make sure.”

“Who do you think they were?”

Phil did not answer at once.

“Come, who were they, Phil?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Sparling.”

“I did not mean it exactly that way. You think you recognized them, and as I said before, I want to know who you think the men were?”

“I would rather not say, Mr. Sparling,” answered the Circus Boy, looking his employer squarely in the eye.

“It is your duty to tell me.”

“Not unless I am sure. It would be unjust to do so, and I know you would not wish to force me to be unjust.”

“You are a queer boy, Phil Forrest,” said the showman, gazing at the lad intently.

“I wish I knew who I thought they were, if they had anything to do with my aerial flight last night,” growled Teddy. “They would have reason to think a Kansas cyclone had struck them.”

No one paid any attention to Teddy’s remark.

“I will tell you what I think, however, Mr. Sparling,” continued Phil.

“That’s what I am trying to get you to do.”

“I think some person with evil intent did something to Jupiter to anger him, thus causing him to turn on Teddy. And it is my opinion that if you will examine the animal you will find the evidences on the animal himself,” declared the Circus Boy boldly.

Mr. Sparling uttered an angry exclamation.

Teddy, who had tilted back in his chair as he listened to the conversation, went crashing to the floor, overturning table, dishes and all.

That broke up the conference of the morning.

CHAPTER XI

Egg, Egg, Who’s Got the Egg?

“I’ve lost my egg! I’ve lost my egg!”

Teddy Tucker’s shrill voice was heard from one end to the other of the “Fat Marie.” An hour had elapsed since his mishap in Mr. Sparling’s cabin, during which time the lads had been sitting on the after deck of the boat.

Phil had been very thoughtful. Perhaps he had not done right in keeping his real suspicions from Mr. Sparling. Yet he was firm in his purpose not to say who he thought the men were. He was not at all certain, in his own mind, that his eyes had not deceived him.

There could be no doubt, however, that some person or persons had pricked Jupiter on a tender part of his anatomy just as Teddy Tucker was patting the trunk of the great beast.

Teddy had gone to his cabin for a moment, and no sooner had he opened the door than he discovered that all was not as it should be there.

“What’s this? What’s all this fuss about?” questioned Phil.

“My egg! My egg!”

“What about your egg?”

“It’s gone, it’s gone!”

“Gone?”

“Yes, yes.”

“But I thought you locked it in your trunk?”

“That’s what I did.”

“Then how can it be gone?”

“It is, I tell you. Come and see, if you don’t believe me.”

“Of course I believe you, but I do not see how it would be possible for your egg to be taken when it was locked in your trunk,” objected Phil.

Teddy grasped his companion by the arm and rushed him to the cabin.

“There, look!” exclaimed Teddy, pushing Phil into the room.

Teddy’s trunk was open, most of its contents lying in a confused heap on the cabin floor.

Phil’s face grew serious.

“Now, let’s understand this. Was your trunk in that condition when you came in here a little while ago?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, some of the stuff was sticking out, but the cover was down.”

“The trunk was unlocked?”

“Sure it was.”

“You are positive that you locked it?”

“I know it was locked.”

“Is anything missing—have you looked to make sure?”

“I tell you my egg has been taken.”

“I know. Has anything else been taken?”

“I was so excited that I didn’t look.”

“Then, do so now.”

Teddy dropped down beside his trunk, and began going over his belongings, most of which were lying heaped on the floor. He examined everything closely.

“How about it?”

“I—I guess it is all here—but my egg is not, Phil.”

“So I heard you say before.”

“Where is it—where is it?”

“How do you suppose I know? You are lucky that nothing else was taken. Is the lock broken?”

“No. Somebody had a key.”

“Almost any key made for an ordinary trunk will fit these steamer trunks.” Phil proved this by selecting and trying three keys on his own key ring, each of which locked and unlooked Teddy’s steamer trunk with ease.

“I’ll bet you took my egg for a joke.”

“Teddy Tucker, how can you say so,” demanded Phil indignantly. “Did I ever do a thing like that?”

“No, I guess you didn’t,” admitted the boy. “But it’s gone.”

“It is evident that we have a thief on board. Mr. Sparling must be informed of this at once,” decided Phil firmly. “You remain here and I will go and fetch him.”

In a few moments the Circus Boy returned with Mr. Sparling. The showman made a careful examination of the room and the trunk on his own account. His face was flushed and angry.

He went over the same ground with his questions that Phil already had done.

“Do you suspect anyone, Phil?”

“I do not. Whom should I suspect? Nothing like this has ever happened in the Sparling show since I have been connected with it.”

“You are right. It won’t be healthful for the man who is responsible for this, if I catch him,” growled the showman. “Somebody must be unusually fond of ostrich eggs to go to this length for one. If anyone in this show chances to dine on ostrich egg in the next twenty-four hours we shall know whom to accuse of the theft.”

“I do not think you will get the opportunity,” said Phil, with a peculiar smile.

“What do you mean by that remark?”

“That it was not taken because the thief wanted to eat it. He would not be foolish enough to do that.”

“Then why?”

“Probably to get even with Teddy.”

Mr. Sparling eyed him sternly.

“You mean somebody had a grudge against Teddy?”

Phil nodded.

“Who?”

“I do not know.”

“Teddy, who is it in this show who has a grudge against you?”

Teddy pondered.

“I don’t know of anybody unless it’s January,” he made solemn reply.

“The fool donkey? Bah!”

“I guess the donkey did not unlock your trunk and steal your egg, Teddy,” answered Phil, a half smile curling his lips.

“I am not going to ask you again whom you suspect. I take it for granted that you will keep your eyes open from now on.”

“I certainly shall, Mr. Sparling.”

“If you are unable to find out who is responsible for certain things I am sure there is no use in my trying to do so.”

“I do not know about that, Sir. I shall try. If I find out anything worthwhile I shall come to you and tell you.”

“I shall expect you to do so. And, Teddy!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are to say nothing of this occurrence to anyone on the boat. Do not mention that your precious egg has been lost or stolen, nor appear as if anything out of the ordinary had occurred.”

Teddy nodded his understanding.

Mr. Sparling understood his boys better than they knew. He was confident that Phil Forrest had a shrewd idea as to who had aroused the anger of the elephant, Jupiter, as well as to the identity of the person who had stolen the egg from Teddy Tucker’s trunk.

The Circus Boy, however, kept his own counsel.

He made a trip down to the lower deck and had a long conversation with Mr. Kennedy, the elephant trainer, while Teddy Tucker moped in his cabin, mourning over the loss of his egg.

The show reached Milroy shortly before dark that evening, after a most delightful trip down the river. The horse tents were unloaded and pitched on the circus lot and the stock stabled in them so the animals could get their rest and food.

Some of the show people strolled out through the little town, while others remained on board the boat and went to bed. All hands slept aboard that night. Bright and early, on the following morning, the boats were unloaded and the tents pitched, the men working much better for their day on the river.

Everyone appeared to be in high good humor and the wisdom of Mr. Sparling’s methods was apparent. The tents went up more quickly that morning than at any time that season.

Breakfast under the cook tent was a jolly meal. Teddy had nearly forgotten the loss of the ostrich egg, but Phil Forrest had not. Phil, while not appearing to do so, was watching certain persons in the dressing tent, among them being Diaz, the Spanish clown.

During the dressing hour before the afternoon performance the clown had his trunk open to get out some costumes which were at the bottom, beneath the lower tray.

Phil’s trunk, it will be remembered, was close by that of the clown’s. The Circus Boy took advantage of the opportunity to peep into the open trunk while Diaz was rummaging over its contents. So absorbed did Phil become in his own investigation that he forgot for the moment that the owner of the trunk might resent such curiosity.

All at once Phil glanced down at the clown. He found the dark eyes of Diaz fixed upon him, and the lad flushed in spite of himself.

Diaz slowly rose to his feet. Thrusting his face close to that of the lad he peered into the boy’s face.

“What you want?”

“Nothing, thank you.”

“You look for something in the trunk of Diaz, eh?”

“Perhaps.”

“What for you look?”

“Maybe I was looking for an egg. Maybe I thought the clown Diaz carried a supply of freshly laid eggs in his dressing-room trunk,” said Phil in a tone too low for the others to catch, all the time holding the eyes of the clown in a steady gaze.

The eyes of the clown expressed surprise, but there was so much grease paint and powder on his face that the boy could not tell whether the fellow had flushed or not.

That Diaz was angry, however, was clear.

“What you mean?” demanded the clown, with a threatening gesture.

“If you do not know, I don’t believe I care to explain just now.”

“What you mean?” repeated the clown, his voice rising to a higher pitch. “You—you think I a thief?”

“If I thought so I might be too courteous to say so,” was the calm retort. “What makes you imagine that I think you a thief? You must have some reason—you must believe there is some truth in your self-accusation, or you would not be so quick to resent it.”

“I—I—”

“Remember, I have not accused you of anything. You have accused yourself.”

Perhaps there was method in Phil’s nagging—perhaps he was trying to goad the Spaniard into an admission that could be used against him. If that were his purpose he had only partly succeeded.

Diaz, who had closed the cover of his trunk with a bang, now sprang to the trunk again, jerking up the cover with such force as to nearly wrench it from its hinges.

Two trays came out and were hurled to the ground as the owner dived deeper and deeper into the chest.

“What’s the matter? Have you gone crazy?” questioned Phil, laughing in spite of himself. “Come on, now; don’t lose your temper. If you will stop to consider, you will recall that I have said nothing at which you might possibly take offence.”

To this the clown made no reply.

All at once he straightened up with a snarl that reminded Phil of the cough of the tiger out in the menagerie as the beast struck viciously at its keeper when the latter chanced to step too close to the bars of the cage.

Diaz stood all a-quiver.

“This looks like trouble of some sort,” muttered Phil Forrest. “But I don’t quite understand what he could have been hunting for in the trunk.”

Phil’s question was answered a few seconds later.

From the folds of the clown’s costume his hand suddenly shot upward. The hand held a knife. The hand shook from rage as the knife was brandished aloft.

“Hello, so that’s the game, is it?”

The Circus Boy stood his ground unflinchingly. He did not appear to be disturbed in the least, though his situation at that moment was a critical one.

“Diaz! Diaz! Drop that knife!” ordered Phil sternly.

Instead of obeying the command the clown leaped upon him, or upon the spot where Phil had been standing a second before. The lad had sprung back far enough so that the descending knife cut only the empty air.

Again the knife flashed up. Just as it was being raised, the boy leaped again. This time he sprang toward the enraged clown, rather than away from him.

Ere the knife could be brought down, Phil gripped the wrist holding the weapon, giving the wrist a quick, sharp twist that brought a roar of pain from Diaz.

The knife dropped to the ground. Phil calmly stooped and picked it up, while the clown was nursing his wrist and groaning.

Several performers, realizing that something out of the ordinary was going on in that corner of the tent, hurried over.

“What’s the matter here?”

“Diaz was showing me his knife. It’s a beauty, isn’t it?” answered Phil, with a pleasant smile. “I think, however, it is a little too pretty for a circus. Were I in your place, Diaz, I should keep it in my trunk else someone may steal it.”

The lad coolly raised the lid of the trunk, dropping the knife in. The others, not noting that the clown was hurt, and that his wrist had been twisted by the Circus Boy almost to the breaking point, turned back to their own corners and continued their labors preparatory to entering the ring.

“Mr. Diaz,” said Phil in a low voice, bending over the clown, “your temper is going to get you into serious trouble one of these fine days. I am sorry I had to hurt you. But let me tell you one thing. If you attack me again I shall be compelled to give you the worst licking you ever had in your life. Put that in one of your fool caps that you throw around the arena, so you won’t forget it. Behave yourself and you will find that I am a pretty good friend.”

CHAPTER XII

Trying Out a New Act

“Well, Dimples, I hope you and I do not make sad exhibitions of ourselves this evening.”

“I hope not, Phil. I am sure you will not, but I am not so sure of myself.”

The afternoon performance had passed off without incident, save that the performers had given a much better show than usual. Everyone felt fresh and strong after his Sunday rest.

It was now evening. The band was playing its loudest, the clowns were fast and furious in their fun, and the animals out in the menagerie tent were doing their part toward raising a din that might have been heard at least half a mile away.

Phil Forrest had already been in for his trapeze act, and after changing his costume had come out again for the bareback riding number, to which he always looked forward with pleasurable anticipation.

At the same time Little Dimples, the star female bareback rider, had come up and joined him and the two fell to talking, as they always did whenever the opportunity presented itself.

Long ago the circus woman had constituted herself the “mother of the Circus Boys,” as she expressed it. She always insisted on doing their sewing for them, helped them to plan their costumes and gave them friendly advice on all occasions.

The act which they were entering the ring to perform on this particular evening was a new one. The two had been practicing it since the beginning of the season—practicing in secret that they might put it on as a surprise to Mr. Sparling.

This was what is known as a “brother and sister act.” That is, the strong man and woman proposed to perform on the back of the same horse, and at the same time.

The brother and sister act was not a new act by any means, but they had added ideas of their own to it until it had become novel. They had essayed some daring and sensational features which were sure to create a sensation with any audience before which the act was performed.

“It is a small town,” said Dimples. “We don’t care if we do fall off, do we, Phil, my boy?”

“We most certainly do care. At least, I do. Where’s your professional pride, Dimples?” demanded Phil, with an indulgent smile.

“In my feet, I guess,” answered the woman, with a merry laugh. “I am making my living with my feet. Were they not so sure, enabling me to stand on the slippery back of a ring horse, I should not be drawing the fine salary that I now have. Neither would you.”

“Here we are at the ring,” interrupted Phil. “The audience is applauding us before we begin. They must be expecting something out of the ordinary.”

As a matter of fact, the two riders made a very pleasing appearance as they entered the ring. Phil, slender, athletic, manly; Dimples exquisitely dainty, looking almost as fragile as a piece of Dresden china, they were a pair to attract attention anywhere.

The spectators did not even dream that Little Dimples was a married woman, with a son almost as old as Phil Forrest himself.

They kicked off their slippers, chalked their feet, then Phil assisted his companion to the back of the horse.

The band struck up a lively tune, the ringmaster cracked his whip, and Phil leaped to the back of the ring horse beside Dimples.

“We are off,” smiled the lad.

“I hope not,” laughed the woman happily.

Further conversation for the moment was interrupted, for the time had arrived to begin their work in earnest. The two threw themselves into a series of graceful positions, neither very difficult nor very dangerous, but to Mr. Sparling, who was watching their performance from a seat directly opposite to them, their work was more attractive than anything of the kind he ever had seen.

The next time they started in, after the brief intermission, Phil and Dimples varied their performance by leaping from the ring horse, then, taking a running start, jumping to the back of the galloping animal. Only once did Phil miss, and Dimples not at all.

She greeted his failure with a merry laugh that goaded the lad to renewed efforts.

“Have you forgotten how to jump?” teased Dimples.

“I’ll show you whether I have or not. Keep him up close to the ring curb and stand back as far as you can.”

“What are you going to do?” she questioned suspiciously.

“Going to prove to you that I have not forgotten how to jump,” answered Phil, with determination.

“Please don’t do anything foolish,” warned the dainty rider. “It is too early in the season to break your neck. Just think what you would miss were you to do so this early—think what I should miss. Come up here and be sensible—that’s a good boy.”

The ringmaster paid no attention to their chatter, which was in tones too low for the audience to catch.

Phil placed the little jumping board in place, upon which the riders step just as they are leaping to the back of the ring horses. Then the lad backed up.

“Keep him up lively,” he said to the ringmaster.

All at once the lad started on a brisk run across the sawdust arena.

“Yip!” encouraged Dimples.

“Yip! Yip!” answered Phil.

The lad leaped up into the air just as if he had been hurled there on springs. As he leaped his legs were curled up under him, and his working mate saw that he was not going to land on the back of the horse at all. Still she dared not speak to him, now. She knew that to attract Phil’s attention at that moment might mean a bad fall for him, for a performer must have his mind on his work when attempting any dangerous feat.

To the surprise of everyone who witnessed the act, Phil Forrest cleared the back of the ring horse, fairly flying past the astonished eyes of Little Dimples.

He landed lightly well outside of the ring curbing, on the soft turf.

The audience broke out into a roar of applause and a ripple of hand clapping ran over the arena from the appreciative performers. They wholly forgot themselves in their surprise and approval of the feat.

“Wonderful!” breathed Mr. James Sparling. “That boy is worth a thousand dollars a week to any show.”

“Have I forgotten how to jump?” demanded the Circus Boy exultingly, as the ring horse slowed down to a walk, Phil stepping along by the side of it looking up into the eyes of Little Dimples.

“Indeed you have not. It was wonderful. Don’t you ever dare try it again, however. Why, suppose you had dropped on an iron tent stake? You would have at least been disabled for life.”

“I presume I should have been. I happened to know there were no stakes where I landed. I made sure of that before I made the leap.”

“You are a wise boy, even if an imprudent one. We try the shoulder stand next, do we not?”

“Yes.”

“I haven’t the routine in my mind yet. Don’t you dare let me fall.”

“Supposing we save the shoulder stand until the last. Let’s do the somersault first,” suggested Phil.

“Very well; I don’t care.”

The music started and the little couple began their work again.

Dimples sprang up to the hip of the Circus Boy, leaning far out to one side, holding to one of Phil’s hands, a very pretty though not perilous feat for a sure-footed ride.

This they varied by throwing themselves into several different poses.

“Now the turn,” breathed Phil.

He deftly lifted the little woman down to the horse just in front of himself. Having done so, Phil grasped Dimples firmly about the waist with his strong, muscular young hands.

“If you drop me I’ll never speak to you again.”

“I shall not drop you. You know the cue?”

“Yes.”

The lad nodded to the ringmaster, indicating that the latter was to urge the horse on to a faster gallop.

“Now what are those two children going to do?” wondered the owner of the show. “One is as daring as the other. It’s a wonder they have gone along without knocking themselves out. I believe they are going to do a turn.”

That was exactly what they were preparing. “Now,” said Phil sharply.

The pair rose from the back of the ring horse as one person. They leaped gracefully and deliberately into the air, doubled their legs under them and performed one of the most graceful somersaults that had ever been seen in the Sparling shows, landing lightly and surely on the resined back of the old ring horse.

Dimples sat down, and Phil, dropping lightly to the ground, threw a kiss to the audience.

The spectators, fully appreciating what had been done, went fairly wild in their enthusiasm.

Mr. Sparling was no less so. In his excitement he forgot time and place and ran into the ring, where he threw an arm about Phil Forrest, giving him a fatherly hug.

Dimples pouted prettily.

“That’s what I call partiality,” she complained.

Mr. Sparling promptly lifted her from the back of her horse, and stood the blushing little performer on the sawdust by the side of Phil.

How the spectators did applaud, many standing up in their seats waving hats and handkerchiefs in their excitement and enthusiasm!

Mr. Sparling was always doing these little, intensely human things, not with any idea of winning applause, but out of sheer big-heartedness. They did much toward spreading the reputation of the Sparling show and popularizing it as well.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” announced the showman when quiet had once more been restored, “you will pardon me for interrupting the performance, but as the owner of the show I want to say a few words on behalf of my star performers, Little Dimples and Master Phil Forrest.”

The audience interrupted him with a cheer.

“The act which you have just witnessed is as great a surprise to me as it could possibly have been to you. It is the first time these two performers ever attempted it in public. I might say, also, that it is the first time to my own knowledge that any performers in the world ever succeeded in getting away with a feat of that sort. I thank you for your approval. The performance will now proceed.”

After the applause which this little speech elicited had died away the band once more began to play.

Phil and Dimples commenced a series of acts, jumping from and to the back of the horse whose speed was increased for the purpose.

In the next rest Dimples called the attention of her associate to the clown Diaz, who was not far from them at the moment.

Dimples had been in the show business so long that her intuition had become very keen. Nothing of consequence happened under the big top, or beneath the low-roofed dressing tents, that she did not know of, or at least surmise. Especially keen was she in all matters relating to Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker, and her interest had in many instances served to save the lads from unpleasant consequence.

“I don’t like that fellow, Phil,” Dimples remarked, referring to Diaz.

“Why not?”

“I think he is a bad man.”

“I hope not. He is impulsive and—”

“Revengeful and ugly,” finished Dimples.

“As I said, he is impulsive, like all of his race.”

“What has been going on with you lately, Phil?”

“I don’t understand what you mean?”

“Oh, yes, you do.”

“You mean with regard to Diaz?”

“That’s what I mean. Have you had any trouble?”

“We had a slight disagreement,” admitted the lad.

“Tell me about it.”

“Wait! There goes the music.”

The ringmaster’s whip cracked its warning and the gray horse started at a slow gallop. Phil was up beside his companion with agility and grace. The first round or two they stood poised on the horse, while Phil related briefly what had taken place between himself and Diaz.

“Come, aren’t you two going to get to work?” demanded the ringmaster.

“You attend to your own work. We’ll look out for ours,” snapped Dimples.

“Yes, and if you think you can do better just come up and try,” added Phil, with a good-natured laugh. “Up, Dimples!”

He threw her lightly to his shoulders, on which the woman stood poised, making as graceful and pretty a picture as had ever been seen in a circus ring. Fragile as she was, it seemed as if Phil were all too slender to support her weight.

The act brought a whirlwind of applause.

“You look out for him, Phil. I—”

“Jump, Dimples!”

The ring horse had suddenly stumbled, its nose plowing up the sawdust in a cloud.

Phil, with rare presence of mind, lifted the feet from his shoulders and hurled the girl far from him.

“Land on your feet!” he shouted, then Phil plunged off, head first.

CHAPTER XIII

A Narrow Escape

Thanks to Phil’s presence of mind, Dimples had landed lightly on her feet well outside the ring curbing. Had the lad held to her ankles even a second too long the result must have been serious, if not fatal, for Dimples would have been hurled to the ground head first.

As it was, Phil gave her a lift, enabling her to double and “ball,” a circus term meaning to curl one’s feet up under the body, then straighten them as needed to give the body balance either in turning a somersault or in falling.

In doing so, however, Phil had had no thought for his own safety. He plunged forward over the head of the ring horse, striking the ground on his head and face.

The force of his fall had been broken somewhat by his quickly throwing out his hands in front of him and relaxing the muscles of his body. Circus performers soon learn how to fall—how to make the best of every situation with which they are confronted. Despite this, his fall had been a severe and dangerous one.

“There, he has done it! I knew he would,” cried Mr. Sparling, rushing to the ring. Quick as he was, Dimples was ahead of him. She leaped the ring curbing and dropped down beside him, not caring for the dust and the dirt that soiled her pretty costume.

“Phil! Phil!” she cried.

Phil did not answer at the moment.

“Is he hurt—is he killed?” demanded Mr. Sparling excitedly.

“Of course he is hurt. Can’t you see he is?” answered Dimples testily.

She turned the boy over and looked into his face. The dirt was so ground into the handsome, boyish face as to make it scarcely recognizable.

“Lift him up. Get some of the attendants to carry him back!” commanded the woman impatiently.

“No, no!” protested Phil in a muffled voice, for his mouth was full of sawdust and dirt. “I’m all right. Don’t worry about me.”

“He’s all right,” repeated the showman. “I’ll help you up, Phil.”

Phil, like the plucky performer that he was, declined their offers of assistance and struggled to his feet. He was dizzy and staggered a little, but after a moment succeeded in overmastering his inclination to faint.

A fleck of blood on his lips showed through makeup and sawdust.

“I’m all right. Don’t worry about me,” he said, with a forced smile.

Dimples sought to brush the dirt from his face with her handkerchief, but he put her aside gently, and, with a low bow, threw a kiss to the audience.

Their relief was expressed in a roar of applause.

Phil staggered over to where the ring horse still lay near the center of the ring and knelt down beside it, examining the leg that was doubled up under the animal.

The ringmaster cracked his whip lash as a signal for the animal to get up, but the faithful old horse, despite its efforts to rise, was unable to do so.

“What is the matter with him?” demanded Mr. Sparling.

“Jim has broken a leg, I think,” answered Phil sadly. “Too bad, too bad!”

The lad patted the head of the horse and ran his fingers through the grey mane. Tears stood in Phil Forrest’s eyes, for he had ridden this horse and won most of his triumphs on its resined back during the past three years.

“Dimples, I guess we have ridden Jim for the last time,” said Phil in a low voice. “Hadn’t you better start the other acts, Mr. Sparling. The audience will become uneasy.”

“Yes, yes,” answered the showman, waving his hand to the band, a signal that they were to play and the show to go on as usual. “Are you sure, Phil—sure Jim has not merely strained the leg?”

“I am sure. He never will perform again.”

Dimples brushed a hand across her eyes.

“I shall cry when I get back to my dressing tent. I know I shall,” she said, with a tremor in her voice that she strove to control.

Then Dimples smiled bravely, waving a hand at the audience, though her heart was sad.

“What had we better do with him, Phil?”

“We can do nothing at present—not until the show is ended. Then, there is only one thing to do.”

“You mean he will have to be—”

“Yes, Dimples, he will have to be shot,” answered Phil.

“But the audience?”

“Have a couple of attendants come in here and pretend to be working over Jim. That will make the audience think the animal’s foot is injured rather than fatally hurt,” suggested Phil Forrest.

“A good idea,” said Mr. Sparling, giving the necessary orders.

Tell them not to disturb the spot, not trample it down.

“Why?” questioned the showman in surprise.

“I’ll tell you later. I have my own reasons.”

Phil motioned to Teddy to approach.

“Sit down here in the ring and watch the horse and the men around him,” directed the Circus Boy. “I’ll tell you why later.”

The show went on with a snap and dash. Meanwhile, Phil, his clothes torn, his face grimy with dirt, started down the concourse toward the pad room, hand in hand with Little Dimples.

Their progress was a triumphal one so far as the audience was concerned, for the people cheered them all the way and until the slender riders had disappeared behind the crimson curtain just beyond the bandstand.

Phil quietly washed the dirt from his face, and pulling on his street clothes over his ring costume, started to reenter the arena.

At that moment Mr. Sparling came hurrying in. The two met in the pad room.

“Phil, how did that accident happen?” demanded the showman.

“You saw it, did you not, Mr. Sparling?”

“Yes. But I was unable to understand how it occurred.”

“That is exactly what is bothering me,” answered the lad, with a peculiar smile that the owner of the show was not slow to catch.

“You suspect something?”

“I suspect I got a bump that I shan’t forget soon,” laughed the Circus Boy. “It is a wonder I did not break my neck.”

“You undoubtedly saved Dimples’ life at the risk of your own. You are the pluckiest lad—no, I’ll say the pluckiest man I have ever known.”

“Don’t make me blush, Mr. Sparling.”

“Nevertheless, I wish you wouldn’t take chances on that act again. Give the audience the same old act and they will be satisfied with that.”

“Didn’t you like the act?”

“Like it?”

“Yes.”

“It was the finest exhibition of its kind that I ever saw. I hope neither the Ringlings, nor Barnum and Bailey, nor any of the big shows get a peep at that act.”

“Why?”

“Because were they to do so I would be sure to lose my little star performers right in the middle of the season,” laughed the owner.

“Oh, I hardly think so. I do not wish to leave this show. Had it not been for you I should still be doing chores for my board and clothes back in Edmeston. Now wouldn’t that be fine?”

“Very,” grinned the showman.

“Whatever I have accomplished I have you to thank for.”

“You mean you owe to your own brightness and cleverness. No, Phil, you are a boy who would have succeeded anywhere. They can’t keep you down—no, not even were they to sit on you.”

“If Fat Marie, with her five hundred and odd pounds, were to sit on me, I rather think I would be kept down,” answered the Circus Boy, with a hearty laugh in which Mr. Sparling joined uproariously.

“What is Teddy doing out in the ring?”

“I left him there to keep an eye on the injured horse.”

“Why, Phil?”

“Until I could get back and make an examination.”

“Very well; I want to see you after you have done so.”

“I will look you up.”

With that Phil hurried out into the arena. None of the spectators appeared to recognize the lad in his street clothes. Besides, he tried to avoid observation. He might have been one of the spectators, except that he picked his way, among the ropes and properties down through the center, where the public were not allowed to go.

“The rest of you may go,” said Phil, reaching the ring where Jim lay breathing heavily. “Thank you for easing off old Jim. I know he appreciates it.”

Jim looked up pleadingly as Phil bent over him, patting the animal on his splendid old gray head.

The attendants went about their duties.

“How’d this happen, Phil?” questioned Teddy.

“I fell off; that’s what happened.”

“Yes, I know you did, but there’s more to it. I wonder if it’s got anything to do with the loss of my egg?”

“I guess not.”

“You guess not? Well, I know something, Phil.”

“I should hope you do.”

“I mean about this accident.”

Phil gazed at his companion keenly.

“What do you know?”

“Look here,” said Teddy, pointing to a depression in the sawdust arena.

Phil bent over, examining the spot closely. When he rose, his lips were tightly compressed and his face was pale.

“Don’t mention this to anyone, Teddy. Promise me?”

“ ’Course I won’t tell. Why should I? But I found out about it, didn’t I?”

“Yes; at least you have made a pretty good start in that direction. I shall have to tell Mr. Sparling. It would not be right to keep this information from him.”

“N-n-o-o. Then maybe he’ll organize a posse to hunt for my egg.”

“Oh, hang your old egg!”

The Roman chariot races were on, the rattle of the wheels, the shouts of the drivers drowning the voices of the two boys.

“Teddy, you’ll have to get back and change your clothes. The performance is about over. That makes me think. I have on my ring clothes under this suit and I must hurry back to my bath and my change.”

The performance closed and the rattle and bang of tearing down the big white city had begun. The boys were engaged in packing their trunks now, as were most of their fellow performers.

“What’s that?” demanded Teddy, straightening up suddenly.

“Somebody fired a shot,” answered another performer.

Phil knew what it meant.

A bullet had ended the sufferings of the faithful old ring horse off under the big top. The Circus Boy turned away, with a blinding mist in his eyes.

“Poor old Jim!” he groaned.

Off under the women’s dressing tent another pair of ears had heard and understood, and Little Dimples, burying her head in her hands wept softly.

“Poor old Jim!” she, too, murmured.

CHAPTER XIV

The Pilot Gets a Surprise

The happiness of the day had been marred by the accident, but, like true circus men, all hands took the disaster in the matter-of-fact manner characteristic of their kind.

The show people, in couples and singly, took their way to the river, where they boarded the boats. Already wagons were rumbling down on the docks and cages were being quickly shunted into position for their journey down the river that night.

Everything moved with as much method as if the show had been traveling in this way from the beginning of the season.

The performers were enjoying the novel experience of river traveling too thoroughly to turn into their berths early. A cold lunch had been spread in the main cabins of the “Marie” and the “River Queen” for the performers, while from the cook tent, baskets had been prepared and sent in for the use of the laborers after they had completed their night’s work and finished loading the show.

All this was appreciated, and it was a jolly company that lined the tables in the two larger boats. Leather upholstered seats were built into the sides of the cabin, and with mouths and hands full, the circus people soon took possession of the seats, where they ate and chatted noisily.

“Funny thing about Jim,” said one of the performers. “What do you suppose made him fall, Mr. Miaco?”

“I don’t know. Probably for the same reason that anyone falls.”

“What is that?”

“Stumbled over something, I guess.”

“Hey, Teddy, what ailed the ring horse?” called a voice as the Circus Boy sauntered in and espying the tables made a dive for them.

“I guess he was hungry,” mumbled Teddy, his mouth full of ham sandwich.

“Hungry?”

“Yes.”

“What makes you think that?”

“ ’Cause he bit the dust.”

A general groan was heard in the cabin.

“Throw him overboard!”

“I know a better way to punish him for that ghastly joke.”

“How?”

“Take the food away from him, tie him up and make him watch us eat,” was the answer.

A shout of laughter greeted the proposition.

The pilot of the “Marie,” a heavily bearded man named Cummings, broke out in a loud guffaw.

All eyes were turned upon him.

“I reckon I kin tie him up if you says the word,” he volunteered.

“All right; tie him up,” shouted the performers, scenting fun.

Teddy eyed the pilot out of the corners of his eyes and placidly munched his sandwich. The pilot, in the meantime, had stepped to the rear end of the cabin, where, from a box of life-preservers he took a piece of Manila rope.

“I believe he is going to do it,” said a clown, nudging his companion.

“You mean he is going to try it,” answered the other. “Watch for some fun. He thinks Teddy is an easy mark.”

“He will be in this case. That fellow, Cummings, is hard as a rail fence. He could handle two of Teddy.”

In the meantime Tucker had strolled to the table, from which he took a large sandwich, buttered it well, then returned to his seat, not appearing to observe the pilot’s movements at all.

As he sat down the lad was observed to open the sandwich, removing the thin slice of ham and stowing the latter in his coat pocket. Then he sat thoughtfully contemplating the two pieces of buttered bread as if trying to decide whether or not he should eat them.

“Get up, kiddie,” said Cummings, grasping the boy by the shoulder. “Get up and take your punishment like a little dear.”

Teddy got up, carelessly, indifferently, while the pilot stretched the rope to its full length.

The boy saw that he was in earnest.

Smack!

Quick as a flash Teddy had plastered one half of the sandwich, buttered side in, right over the eyes of Cummings.

Smack!

The second half of the sandwich landed neatly over his mouth, pressed home by a firm fist.

Cummings could not speak, neither could he see. At that moment he was perhaps the most surprised man on the Mississippi River. At least he appeared to be, for he stood still. He stood still just a few seconds too long.

Teddy had seized the rope. With it he made a quick twist about the body of the pilot, taking two turns, then drawing the rope tight and tying it, thus pinioning the hands and arms of the pilot to his sides.

“Yip-yeow!” howled Teddy.

The show people shrieked with delight.

“You’ll tie up a Circus Boy, will you?” jeered Teddy. “You’ll have to grow some first. No Rube with a bunch of whiskers on his face like that ever lived who could tie up a real circus man.”

Teddy had drawn nearer to impress his words upon the pilot, when all of a sudden the man’s hands gripped the lad. The boy never had felt quite so strong a grip on his body. Cummings had not handled a pilot wheel on the Mississippi for thirty years without acquiring some strength in hands and arms.

Teddy, failing to pull away, grappled with his antagonist, all in the best of humor, though his face bore its usual solemn expression.

“Gangway,” cried Teddy humorously. “I’m going to give him a bath in the river.”

Then began a lively scrimmage. Back and forth the combatants struggled across the cabin floor, the growls of the pilot drowned in the shouts and jeers of the performers.

All at once, Teddy tripped his antagonist and the two went down into a heap, rolling under the main table on which the lunch had been spread.

“Look out for the table!” warned a voice.

“Sit on it, some of you fellows, and hold it down!”

The suggestion came too late. The table suddenly rose into the air, landing upside down with a crash, at one side of the cabin. A moment more and the two combatants were wrestling on roast beef and ham sandwiches, potato salad and various other foods.

“I guess this has gone about far enough,” decided Mr. Miaco, the head clown. “We’ll have a fight on our hands, first thing we know. If Teddy really gets angry you’ll think the ‘Sweet Marie’ is in the midst of a cyclone.”

“The ‘Fat Marie,’ you mean,” corrected a voice.

With the assistance of two others Miaco succeeded in separating the combatants, after which he untied the rope, releasing the pilot.

Teddy was grinning broadly, but Cummings was not. The latter was glowering angrily at his little antagonist.

“Shake?” asked Teddy, extending a hand.

“No, I’m blest if I will! I’ll not shake hands with anybody who has insulted me by buttering my face,” growled the pilot.

“You’ll be better bred if you are well buttered,” suggested Teddy.

“Oh, help!” moaned The Fattest Woman on Earth.

“Put him out! Put him out!” howled several voices in chorus.

“Yes, that’s the thing! We can stand for some things some of the time, but we won’t stand for everything all of the time,” added a clown wisely.

Half a dozen performers picked Teddy up bodily, bore him to one of the open windows and dumped him out on the deck.

“Here, what’s all this commotion about?” commanded Phil, who, at that moment, came from his cabin to the deck.

“They threw me out,” wailed Teddy.

“What for?”

“I made a pun.”

“Tell it to me.”

Teddy in short, jerky sentences, related what had been done and said. Phil leaned against the rail and shouted.

“I—I don’t blame them,” he gasped between laughs. “It is a wonder they did not throw you overboard.”

“They had better not try it.”

“But what about the pilot—what happened to him?”

“May—maybe they have put him out, too.”

“You have a way of getting into trouble, Teddy. Mr. Cummings will love you for what you have done to him, I can well imagine.”

“About as much as I love him, I guess. He got too bold, Phil. He had to have a lesson and Teddy Tucker was the boy who had to teach it to him. Say, go in and gather me a sandwich out of the wreck, will you?”

“Not I. Go and get your own sandwich. I’m going to see Mr. Sparling in his cabin. He has sent for me.”

Teddy sat out on deck while the others were picking up the table, the dishes and the ruined food. It would not do for Mr. Sparling to come in and see how they had wasted the food he had had prepared for them. The probabilities were that they would get no more, were he to do so. Teddy watched the proceedings narrowly from the safe vantage point of the deck.

In the meantime Phil had gone to Mr. Sparling’s cabin, where the showman was checking up the day’s receipts.

“A pretty good day, Phil,” smiled Mr. Sparling.

“I am glad to hear that, sir.”

“Two thousand dollars in the clear, as the result of our two performances today. Do you know of any other business that would pay as much for the amount invested, eh, Phil?”

“I do not, sir.”

“You see, it is a pretty good business to be in after all, provided it is run on business principles, at the same time treating one’s employees like human beings.”

“Yes, sir.”

“How would you like to have an interest in a show?”

“I am going to, someday. It may be a long time yet before I have earned money enough, but I shall if I live,” said the Circus Boy quietly but with determination.

“So you shall. I intend to have a talk with you on this subject, one of these days. What I wanted to talk with you about is Jim’s loss. I am glad it wasn’t your ring horse, Phil. Have you anything to say about the animal breaking his leg?”

“I have.”

“Out with it.”

“Somebody is to blame for that accident.”

“How?”

“Someone planned that accident.”

“Explain!”

“Teddy and myself examined the ring, that is, Teddy already had done so before I returned, and he discovered something—we both decided what must have happened.”

“Yes,” urged the showman as Phil paused.

“A round hole about a foot deep had been dug in the ring. This had been covered with a shingle and the sawdust sprinkled over to hide the shingle. It was a deliberate attempt to do someone an injury.”

Mr. Sparling eyed him questioningly.

“Are you sure?”

“As sure as I can be. Jim didn’t happen to step on the shingle until we were doing the pyramid, then of course something happened. It is a wonder that neither Little Dimples nor myself was injured.”

“Phil, we simply must find out who is responsible for this dastardly work.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And when we do—when we do—”

“What then, Mr. Sparling!”

The showman was opening and closing his fingers nervously.

“Don’t ask me,” he replied in a low, tense voice. “I don’t want to see the man. I should do something I would be sorry for all the rest of my life. Good night, Phil.”

Phil Forrest left the cabin and strode thoughtfully away to his own room, where he was soon in bed. Phil, however, did not sleep very well that night.

CHAPTER XV

An Unwelcome Visitor

The boats of the Sparling fleet had been moving steadily downstream for several hours, their passengers, in the majority of instances, sound asleep, lulled by the gentle motion and the far away “spat, spat, spat,” of the industrious paddle wheel at the stern of each craft.

Teddy had prudently kept away from the main cabin for the rest of the evening; when Phil turned in, Teddy was sleeping sweetly. His active part in the affair in the cabin had not caused him any loss of sleep.

With the pilot, Cummings, however, matters had been different. Mr. Cummings had been steadily at the wheel of the “Marie” since the boats had sailed shortly after one o’clock in the morning.

The pilot’s temper had suffered as the result of his experience in the cabin, and the jeers aud laughter of the circus people had not added to his peace of mind. At intervals he would break out into a tirade of invective and threats against Teddy Tucker, who had so humiliated him.

“I’ll get even with that little monkey-face! They ought to put him in the monkey cage where he belongs,” growled the pilot, giving the wheel a three-quarter turn to keep the boat from driving her prow into the bank, for which he had been steering to avoid a hidden sand bar.

“I’ll tell the manager tomorrow, that if he doesn’t keep that boy away from me, I’ll take the matter into my own hands and give that kid a trouncing that will last him till we get to New Orleans.”

The darkness of the night, just before the dawn, hung over the broad river. Doors and windows of the pilot house were thrown open so that the wheelman might get a clear view on all sides.

All at once Cummings seemed to feel some presence near him. He thought he caught the sound of a footfall on the deck. To make sure he left the wheel for a few seconds, peering out along the deck, on both sides of the pilot house.

He saw no one. The air was filled with a black pall of smoke from the “Marie’s” funnel, the smoke settling over the boat, wholly enveloping her from her stack to the stern paddle wheel.

“Huh!” grunted the pilot, returning to his duties.

Yet his ears had not deceived him. Something was near him, a strange shape, the like of which never had been seen on the deck of the “Fat Marie”, in all her long service on the Mississippi.

“If that fool boy comes nosing around here I’ll throw him overboard—that’s what I’ll do,” threatened Cummings. “I’ll show him he can’t fool with the pilot of the finest steamboat of the old line. I—”

The pilot suddenly checked himself and peered out to starboard.

“Wha—what?” he gasped.

Something darkened the doorway. What he now saw was a strange, grotesque shape that looked like a shadow itself in the uncertain light of the early morning.

“Get out of here!” bellowed the pilot, the cold chills running up and down his spine.

The most frightful sound that his ears had ever heard, broke suddenly on the quiet of the Mississippi night.

“It’s the lion escaped!”

Cummings grabbed a stout oak stick that lay at hand—the stick that now and then, when battling with a stiff current, he used to insert between the spokes of the steering wheel to give him greater leverage.

With a yell he brought the stick down on the head of the strange beast. The roar or bray of the animal stopped suddenly.

Whack! came the echo from the club.

Cummings sprang back. He slammed the pilot-house door in the face of the beast, and closed the windows with a bang that shook the pilot house. In his excitement the pilot rang in a signal to the engineer for full speed astern.

About that time something else occurred.

With a terrific crash one of the windows of the pilot house was shattered, pieces of glass showering in upon the pilot like a sudden storm of hail.

Crash!

Another window fell in a shower about him. He tried to get the door on the opposite side of the pilot house open, but locked it instead and dropped the key on the floor.

All this time the “Fat Marie’s” paddle wheel was backing water and the craft, now swung almost broadside to the stream, was working her way over toward the Iowa shore.

Bang!

A section of the pilot-house door fell shattering on the inside, and what sounded like a volley of musketry, rattled against the harder woodwork of the pilot house itself.

Frightened almost out of all sense, Cummings began groping excitedly for his revolver. At last he found it, more by accident than through any methodical search for it.

The pilot began to shoot. Some of his bullets went through the roof, others through the broken out windows, while a couple landed in the door.

At last the half-crazed Cummings was snapping the hammer on empty chambers. He had emptied his revolver without hitting anything more than wood and water.

The fusillade from the outside still continued.

By this time the din had begun to arouse the passengers on the boat. Phil Forrest was the first to spring up. He shook Teddy by the shoulder, but, being unable to awaken his companion, jerked the boy out of bed and let him drop on the floor.

“Get a net! What’s the matter down there!” yelled Teddy. “Hey, hey, did the mule kick me? Oh, that you Phil? What’s the row—what has happened?”

“I don’t know. Come on out. Something has gone wrong. Hear those shots?”

“Wow! Trouble! That’s me! I knew I couldn’t dream about angels without something breaking loose.”

Phil had thrown the door open and bounded out to the deck. Just as he did so the pilot leaped from the front window of the pilot house, climbed over the rail and dropped to the deck below. The volleying, the thunderous blows still continued.

A loud bray attracted their attention to the other side of the boat.

“What’s that?” demanded Phil, starting off in that direction.

“It’s January! It’s January!” howled Teddy Tucker. “I would know that sweet voice if I heard it in the jungles of Africa. Where is he?”

“Over here somewhere. Come on. I can’t imagine what has happened.”

“The animals have escaped. There’s a lion on the hurricane deck!” they heard a voice below shout in terrified tones.

“Do you think that’s it?” called Phil.

“Lion, nothing! Didn’t I tell you I knew that voice? There he is now. See him hand out the hoofs at the pilot house. He must have a grudge against Cummings. I know. He’s paying the fellow back for trying to tie me up.”

“But—but, how did he ever get up here?”

“Go it, January! Kick the daylights out of him! I’ll give you a whole peck of sugar if you kick the house into the river, pilot and all.”

“Whoa! Whoa, January!” shouted Phil.

The donkey, for it was January himself, and not a savage beast that was acting the part of a battering ram and rapidly demolishing the pilot house, paused for a second; then, moving to a new position, he began once more hammering at the structure.

“How did he ever get up here, Teddy?”

“I don’t know. I know I am glad he did, that’s all. Let him kick.”

“I’m going to try to catch him.”

“Keep away, Phil. He’ll have you in the river. He has a fit. Wait till he comes out of it.”

“Why, the boat is moving backwards,” cried Phil.

“No!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Maybe January has kicked the machinery out of gear.”

The circus people were by this time on deck, and, like Teddy and Phil, many of them were in their pajamas. They had heard the cry, “the animals have escaped,” and many of the people were gazing apprehensively about.

“It’s all right,” shouted Teddy. “It is only January, taking his morning exercise.”

About that time Phil, who had run around to the other side of the pilot house, discovered that it was empty. There was no pilot there.

Understanding came to him instantly. January had either kicked or frightened Cummings out.

“The boat is running wild!” he called. “Find the pilot or we shall be on the shore before we know it.”

Phil did not wait for them to find the pilot. Instead, he climbed in through one of the broken windows and grasped the wheel.

“I’ve got to stop this going astern first of all,” he decided.

He could see the banks now, and they seemed perilously near in the faint morning light. The other boats of the fleet were steaming up in answer to the signals of distress that Cummings had blown in his excitement.

“What is it? Are you sinking?” called a voice through a megaphone from the deck of the “River Queen.”

“No, we are all right,” answered Phil, leaning out of the window.

“You’ll be high and dry on the Iowa shore if you don’t watch sharp. Where are you going?”

“Don’t know. Keep out of the way or we’re liable to run you down.”

Phil grabbed a bell pull and gave it a violent jerk. The engines stopped suddenly, to the Circus Boy’s great delight. January had ceased his bombardment and now stood with head thrust though one of the broken windows, gazing in inquiringly at Phil Forrest.

“If one bell stopped the engine, another bell should be the signal to go ahead,” reasoned the lad, giving the bell pull two quick jerks. He was right. The machinery started and he could hear the big paddle wheel beating the river into a froth.

The lower deck was in an uproar. Men were shouting and running about, trying to discover what animals had escaped, as the pilot insisted that the hurricane deck was alive with them.

“Get that pilot up here, if you have to drag him. I don’t know where the channel is, and I am liable to put the whole outfit aground any minute,” shouted Phil Forrest. “Teddy, never mind that idiotic donkey. We’re in a fix. Get downstairs, at one jump, and see that the pilot is brought up here lively.”

“I’ll fetch him. You watch me,” answered the irrepressible Teddy, starting off on a run.

January had all at once grown very meek. He stood gazing thoughtfully off over the river.

“What is the trouble here?” roared Mr. Sparling dashing up to the pilot house at that moment.

“That is exactly what I have been trying to find out,” answered the Circus Boy.

“What, Phil?”

“Yes, it’s Phil.”

“What are you doing in there?”

“Steering the boat.”

“Piloting the—where is the pilot?”

“Somewhere below. I have sent Teddy after him. You see, January was trying to kick the pilot house off the boat and into the river. The pilot, thinking the animals had escaped, fled. When I came up this craft was traveling astern and January was making a sieve of this little house. I have got the ‘Marie’ going forward, but I may run her aground if he doesn’t come along pretty soon.”

Mr. Sparling reached the companionway in two bounds, and, leaping to the lower deck, caught the pilot by the coat collar, shaking off the two circus men who had hold of Cummings.

“You get up to that pilot house or you’ll be in the worst fix in your whole river career.” Mr. Sparling accompanied the words with a violent push that sent the pilot headlong toward the stairway. But the showman was by the fellow’s side by the time he had gotten to his feet, and began assisting him up the companionway, while Teddy Tucker followed, prodding the pilot in the back with a clenched fist.

Into the pilot house they hurled the man, Cummings.

“Now, you steer! If it had not been for that boy we might have lost our whole equipment. I don’t care anything about your old boat, but I’m blest if I am going to let a fool pilot wreck us—a pilot who is afraid of a donkey.”

“I’ll quit this outfit tomorrow,” growled Cummings. “I kin pilot steamers, but I can’t fight a menagerie and a pack of boys with the very Old Nick in them. Get away from that wheel!” he commanded, thrusting Phil aside.

Mr. Sparling had him by the collar once more.

“You do that again, and I’ll take it out of you right here!” declared the showman savagely.

“I’ll bet he’s the fellow who stole my egg,” declared Teddy, eyeing the pilot sternly.

CHAPTER XVI

Betrayed by a Sneeze

“How did that beast get up here?” demanded Mr. Sparling.

“Who, Cummings?” asked Teddy innocently.

“No, no! The donkey.”

“Oh! Maybe he came up through the smoke stack. If you will look at it you may find donkey tracks on the inside of the stack.”

“That will do, that will do, young man.”

It was found upon investigation that January had gnawed his halter until only a thin strand held it together, which was easy for the donkey to break. Then he began an investigation of the boat, ending by his climbing the broad staircase and frightening the pilot.

Next morning the pilot house looked as though it had been through a shipwreck. The whole craft, in fact the entire fleet, was laughing at the expense of Cummings, who now kept to himself, studiously avoiding the other people. January was tied up with a dog chain after that, and was not heard from again during any trip of that season; that is, beyond his regular acts in the sawdust arena.

The next day Phil Forrest began his investigation in earnest. He knew that Mr. Sparling looked to him to discover who had caused so much trouble in the show, besides which, Phil took a personal interest because of the attempt that had been made on the lives of Little Dimples and himself.

Teddy suggested that he go through the pilot’s belongings, expressing the firm belief that they would find the ostrich egg were they to do so.

Phil consulted Little Dimples, that afternoon, as to her opinion of the occurrences of the past week, but the star bareback rider could shed no light on them, beyond the fact that certain people with whom Phil had had difficulties might bear watching.

“That’s what I think,” answered the Circus Boy. “I do not like to accuse anyone unjustly, but I have these suspicions of the Spanish clown.”

“Have you mentioned your suspicion to Mr. Sparling, Phil?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to do so?”

“Not unless I find some facts to support my suspicion.”

“You will get to the bottom of the mystery, I am sure,” smiled the woman.

“I am not so sure. Why do you think so?”

“Because you are one of the cleverest boys I ever knew, that’s why. I should hate to have you on my track if I were guilty of any particular crime that you were trying to run down. I should expect to land in jail, and I think I should come straight to you and give myself up,” added the woman with a merry laugh.

“I wish I were all that you think I am, Dimples.”

“You are. You saved my life again yesterday. I’m going to pay you back, however. Someday, when you fall overboard, Little Dimples is going to jump right in and rescue you—haul you out by the hair of your head—”

“You can’t, it is cut too short.”

“Then I will pull you out by an ear.”

“I shall make it my business to fall in, then, at the first opportunity,” laughed Phil. “It would be worthwhile.”

Dimples gave him a playful tap.

“You can turn a compliment as well as you can do a turn in the ring, can’t you Phil Forrest?”

Despite their narrow escape from serious accident, Phil and Dimples went through their double act in the ring that day and evening with perfect confidence. Previous to going on, Phil had had a ring attendant go over the sawdust circle on his hands and knees, making a careful examination of it, to be sure that the ring had not been tampered with.

From that time on until the act went on, the ring was watched, though Phil did not believe the miscreant would attempt to lay another trap for him so soon. Still, he took nothing for granted.

That night after the performance, the air being warm and balmy, the Circus Boy strolled out on the lot, sitting down on a little knoll to think matters over. There was plenty of time, for the boat would not leave for two or three hours, and Phil wanted to be alone.

Lights were twinkling on the lot like fireflies. There was shouting and singing, but little of this conveyed itself to Phil, for his mind was on other things.

All at once he pricked up his ears. He caught the sound of running footsteps.

“Someone is coming this way,” he muttered. “I wonder what that means? Surely none of the circus people would come here. They would go around by the road.”

The lad concealed himself behind the knoll, peering over the top of it. He resolved not to show himself until he had discovered the identity of the newcomers.

They proved to be two men who halted a short distance beyond him, and began to converse in guarded tones. It was so dark that Phil could scarcely distinguish their figures and their voices were pitched so low that it was impossible for him to hear what they were saying.

“This looks queer,” Phil muttered. “I wish I could hear what they are talking about. Perhaps they are town fellows who have been chased off the lot because they were in the way. At any rate, I’m going to try to find out what they are up to. Hello, they are coming right over here.”

Phil crouched down behind the knoll and listened. The men turned slowly and came toward him. All at once one of them stumbled on the very knoll behind which he was secreted.

The man uttered a growl.

“Come, sit down,” he said to his companion.

“We better go on,” answered the other.

“No hurry. We’ve got all the time in the world. If we miss the boat we can swim. That was a narrow escape. In a minute more we’d had that wagon fixed so they would never have got off the lot with it.”

“Hello,” muttered Phil under his breath. “Something surely is going on here. One of the voices I have heard before, and the other I seem to recognize. I believe that first fellow belongs to the show. I am almost sure of it.”

“You think the fellow suspects?”

“The tall one does. But he doesn’t know whom be suspects.”

“We have to take care.”

“Yes.”

“But we will get both before the end of the season.”

“You bet we will. I have a plan that—”

“What is it?”

“It is this.”

Phil had buried his head in the grass and compressed his body into the smallest possible space that he might avoid discovery. He could hear the two men breathe, and he reasoned that they might hear him as well.

“You know the big net?”

“You mean the one over which the flying four perform?”

“Yes.”

“What about it?”

“It can be fixed.”

“How?”

“By weakening some of the strands on each side.”

“That is good, but suppose someone noticed.”

“Not if it is done right. I don’t mean to do it all at once. I’ll doctor one or two strands every day until the net is so weakened that it won’t hold.”

“Yes, but how will you do this so no one will see?”

“I’ll tell you. After the act is over they roll the net up and carry it out. It is dumped just outside the pad room, where it is picked up by one of the property wagons later in the evening. It’s in the same place every night.”

“I think somebody may see us do it.”

“No danger. Keep cool; that’s all. We’ll get even with those fellows. We have got to before we can carry out the other plans we have talked over. They are too sharp. Sooner or later they will get wise to us, and we’ve got to get them out of the way before we go any further. The work must be done in a natural sort of way, so that no suspicion is aroused.”

“Yes, that’s so. But what about the others? You want to hurt them, too?”

“I don’t care, so long as we get the right one, how many get their bumps.”

“That’s right. But only one of them is on trapeze. What you do about other?”

“It is the tall one that I want most. He’s got to be put out of the running. It won’t kill him, but it will lay him up in a hospital for the rest of the season, and that’s enough for us.”

“Yes.”

“The other one will be taken care of after we get through with the first. The small fellow is sharp, but he can’t see beyond his nose. It’s easy to fool him.”

“The fiends!” muttered Phil. “I believe they are plotting against Teddy and me. I have a good notion to sail into them right here and settle it. I believe I could whip the two of them. I—”

At that instant a blade of grass tickled Phil’s nose. He raised his head quickly.

“What’s that?” exclaimed one of the plotters.

“I heard nothing.”

“You didn’t? Well, I did. There’s someone around here and close by us.”

“Perhaps it was a squirrel in the grass. There is no one here.”

The blade of grass had done its work, however. Phil tried hard to control himself, but he knew he was going to sneeze.

All at once the sneeze came, louder than he had ever sneezed before.

The men leaped to their feet in sudden alarm.

CHAPTER XVII

Eavesdroppers!

“Look out!”

“There he is!”

“Grab him!”

Phil had bounded to his feet, realizing that he could no longer conceal himself from them. As he did so, both men sprang toward him, the Circus Boy eluding them by a leap to one side.

The men made a rush for him. At first Phil was inclined to stand his ground and give battle, but he reasoned that, being two to one, the chances were against him and that even if he were not captured, he might sustain injuries that would keep him out of the ring.

That was the deciding factor with Phil Forrest. Although he would have preferred facing his enemies, he whirled instead and started on a run, with both men pursuing him at top speed.

“He’s out-running us. He’ll get away!” cried one of the men. “Run, run! Run for all you’re worth!”

But they might as well have spared their effort. Phil was fleet of foot, and after getting a slight lead over them he turned sharply to his right, leaped a fence and lay down.

The men quickly discovered that they had lost their prey. Then they became alarmed.

“Get out of here, quick! He will be following us!”

The men turned and ran swiftly in an opposite direction.

“Do you think he recognized us?”

“I don’t know. We can tell by the way he acts when we get back; that is if he doesn’t follow us now. We had better separate and go back to the lot. From there we can go along with the wagons and not be noticed. Don’t let him bluff you.”

“Have no fear for me.”

The plotters separated and cautiously made their way back to the lot where they were soon lost among the crowd of men at work taking down the tent.

“I believe one of those two men was Diaz,” declared Phil, as he once more tried to place the voice that he had seemed to recognize. “They have given me the slip, too. I know what I’ll do. I will hurry back to the boat and when Diaz returns I will face him and make him betray himself if I can. I shall have him then.”

Having decided on his course of action, Phil struck off at a trot across the field. He soon reached a back street of the village, and from there ran at full speed to the docks.

All was activity here. The lad cast a quick glance about, though he did not expect to find the man for whom he was looking. Without pausing in his rapid gait he ran up the companionway to the upper deck, where he intended to watch at the rail for the arrival of Diaz from the lot.

As he leaned over the rail he felt someone stir near him. Glancing up quickly, the Circus Boy started almost guiltily. There, beside him, sat Diaz on a camp stool with his feet on the steamer’s rail, calmly watching the loading operations on the deck below.

“Good evening, Mr. Diaz,” said Phil quickly recovering his self-possession.

Diaz uttered an unintelligible grunt, but did not deign to turn his head.

“Hey, Phil, is that you?” called the voice of Teddy from further down the deck.

“Yes,” answered Phil, rising and moving aft. “How long have you been here?”

“About an hour.”

“Do you know who is sitting over there?”

“Over where?”

“There by the rail?”

“Sure, I know. That’s our old friend Diaz,” grinned Teddy.

“How long has he been there?”

“He came in when I did.”

“An hour ago?”

“Yes.”

Phil was perplexed.

“I do not understand it at all.”

“Don’t understand what?”

“Something that occurred this evening.”

Teddy’s curiosity was aroused.

“What is it all about, Phil?”

“I should prefer not to talk about it here, Teddy. I will tell you after we get to bed and there is no one about to overhear us. There is a rascally plot on foot.”

“A plot?”

“Yes. I know very little about it, but I know enough to warn me that you and I will have to keep our eyes open or else we shall find ourselves in serious difficulties before we realize it.”

“Is that so? Tell me who the plotters are, and I’ll turn January loose on them,” explained Teddy. “Do you think they are the fellows who stole my egg?”

“I don’t know. Where is Mr. Sparling?”

“I haven’t seen him since I ran into him and bowled him over off on the lot.”

Phil laughed.

“As I have said many times before, you are hopeless, Teddy. I must go now. If you see Mr. Sparling, please let me know, but say nothing to anyone about what I have just told you.”

“I won’t.”

Phil walked back to the point on the deck where he had first stopped to look over the rail, and, drawing up a stool sat down. He began studying the faces of the belated performers who came straggling down to the dock, singly and in pairs. None seemed to be in a hurry; not a face appeared to reflect any excitement. After an hour of this Phil felt sure that all the company had been accounted for.

Mr. Sparling had arrived about twenty minutes earlier, and was standing on the dock giving orders. As the lad saw the owner enter the boat he turned away and hurried downstairs.

“When you are at liberty, I should like a few moments conversation with you, sir,” announced Phil.

“I am at liberty, now, my lad,” answered the showman with a smile and a friendly slap on the boy’s shoulder.

“I would rather not talk here, Mr. Sparling,” answered Phil in a low tone.

“Something doing, eh?”

“There is.”

“Is it important that you should talk with me at once, or will a little later on answer the purpose?”

“Later on will do. It is not so urgent as that.”

“When the men get these menagerie cages all shifted on deck I will meet you in my cabin. That will be in about twenty minutes, Phil.”

“Very well, sir; I will be on hand.”

Phil walked away, watched the loading operations for a few minutes, then strolled to the main cabin on the upper deck, where lunch was being served as usual.

The Circus Boy appeared more light-hearted than usual that evening, as he chatted and joked with his friends among the performers. He did not wish the man or men whom he had overheard off on the lot to know that he was the eavesdropper. He felt that he could make better progress in his investigation were they not on their guard.

The pilot, Cummings, was not in the cabin. He had not been seen there since his trouble with Teddy. Despite the pilot’s determination to resign, he was still on duty, he and Mr. Sparling having come to a satisfactory understanding.

Teddy was helping himself liberally for the second time since his return from the lot.

“Do you think you will ever be able to satisfy that appetite of yours?” laughed Phil.

“I hope not,” answered Teddy solemnly. “That’s the only fun in life—that and the donkey.”

Just then Mr. Sparling passed through the cabin on the way to his stateroom and office. He gave Phil a significant glance, to which the Circus Boy did not respond. A few minutes later, however, Phil strolled out to the deck. Reaching it he turned quickly and hurried aft, entering the passageway there and going directly to Mr. Sparling’s quarters.

“Come in,” invited the owner in response to Phil’s gentle rap.

The blinds had been drawn up, though the windows were let down into their casings out of sight. Phil noted this in a quick glance.

“Sit down and tell me what has happened, Phil. I am sure you have made some sort of discovery.”

“I have and I haven’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“That I am deeper in the mire than ever.”

“Tell me about it.”

“While I have made no discoveries that will help us much, I have learned just enough to understand that there is a diabolical plot on foot.”

“Against whom?”

“I am not sure, but I think it is against Teddy and myself.”

“Is it possible? Who are the plotters?”

“That is the worst of it; I do not know. I wish I did. I thought I had one of the men identified, but I find I am all wrong. I am more at sea than ever.”

“Who did you think it was?”

“As long as I am mistaken, why should I accuse anyone?”

“You are right. Have you reason to believe it is someone connected with this show?”

“I am sure that at least one of the men is.”

“Then there is more than one in this thing?”

“There are two men. At least I have seen two. There may be more for all I know.”

“Now, tell me what it is all about. You haven’t said a word regarding this plot yet,” urged the showman drawing his chair around the corner of his desk and leaning forward with his hands on his knees.

Phil told how he strolled off into the field adjoining the circus lot, and went on in detail to relate all that had occurred after that. As he proceeded with his story the face of James Sparling grew serious and then stern.

“I presume I should have stood my ground and given battle to them, if for no other reason than to find out who they were,” concluded the lad, somewhat ruefully.

“Phil Forrest, you should have done nothing of the sort,” answered Mr. Sparling sharply. “You take quite enough risk as it is. You think the plot now is to tamper with the big net?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Is it possible that such scoundrels are traveling with the Sparling shows?”

“I wish I did not think so.”

“Phil, it is not the man who was responsible for several accidents the first year you were with us, is it?” demanded the showman shrewdly, darting a sharp glance at Phil.

“No, sir,” answered the boy flushing a little. “That man is no longer with the show.”

“I thought so. Now I have him located.”

“The—the man I saw tonight—you know him?” gasped Phil.

“No. I did not mean that. I refer to the fellow who nearly caused your death three years ago.”

“Oh!”

“You had some trouble with Diaz a short time ago, did you not?”

Phil was surprised that the showman was aware of this.

“Yes.”

“Where is Diaz tonight?” demanded the showman almost sternly.

“In his stateroom, or else out on deck.”

“Are you sure?”

Phil nodded.

“What time did he return from the lot?”

“He was here when I went on deck. He came to the boat directly after the performance.”

“You are sure of this?”

“I am.”

“You are a very shrewd young man, sir,” said Mr. Sparling, with a mirthless smile. “However, these guilty men must be found and punished. You think their first efforts will be directed toward the net?”

“Yes, according to what I overheard. I have an idea, however, that they will not do so at once, fearing they may have been recognized, or at any rate that their plans are known to someone else.”

“Do you think they recognized you?”

“I do not. I did not speak. I was on the point of doing so, then checked myself.”

“Right! You are one in a hundred. I will have a watch kept on the net, and an examination made of it before every performance.”

Phil smiled faintly.

“I am not afraid for myself.”

“No, that’s your greatest failing. You are not afraid of anything and you take very long chances. I hope you will be more cautious in the future. You must be careful, Phil, and you had better caution your partner, Teddy Tucker. Does he know of this?”

“No, but I intend to tell him. He is more interested in the possibility of recovering his egg than in any personal danger to himself or to me,” said the Circus Boy with a short laugh.

“Keep your eyes open, and take care of yourself. If we fail to get a clue by the time we get to Des Moines I shall send to St. Louis for the best detective they have and put him on the case. Perhaps it would be best to do so now.”

“I think—” began Phil, when his words were arrested by a loud noise just outside the cabin, on the deck.

Mr. Sparling and Phil started up, for the instant not understanding the meaning of the disturbance.

“Wha—what—” gasped the showman.

Phil ran to the window and looked out.

The deck at that point was deserted. He thought he saw a figure dodge into an entrance near the stern of the boat, and looking forward he discovered another disappearing in that direction.

The Circus Boy sprang for the door.

“What is it, what is it?” cried the showman.

“Eavesdroppers!” answered the lad, darting out into the passageway, followed closely by Mr. Sparling.

“You go that way and I’ll go this,” directed Phil.

CHAPTER XVIII

Making a Capture

The two ran down the corridor, Mr. Sparling heading for the forward end, Phil toward the stern.

“There he goes! I see him!” shouted the showman as a figure leaped out to the deck, slamming the door. “We have him now!”

Phil rushed out at the stern and started to run along the starboard side of the boat. As he emerged he caught sight of a figure running toward him, and behind the figure, Mr. Sparling, coming along the deck in great strides.

“Stop! We’ve got you!” shouted the showman.

Phil spread out his arms as the fleeing one drew near him, then threw them about the fellow, holding him in a firm grip.

“I’ve got him, Mr. Sparling!”

“Leggo of me! What’s the matter with you? Anybody would think this was a high school initiation.”

“Teddy,” groaned Phil.

“What’s that?” demanded the showman jerking Phil and his prisoner over to an open window through which a faint light was showing.

“It is Teddy Tucker, sir,” said Phil releasing his hold.

“What does this mean, sir?” demanded the showman in a stern voice.

“That’s what I want to know. You fellows chase me around the boat as if I were some kind of a football. It’s a wonder one of you didn’t kick me. Lucky for you that you didn’t, too, I can tell you.”

“Teddy, come to my cabin at once. Phil, bring him along, will you?”

“Yes,” answered Phil Forrest. Phil was troubled. He could not believe it possible that Teddy was guilty of eavesdropping, and yet the evidence seemed to point strongly in that direction. Taking firm hold of his companion’s arm he led him along toward Mr. Sparling’s cabin.

“What’s all this row about?” growled Teddy.

“That is what I hope you will be able to explain to Mr. Sparling’s satisfaction,” replied Phil. “However, wait till we get to his cabin.”

Phil led Teddy to the door, thrust him in, then followed, closing and locking the door.

“Perhaps we had better close that window this time, sir.”

“Yes.”

Mr. Sparling drew up and locked the window.

“Sit down!” he commanded, eyeing Teddy keenly.

Teddy sat down dutifully and was about to place his feet on the showman’s desk when Phil nudged him.

“Now, sir, what does this mean?”

“What does what mean? I never was any good at guessing riddles.”

“What do you mean by eavesdropping at my cabin window?”

“Oh, was that your window?”

“It was and it is. And unless you can offer a satisfactory explanation, something will have to be done. That is one of the things that I shall not tolerate. I can scarcely believe you guilty of such a disgraceful act. Unfortunately, you have admitted it.”

“Admitted what?”

“That you were listening at my window.”

“I never said anything of the sort.”

“No, not in so many words; but when I asked you what you meant by doing so, you answered, ‘Oh, was that your window?’ ”

“Certainly I said it.”

“Then will you kindly explain why?”

“I wasn’t listening at your window. I wasn’t within half a block—half a boat, I mean—of it. What do you think I am?”

“Well, Teddy, for a minute I thought you had been guilty of an inexcusable act but upon second thought I begin to understand that it is impossible. There is some misunderstanding here.”

Phil looked relieved, but Teddy was gazing at the showman with half-closed eyes.

“While Phil and myself were holding a confidential conversation here, someone was listening to us under that window. All at once the blind fell with a crash—”

“And so did the other fellow,” interrupted Teddy, his eyes lighting up mischievously.

“Phil looked out quickly. He thought he saw someone dodging into the entrance aft, and at the same time he was sure someone was doing the same thing forward.”

“I was the fellow who dodged in the forward entrance. Then you fellows started a sprinting match with me.”

“Why did you run?”

“Oh, I suppose I might as well tell you all about it.”

“Yes, if we are to make any headway it will be best to let you tell your story in your own way,” answered Mr. Sparling with a grim smile.

“I was halfway between here and the pilot house, sitting down on the deck, leaning against the side of the deck-house. I had just gone to sleep, at least I think I had, when I woke up suddenly. I saw somebody down this way peeping in at a window. I became curious. I wondered if he was the fellow who stole my egg, so I got up to investigate. Just then he saw me.”

“Well, what happened?”

“He was standing on a box. The box tipped over or he jumped off, I don’t know which. I thought he was chasing me, and I ran.”

“Afraid, eh?” jeered Phil.

“No, I wasn’t afraid. I just ran because I needed the exercise; that’s all. Do you think he really had my egg?”

“Who was the man, Teddy?”

“How do I know?”

“You saw him. Could you not—did you not recognize him?”

“No, it was too dark. I didn’t wait long after I first discovered him, you know. I thought maybe it was that fellow Cummings, laying for me. I wish January had finished him while he had the chance.”

“You noticed nothing familiar about him?”

“Yes, I did.”

“What?”

“He looked like some kind of a man,” answered Teddy solemnly.

“Oh, fudge!”

“You say he was standing on a box?”

“Something of the sort.”

Mr. Sparling went out, leaving the boys alone for a few minutes. When he returned he brought with him a small square box which he examined very carefully.

“Do you recognize it?” asked Phil.

“Yes, it is one in which the candy butcher received some goods. It might have been picked up by anyone. I will find out where he left it. This may give us some slight clue. It is quite evident, boys, that we have among us one or more dangerous men. Teddy, I offer you my humble apology for having suspected you for a moment. The thought was unworthy.”

“Don’t mention it,” answered the Circus Boy airily.

CHAPTER XIX

Teddy Joins the Band

“I would suggest that you divide the band into two parts and have them play on deck as we approach the next stand,” said Phil later that evening.

“I think that a most excellent plan,” decided Mr. Sparling. “We will work it whenever we get in after daylight. It might not be a bad idea to try it tomorrow morning. I’ll allow the musicians overtime for it, so there should be no objection on their part. We will make a triumphal entry into Des Moines, providing nothing happens to us in the meantime.”

Mr. Sparling’s face darkened as he thought of the dastardly attempts that had been made against his young charges.

“I will see the leader before I turn in. You had better go to bed now, Phil. You have been keeping pretty late hours and working unusually hard. Good night.”

“Good night,” answered Phil pleasantly.

Man and boy had come to be very fond of each other, and Phil Forrest could not have felt a more genuine affection for Mr. Sparling had the latter been his own father.

“A noble fellow,” was Mr. Sparling’s comment as the youth walked away from the cabin.

At half-past three o’clock the next morning the boat’s passengers were awakened by the blare of brass, the crash of cymbals and the boom of the big bass drum.

They tumbled out of bed in a hurry, for few of them knew of the plan of the owner to give an early morning concert on the deck of the “Fat Marie.”

Teddy Tucker struck the floor of his cabin broadside on.

“Wake up, Phil! We’re late for the show. It’s already begun and here we are in bed.”

“Guess again, Teddy,” answered Phil sleepily. “Don’t you know where you are?”

“I thought I did, but I don’t. Where am I?”

“In our cabin on the ship.”

“But the band, the band?”

“It is playing for the benefit of the natives along the shore.”

“Oh, pooh! And here I am wide awake. Do you know what time it is?”

“No.”

“It is only twenty minutes of four.”

“In the afternoon? Goodness we are late.”

“No, in the morning, you ninny. This is a shame. I’ll bet that band concert was your suggestion, Phil Forrest.”

Phil admitted the charge.

“Then you must take your medicine with the rest of us. Come out of that!”

One of Phil’s feet was peeping out from under the covers. Teddy saw it and grabbed it. Being a strong boy, the mighty tug he gave was productive of results.

Phil landed on his back on the floor, with a resounding thump and a jolt that made him see stars.

“Teddy Tucker, look out; I’m coming!”

“You had better look out; I’m waiting.”

The two supple-limbed youngsters met in the middle of the cabin floor and went down together. They were evenly matched, and the muscles of their necks stood out like whip cords as they struggled over the floor, each seeking to get a fall from his antagonist.

Teddy managed to roll under the bed, and there they continued their early morning battle, but under no slight difficulties. Every time one of the gladiators forgot himself and raised his head, he bumped it. Phil tried to force Teddy out from under the bed, but Teddy refused to be forced.

“When—when I get you out of here I am going to do something to you that you won’t like, Teddy Tucker,” panted Phil.

“What—what you going to do to me?”

“I’m going to pour a pitcher of cold water on your bare feet.”

“Oh!”

The thought of it sent Teddy into a nervous chill. He would rather take a sound thrashing, at any time, than have that done to him. Now he struggled more desperately than ever to hold Phil under the bed. At last, however, the boys rolled out and Teddy’s shoulders struck the cabin floor with a bang that sent the pitcher jingling in the wash bowl.

Phil sprang up, seized the water pitcher, making a threatening move with it toward his companion.

“Wow! Don’t, don’t!” howled Teddy.

Phil pursued him around the cabin, the water splashing from the pitcher to the floor. Teddy yelling like a wild Indian every time he stepped in the puddles.

The window was open and the band was playing just outside.

Suddenly a new plan occurred to Teddy—a plan whereby he might escape from his tormentor.

Taking a running start he sprang up, making a clean dive through the window head-first.

The lad had intended to land on his hands, do a cartwheel and come up easily on his feet. But the best-laid plans sometimes go wrong.

The bass drummer was pounding his drum right in line with the window. Teddy did not see the drum until too late to change his course. His head hit the drum with a bang. He went clear through it, his head protruding from the other side. And there he stuck!

“Oh, wow!” howled the Circus Boy.

The other members of the band, discovering that the drum was no longer marking time for them, got out of tune and came to a discordant stop.

The leader, whose side had been toward the drummer at the time, did not know what had happened. He was furious. He was about to upbraid them when he discovered the head of Teddy Tucker protruding from the head of the drum.

“Wha—wha—what—”

The bass drummer paid no attention to him. Instead he grabbed the offending boy by the feet, bracing his own feet against the rim of the instrument, and began to pull. The drummer was red in the face, perspiring and angry.

Teddy popped out like a pea from a pod. The Circus Boy was not yet out of his trouble. With unlooked-for strength the irate drummer threw the lad over his knees, face down, and raised the drumstick aloft.

This drumstick, as our readers well know, is made of heavy leather—that is the beating end is—and is hard. To add to the distress of the victim, Teddy was in his pink pajamas and they were thin.

Whack!

The stick came down with more force than seemed necessary.

“Ouch! Stop it! I’ll pay you back for keeps for that!”

Whack!

“Oh, Phil!” Teddy was making desperate efforts to squirm away now, but his position was such that he was unable to bring his full strength to bear on the task.

The stick was raised for another blow, but there came an interruption that took all thought of continuing the punishment out of the mind of the angry drummer.

“Stop it! I don’t want to be a drum!” howled the boy.

Splash!

A pitcher of water was emptied over the drummer’s head, a large part of the water running down and soaking Teddy to the skin, causing that young gentleman to howl lustily.

It gave the boy the opportunity he was looking for, however. With a quick twist he wrenched himself free from the grasp of the drummer, dropped on all fours and was up and away, a pink streak along the port side of the “Fat Marie.”

Phil had come to the rescue of his companion. He now jerked the window shut and slammed the blind in place, after which he quickly got into his clothes, fully expecting that he should have a call from the bass drummer.

There was a great uproar on deck about that time, with much shouting and unintelligible language—at least unintelligible to Phil.

Before he had finished dressing, Teddy came skulking in, rubbing himself and muttering threats as to what he proposed to do to the drummer.

“You did it! You did!” he shouted, pointing a finger at Phil Forrest.

“It strikes me that you did something, too—”

“No I didn’t. Something was done to me. I had on my pajamas, too,” wailed the boy. “I’m glad you soaked him, though. Why didn’t you throw the pitcher at him, too?”

“Oh, no, it might have hurt him, Teddy.”

“Hurt him? Pshaw! Maybe the drumstick didn’t hurt me. Oh, no!”

“Well, get dressed. I will go out and see if I can pour oil on the troubled waters. You stay here. I don’t want you mixing it up with the drummer. I’ll attend to him.”

Phil first hunted up Mr. Sparling, whom he found shaving in his cabin.

“Why good morning, Phil. Why this early call?”

“I called to ask you what a new set of heads will cost for the bass drum?”

“I think they are worth about fifteen dollars. Why do you ask?”

“Because Teddy and myself have just smashed the heads out of the one belonging to the band.”

Mr. Sparling paused in his shaving long enough to glance keenly at Phil. There was a twinkle in his eyes. He knew that his Circus Boys had been up to some mischief. Phil was as solemn as an owl.

“It was this way,” explained the lad, as he related how the accident had occurred.

Mr. Sparling sat down and laughed.

“Never mind the drum heads. We have others for just such an emergency, I do not mind a little fun once in a while. We all have to blow off steam sometimes.”

“No, sir; we shall pay for the drum heads. To whom does the drum belong?”

“The drummer, I think.”

“Very well; thank you.”

Phil hastily withdrew from the cabin and hurried back to his own stateroom.

“Teddy,” he said, “I want seven-fifty from you.”

“What’s that?”

“Seven dollars and a half, please.”

Teddy began pawing over his trousers. All at once he paused, looking up at Phil suspiciously.

“You want to borrow seven-fifty, do you?”

“No, I want you to contribute it.”

“To what?”

“To the fund.”

“What fund? What are you talking about?”

“Those drum heads are worth fifteen dollars and we are going to pay the owner of the drum for the damage we did. I will give half and you half.”

“What!” shrieked Teddy.

“Come, pay up!”

“What! Give that fellow money when he’s taken more than twenty-five dollars worth out of my hide? I guess not! What kind of an easy mark do you think I am? Pay him yourself. You did it.”

“Teddy, do you want me to give you a good thrashing, right here and now?”

“You can’t do it. You never could,” returned Teddy, belligerently.

“Come, hand out the money!”

Teddy eyed his companion for a full minute; then, thrusting a hand slowly into his own trousers’ pocket, brought forth a goodly roll of bills from which he counted off eight dollars.

“Tell him to keep the change.”

“I will, thank you,” said Phil with a merry twinkle in his eyes.

“It’s like taking candy out of the mouth of a babe. I’ll get more than eight dollars’ worth out of that bass—he’s baser than he is bass. Bass sounds like a fish, doesn’t it—out of that bass drummer when I get a good fair chance at him. Sometime when he isn’t looking, you know. I wonder if he could be the fellow who stole my egg?” questioned Teddy reflectively.

Phil went out laughing, to make his peace with the drummer.

CHAPTER XX

A Capture in the Air

Fortunately, the band carried a new set of heads for the drum, and the contribution of the boys served to restore the offended musicians to good nature. Teddy, however, was not appeased. That youngster vowed that he would take revenge on the bass drummer at the very first opportunity.

That afternoon, during the performance, Teddy began his getting-even process by standing in front of the bandstand between his acts, and making faces at the musicians.

This seemed to amuse them, and brought only smiles to their faces. Teddy was not there for the purpose of amusing the band, so he turned his back on them and tried to think of something more effective.

The show did a great business at Des Moines, having a “turn-away” at both afternoon and evening performances. The Sparling shows had played there before, but never to such business, which the showman decided was due to their novel way of traveling. He knew that these little novelties frequently made fortunes for Circus owners.

At the evening performance, Teddy had an inspiration. He was too busy, during the first part of the show, to give his idea a practical test, but later in the evening, while he was awaiting his cue to go on in his clown act, he tried the new plan.

The lad had purchased half a dozen lemons from the refreshment stand. One of these he cut in halves, secreting the pieces in a pocket of his clown costume; then when the time came he stationed himself in front of the bandstand where he stood until he had gained the attention of several of the musicians.

Teddy took out the two pieces of lemon with a great flourish, went through the motions of sprinkling sugar over them, then began sucking first one piece, then the other, varying his performance by holding out the lemon invitingly to the players.

The bass drum player scowled. Teddy’s lemon did not affect the beating of the drum, but as the lad began to make believe that the acid juice was puckering his lips, some of the musicians showed signs of uneasiness.

The Circus Boy observing this, smacked his lips again and again, and industriously swallowed the juice, though it nearly choked him to do so.

Very soon some of the players got off the key, their playing grew uneven and in some instances stopped altogether. The leader could not understand what the trouble was. He called out angrily to the offending musicians, but this seemed only to add to their troubles.

All at once the big German, who played the bass horn, rose from his seat and hurled his music rack at the offending Teddy Tucker. Everything on the bandstand came to a standstill, and the performers in the ring glanced sharply down that way, wondering what could have happened.

The leader turned and discovered Teddy and his lemons. He was beside himself with rage. He understood, now, why his musicians had failed. Teddy sucking the lemon had given many of them “the puckers.”

It was an old trick, but it worked as well as if it had been brand new.

The Circus Boy was delighted. The leader experienced no such sensations. With an angry exclamation, he leaped from the box on which he was standing, aiming a blow at Teddy with his baton.

The boy dodged it and ran laughing out into the ring, for it was now time for him to go on in his next act.

After a minute or two the band once more collected itself and the show went on, but there were dire threats uttered against Teddy Tucker by the leader and players. The bass drummer grinned appreciatively.

“I wish I could think of something that would tie up that fellow with the drum,” muttered Teddy, gazing off at the drummer with resentful eyes.

The band leader had no scruples against carrying tales, and immediately after the performance he hunted up Mr. Sparling and entered a complaint against the irrepressible Teddy. The result was that Teddy was given a severe lecture by the showman after they got on board the boat that night. Then Phil added a warning.

“Well, what about yourself?” retorted the lad.

“Why?”

“I never stirred up as much roughhouse as you did this morning. You had better take some of that advice to yourself.”

Phil laughed good-naturedly.

“I shall have to admit the impeachment,” he said.

It seemed, however, as if the Sparling shows could not get along without exciting incidents happening at least once in twenty-four hours. They appeared to follow the Circus Boys, too, like a plague. It is likely that, had they not followed the boys, Teddy Tucker would have gone out hunting for them.

The next morning something else occurred that was not a part of the daily routine. The boats were late and the next stand was not yet in sight, so the band had not been called to work as early as on the previous morning. The bandsmen were just rousing themselves, in response to raps on their cabin doors, when they heard rapid footsteps on the deck, and excited shouts from several voices.

Teddy and Phil awakened at about the same time, having been disturbed by the unusual sounds.

“Now, what is the trouble?” exclaimed Phil.

“Something is going on, and here I am in bed,” answered Teddy, tumbling out and throwing open the blinds.

He saw nothing unusual. The boat was slipping along, enveloped in a cloud of black smoke. The disturbance seemed to be on the other side of the vessel.

“Come on, Phil. Let’s find out what it is all about. Maybe the boat has struck a rock and we are sinking. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

“I don’t see anything funny about that. It would be serious, and you and I would be out of a job for the rest of the season.”

“Don’t you care! I have money. Didn’t I give you seven-fifty yesterday and still have some left?”

“Eight,” grinned Phil.

By this time the boys had hurried out into the corridor, and thence to the deck.

“Well, what do you think of that?” howled Teddy.

“Bruiser is out,” exclaimed Phil.

Bruiser was a baboon, whose temper was none too angelic. He was a big heavy fellow, who never lost an opportunity to vent his temper on whoever chanced to be within reach.

It seems that on this particular occasion a sleepy keeper was cleaning Bruiser’s cage so that it might be neat and presentable when the show opened. Bruiser had sat on a trapeze far up in the cage, watching the proceedings with resentful eyes, perhaps wondering how he might administer a rebuke to the keeper.

All at once the baboon saw his opportunity. The keeper had stooped over to pick up something from the floor of the boat, as he stood at the open door of the cage in the rear.

Bruiser projected himself toward the opening like a catapult. At that instant the keeper had straightened up and the baboon hit him squarely in the face. There could be but one result. The keeper tumbled over on his back.

Chattering joyously, Bruiser began hopping off on all fours. First he investigated the tops of the cages, running over them and bringing roars from the animals within. Then he hopped down and paid a visit to the horses.

January sent a volley of kicks at the beast, but Bruiser was too quick, and the hoofs passed harmlessly over his head.

About this time the keeper had scrambled to his feet in alarm. At first he did not know where the baboon had gone, but hearing the disturbance among the horses he ran that way, soon coming upon Bruiser. With a scream of defiance, the animal bolted up the companionway, hurriedly investigated the corridors and the main cabin, then leaped out through an open window to the hurricane deck.

Two other men had joined in the chase now, and it was their shouts that had awakened the Circus Boys.

“Come on, here’s sport!” shouted Teddy Tucker starting on a run after the fleeing Bruiser. The latter tried to climb up the smoke stack and narrowly missed being captured in the attempt. At the same time he burned his feet, filling him with rage and resentment, so that, when the keeper grabbed him, the former’s face was badly scratched.

Round and round the deck ran pursued and pursuers, the baboon having not the slightest difficulty in eluding his followers, Teddy chasing gleefully and howling at the top of his shrill voice.

Others joined the chase, until well nigh half the boat’s company raced yelling up and down the decks. Mr. Sparling was one of the number, though he devoted most of his attention to directing the others.

One mast had been erected on the boat from which to fly flags, and from this rope braces ran off forward and aft.

Finally Bruiser was so hard pressed that he took to this rigging and ran up one of the ropes to the mast, where he perched on the end of a spar and appeared to mock his pursuers.

Poles were brought, at the direction of the owner, with which the men sought to poke Bruiser down. But the poles were too short. Then the men threw ropes and missiles at the baboon, most of which went overboard and were lost.

“It is no use. We shall have to wait until he gets ready to come down,” decided Mr. Sparling. “How did he get away?”

The keeper explained.

“He won’t come down today,” added the man. “That is, so long as we are here. He is a bad one.”

“You do not have to tell me that. Can any of you offer suggestions? I am not very strong on capturing escaped animals. Phil, how about it?”

Phil shook his head.

“I have an idea, Mr. Sparling,” spoke up Teddy.

“I knew you had, from the expression on your face. What is it?”

“I’ll climb up and shake him down.”

A loud laugh greeted this remark.

“You couldn’t climb up there. The mast is too slippery.”

“I’ll show you.”

“Very well; go ahead.”

“Teddy, I think I would keep out of this, were I in your place,” remarked Phil.

“You keep out of it yourself. I’ll show you that I know how to catch wild beasts. I haven’t ridden January all this time for nothing.”

Teddy started in bravely to climb the mast. After a great struggle he managed to get up about eight feet. Suddenly he lost his grip and came sliding down, landing at the foot of the mast in a heap.

A shout greeted his ludicrous drop.

“I think you had better give it up,” laughed Mr. Sparling.

“I won’t give it up.”

“You cannot climb the mast.”

“I don’t intend to. I have an idea.”

“What is your idea?”

“I will show you. Bring me a rope.”

The rope was quickly handed to him. The Circus Boy coiled it neatly, closely observed by the show people, who did not understand what he was about to do.

“I’m a sailor, you know,” he grinned. Measuring the distance accurately, Teddy swung the coil about his head a few times, then let it fly up into the air, keeping the free end in one hand as he did so.

The coil tumbled over the yard or cross piece and came down, hitting the deck with a thump.

“There. Can you beat that?” he demanded triumphantly.

“Very well done,” agreed Mr. Sparling. “Now that it is over, what do you propose to do next?”

“Watch me!”

The lad made fast one end of the rope to the ship’s rail, the baboon peering down suspiciously.

“Oh, I’m after you, you rascal,” jeered Teddy, shaking a fist at the ugly face above him.

After testing the rope, Teddy began climbing it hand over hand. Then the spectators divined his purpose.

“The boy is all right,” nodded Mr. Sparling approvingly. “That is the time that he got the best of you, Phil.”

“He is welcome to the job,” answered Phil. “You haven’t captured the baboon yet.”

Teddy, by this time, was halfway up the mast. It seemed a dizzy climb, but the lad was so used to being up high that he did not mind it in the least.

“Hey, down there!” he called.

“What is it?”

“Better get out a small net so you can catch him. I’m going to shake him down as I would a ripe apple. If you catch him in the net he will tangle himself up so that he cannot get away.”

“That is a good idea,” approved Mr. Sparling. “Get the net, and hold it in readiness.”

Teddy, in the meantime, was working his way up. After a time his hands grasped the crossbar and he pulled himself up astride it, waving one hand to those below him.

Bruiser, however, was not there. The baboon had scrambled to the top of the mast on which there was a golden ball, and on this he perched some eight or nine feet above Teddy Tucker’s head.

“Now where is your baboon?” called a voice.

“Where he cannot get away from me unless he jumps into the Mississippi,” answered Teddy quickly.

“How are you going to get him?” called Mr. Sparling.

“I’ll see when I get to him.”

With great caution, the lad climbed up the slender top of the mast.

Bruiser’s tail hung over, while he clung with his feet, glaring down at Teddy. The baboon realized that he could not get away.

“Come down here!” commanded Teddy, grabbing the beast’s tail and giving it a mighty tug.

Bruiser’s grip gave way. Down shot Teddy and the baboon. But the cross-tree saved him, as the lad figured that it would. One hand was clinging to Bruiser’s tail, the other arm thrown about the mast.

Now, Bruiser took a hand. With a snarl of rage he fastened in the hair of Teddy Tucker’s head, causing that young man to howl lustily.

For a moment boy and baboon “mixed it up” at such a lively rate that it was difficult for the spectators below to tell which was boy and which baboon. Teddy seemed to be getting the worst of it.

“Look out! Let go of him! You will be in the river the first thing you know!” shouted Mr. Sparling warningly.

Teddy did not hear him. He was too busy, at the moment, trying to keep those savage teeth from fastening themselves in his neck, for which the beast seemed to be aiming. At the same time the boy was getting more and more angry. It was characteristic of Teddy that, the angrier he became, the cooler he grew.

He was guarding himself as best he could and watching his chance to get the upper hand of his antagonist.

All at once Teddy let drive a short-arm blow at the head of the baboon.

Few things could withstand that blow, and least of all a baboon. It landed fairly on the grinning jaws and Bruiser’s head jolted backwards as if it were going right on into the river.

Teddy lost his balance, aided in this by the fact that Bruiser had fastened to the lad’s pajamas.

“They’re going to fall!” roared Mr. Sparling. “Catch them! Catch them!”

The men hastened to move the net, and none too soon, for Teddy and Bruiser came whirling down, the lad making desperate efforts to right himself so as to drop on his feet. But the baboon prevented his doing this.

They struck the net, which was jerked from the hands of the men, and Teddy hit the deck with a terrific bump.

CHAPTER XXI

A Circus Boy Missing

“Grab the beast!”

Teddy was still clinging to the baboon so firmly that they had to use force to get Bruiser away from him.

As for the baboon, he was too dazed from the shock of the fall to offer any resistance, and was quickly captured and returned to his cage.

Teddy had not fared quite so well. He was unconscious, and for a time it was feared that he had been seriously injured.

As it turned out, however, he had escaped with nothing worse than a severe shock and a sprained wrist. A sprain of any sort is sufficient to lay up a circus performer for sometime. As a result of his injury, Teddy Tucker did not work again for the next week; that is, he did not enter the ring, though he was anxious to do so. Mr. Sparling, however, would not permit it.

Those were glorious days for Teddy. He could not keep away from the circus lot. He had plenty of time to think up new ways of tormenting his enemies, some of which he applied from time to time. The boy was safe, however, for no one felt inclined to punish a boy who was going around the outfit with one arm helpless in a sling.

Perhaps Teddy Tucker took advantage of this fact. At least, he enjoyed himself and, besides, found plenty of time to hunt for his lost egg. The boy was suspicious of everyone. One time he became firmly convinced that Mr. Sparling had taken it from him. The moment the idea occurred to him he hunted up the showman and demanded to know if the latter had his egg.

“No,” answered Mr. Sparling with a twinkle in his eyes, “but I will try to arrange so you get another.”

“You will?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you; thank you.”

“I am having the show’s carpenter make one out of wood.”

“I can’t eat a wooden egg,” protested Teddy.

“Why not? You were going to eat the ostrich egg. The wooden one will give you indigestion no quicker than the other would have done.”

“I’ll tell you what I will do,” said the Circus Boy, an idea suddenly occurring to him.

“I am listening.”

“You have the carpenter make an egg and I will circulate the news that I have another egg. I will leave it in my cabin and keep watch on the thing. In that way I shall catch the fellow, if he tries to steal it again. I shan’t put it in the trunk. Oh, I’ll talk a lot about that wooden egg.”

“I am in hopes we shall hear no more about eggs all the rest of the trip, after I give you another,” said the showman. “Your idea is not a half-bad one at that. If you catch the man we are looking for I will make you a nice present.”

“What kind of a present?” asked Teddy with an eye to business.

“What would you like?”

“I’ll have to think it over. There are so many things I want, that I do not know which I want most.”

“I thought you had money enough to buy whatever you needed. By the way, how much money have you saved, Teddy?”

“Let me see,” reflected the lad, counting up on his fingers. “Why, I must have a little more than three thousand dollars in the bank. Mrs. Cahill is taking care of it for me, you know.”

“Fine, fine! That is splendid. What are you going to do with all of that money?”

“I think I will buy out the Sparling shows, someday, when you get tired of the business and want to sell at any old price,” answered the boy boldly.

The showman laughed heartily.

“So you think you would like to own a show, do you?”

“Yes, sir, I am going to—Phil and I.”

“May I ask when this interesting affair is coming off—this purchasing of a real circus?”

“I told you. When you get tired of the business we are going to buy you out.”

“You have it planned, eh?”

“Yes, sir; that is, I have. Phil doesn’t know anything about that yet. I haven’t told him.”

“I thought not. So, while I am paying you to work for me, you are planning to take my show away from me, are you?” questioned Mr. Sparling with a smile.

“No, Sir; we are not trying to do anything of the sort. You have been too kind, and I thank you for all you have done for me, and—and all you have put up with. You ought to have ‘fired’ me a long time ago—I guess you ought to have done it before I started in the Show business. I’m glad you didn’t,” added Teddy, glancing up with a bright smile.

It was the first time Mr. Sparling had ever heard the little Circus Boy express his appreciation. He patted the lad affectionately.

“I hope you are feeling quite well, today, my boy. You never talked this way before. What caused your sudden change of heart?”

“I—I guess it was the baboon,” answered Teddy whimsically. “Or else, maybe, it was the bump I got when I hit the deck of the ‘Fat Marie.’ ”

Phil came up and joined them at that moment, waiting for his turn to go on in his trapeze act for the evening performance. Mr. Sparling surveyed him keenly. He noted the trim, athletic figure, the poise of the head and the steady clear eyes that held one irresistibly.

“You are looking very handsome tonight, Phil,” said the owner.

“Thank you, sir. ‘Handsome is as handsome does,’ as the saying goes,” laughed the Circus Boy. “Are you having the net watched, Mr. Sparling?”

“Yes, my lad. Two men are keeping close tab on the big spider web all the time, except in the afternoon, when no one would dare to tamper with it for fear of being detected.”

“I am not so sure of that. You see, I have a personal interest in that net, seeing that I have to risk my bones over it twice each day.”

“Don’t worry. It will be well watched, Phil.”

“I take the first drop in it, you know, so if it should give way you would be minus Phil Forrest.”

“Teddy tells me you and he are thinking of buying out the Sparling shows, eh?”

“Why, Teddy, how could you say such a thing?” demanded Phil, reddening.

Teddy expostulated, explaining that it was merely a dream in his own mind, repeating that Phil knew nothing of it.

“I do intend to own a show, as I have told you before, Mr. Sparling, as soon as I have enough money. I am afraid, however, that that day is a long way off.”

“Perhaps not so far off as you think, Phil. Perhaps both of you may own a show much sooner than you even dream,” said the showman, significantly. “Well, good night, boys if I do not see you again.”

“What do you think he meant by that?” questioned Teddy.

“I am sure I do not know. Perhaps he thinks we have a future before us and that we shall make rapid advances. I hope so, don’t you, Teddy?”

“I think I would rather find my egg than have most anything else just now.”

“Oh, hang your egg! There goes my cue. I must get out, now. Bye, bye. You are a lucky boy not to have to work on this hot night.”

Phil waved his hand and tripped out into the arena. A few minutes later he was soaring through the air with the gracefulness and ease of a bird on the wing.

The boys did not meet again until bedtime, for Phil had turned in immediately upon reaching the boat. Teddy, of course, was the last one to go to bed, but he was soon asleep after reaching there.

Phil, on the contrary, had lain awake for some hours, thinking. He was still seeking a solution to the mystery that had been disturbing them almost from the beginning of the season. Twice had an effort been made to do him serious injury at least. Who could have taken so violent a dislike to him as to wish to cause his death? There seemed to be no answer to the question.

“I can think of no one, unless it is Diaz,” muttered the boy. “Yet he surely was not one of those who were plotting out on the lot that night. He would not have had time to get back to the boat ahead of me. Then again, Teddy was sure that the clown had been back for more than an hour. He may have had something to do with laying the trap in the ring for Dimples and myself.”

“I am afraid I am not on the right track at all,” decided Phil at last, with a deep sigh.

He was still awake when the “Fat Marie” shook off her moorings and with a long blast of her siren, drifted out into the stream and began pounding down the river.

Phil got up, stretched himself, looked out of the window, then decided to go on deck to get the breeze, for the heat was stifling in his stateroom. Teddy was sound asleep.

The deck seemed to be deserted. Phil walked over to the rail and leaning both elbows upon it closed his eyes dreamily.

It must have been fully an hour later when Teddy awakened suddenly, with a foreboding that something was not as it should be.

“Phil!” he called.

There was no reply.

“Phil!” repeated Teddy in a louder tone.

Failing to get a response, Teddy arose and found his companion’s bed empty. Teddy, knowing that Phil seldom ever left the stateroom after retiring, decided to go out to look for him. He investigated the cabin, then going out on dock peered into every shadow, calling softly for Phil.

Failing to get any trace of his chum, Teddy returned to his cabin, put on his slippers and went down to the lower deck, where he made inquiries of the watchman, but with no better success.

Teddy Tucker began to feel alarmed. He hurried to the upper deck again, once more going over it carefully, as well as the inside of the boat.

A terrible suspicion began to force itself upon him.

“Man overboard!” bellowed the Circus Boy. “Man overboard!” He ran through the corridors shouting the startling cry, then out to the deck repeating it as he ran.

The cry was taken up by others as they rushed from their cabins, Mr. Sparling among the number.

“Where, where?” shouted the showman. “Who—who—”

“It’s Phil! He’s gone. He’s over there, somewhere, I don’t know where!”

CHAPTER XXII

Overboard into the River

“I can’t understand it,” Phil mused, as the soft evening breezes lulled him into slumber.

“What! What!” he cried suddenly. “What is it? I’m falling!”

The deck of the “Marie” all at once seemed to have dropped from beneath him. He felt himself falling through space. What could it mean?

With the showman’s instinct the Circus Boy quickly turned his body, spread out his hands and righted himself.

The night was black, and as yet he had not succeeded in collecting his senses sufficiently to decide what had happened. He knew that he was falling, but that was all.

There was a sudden splash as his body struck the water. Phil shot right down beneath it and the waters of the Mississippi closed over him.

He understood then what had happened, but not for an instant did he lose his presence of mind. Phil had caught his breath as his feet touched the water, and now that he had sunk beneath the surface he began to kick vigorously and work his hands to check his downward course.

A moment of this and he felt himself rising toward the surface. Phil was as good a swimmer as he was a performer in the circus ring, and he felt no nervousness, even though his position at that moment was a perilous one.

Almost at once he felt his head above the surface of the river, but his eyes were so full of muddy water that he could see nothing at all. Instead of trying to swim, Phil lay over on his back, floated and began blinking industriously to get the water out of his eyes. He soon found that he could see once more, though at that moment there was nothing to be seen in the blackness of the night.

“There’s the ‘Marie,’ ” he cried. Phil raised his voice in a good lusty howl for help, but none heard him. He could see the lights of the steamboat and they appeared to be far away.

“There is only one thing left for me to do, and that is to strike out for the shore. I wonder which way the shore is?”

Once more he raised himself in the water, for an instant, and gazed toward the rapidly disappearing lights of the ‘Marie.’

“She is going downstream, so if I swim to the left I should reach shore after a while,” decided the lad.

He did not know that the boat had in the meantime made a sharp turn to her right and that in turning to the left he would be swimming downstream, making his attempt to reach shore a difficult one indeed.

The lad struck out manfully, swimming with long, easy strokes, aided considerably by the current which was sweeping him downstream much faster than he thought.

“I’m glad I have only my pajamas on,” decided the lad. “If I had all my clothes on I fear I should have a pretty tough fight. It’s bad enough as it is.”

Talking to himself, in order to keep up his courage, he swam steadily on, now and then pausing to swim on his back to rest himself. He had gone on for nearly an hour when the lad began to wonder why he had not reached shore.

“Surely the river cannot be so wide at this point. I must have drifted downstream considerably. Perhaps I haven’t been going in the right direction at all.”

He tried to find out which way the drift was, in order to make up his mind as to the direction in which the shore lay. In the darkness, however, he was unable to determine this, so he began swimming again, trusting to luck to land him on something solid, sooner or later. He knew that this must occur, but whether his strength would hold out that long he could not say.

All at once he caught a peculiar drumming sound. It reminded him of a partridge that he had once heard in the woods, but it seemed a long way off and he could not identify it.

“I guess it must be my heart, up somewhere near my mouth, that I hear,” said the boy with a short mindless laugh. “Maybe I am going to pieces. If I am I deserve to drown.”

About that time Phil decided to turn over on his back and rest for a moment.

The instant he did so he uttered a sharp exclamation. His eyes caught sight of something that he had not seen before. It looked to him like some giant shadow, from which twinkled hundreds of lights.

“It is the ‘Marie’!” cried the boy. “They are coming back for me. No, no, it cannot be the ‘Marie,’ for this boat is coming from the opposite direction. Yes, it surely is a steamboat!”

Though Phil did not know it, this was one of the big river packets bound down the river from St. Louis.

“I must get out of the way, or they will run me down, but I want to keep close enough so I can hail them. I hope this is where I get on something solid again.”

A few minutes of steady swimming appeared to have taken him out of the path of the river boat. Then Phil rested, lying on his back, watching the boat narrowly.

“In almost any other position or place, I might think that was a pretty sight. As matters stand, now, it looks dangerous to me.”

His position was more perilous at that moment than he even dreamed.

“H-e-l-p! H-e-l-p!” called Phil, in what he thought was a loud tone.

There were no indications that his cry had been heard by those on board the steamboat. He tried it again, but with no better success than before.

“I have simply got to keep on yelling my lungs out until I attract their attention. I am afraid I shall never reach shore unless I am picked up. I might be able to keep afloat until daylight, but I doubt it. I shall get so chilled, before then, that I shall have to give up. I’ve got some fight left in me yet, just the same.”

“A-h-o-y, boat! Help!”

On came the steamer, steadily.

Suddenly Phil discovered something else. She had changed her course. The boat seemed to be drawing away from him! His heart sank, but almost at once, the boat turned again, following the tortuous channel of the stream.

She now was sweeping almost directly down upon him. He heard some call on the upper deck.

“They are going to run me down!” he gasped.

Phil threw all his strength into an effort to swim out of the path of the swiftly moving boat, but he feared he would not be able to clear her.

The lad uttered a loud shout, then dived deep, coming up at once only to find himself almost against the side of the moving craft.

He grabbed frantically, hoping that his hands might come in contact with some projection to which he could cling, but the slippery sides of the hull slid past him at what seemed almost express train speed.

He was almost on the point of diving again to get away from the dangerous spot, when suddenly, his fingers closed over something. It was a rope, one of the hawsers that had not been fully hauled in when the boat left the last landing place some miles up the river.

With a glad cry, both the lad’s hands closed over the precious rope. His joy was short lived. He found himself dropping back, the river craft still gliding past him.

The rope was paying out over the boat’s side in his hands.

Phil Forrest was never more cool in his life, but he now began to realize the well-nigh hopeless position in which be found himself placed.

Suddenly the rope ceased paying out with an abruptness that jerked him clear out of the water. He fell back with a splash, all but losing hold of the rope as he did so.

“I’ve got it! I’ve got it!” exulted the lad. A rush of water filled his mouth, almost suffocating him.

“I guess I had better keep my mouth closed,” thought the boy.

He was directly astern of the steamboat by this time, and this placed him in a much more favorable position than he had been while dragging along at the side.

Phil began resolutely to work himself along the rope hand over hand. It was a desperate undertaking, one calling for strength and courage of an unusual kind, but he never hesitated. His breath came in long, steady, sighs, for he was going though the water at such a rate of speed that breathing was made doubly difficult.

“It is a good thing I am a circus performer. I should probably have been at the bottom of the river long ago, had I not been a ring man.”

At last, after what seemed hours of struggling, he had succeeded in working his way past the stern paddle wheel, and up under the stern of the ship. He twisted the rope about one arm, and with his head well out of water lay half exhausted while he was shot through the water at high speed.

A few minutes of this, and Phil, considerably rested, began to pull himself up.

Ordinarily this hand over hand climb would have been an easy feat for the Circus Boy. As it was, however, the lad was forced to pause every foot or so, and, twisting the rope about an arm and a leg, hang there between sky and water, gasping for breath, every nerve and muscle in his body a-quiver.

Few men, no matter how strong nor how great their endurance, could have gone through what Phil Forest had endured that night.

He was glad to be out of the water, where he was in imminent danger of being drowned as the boat jerked him along. Of course he was not obliged to cling to the rope, but the chances of his reaching shore, were he to let go, he felt were very remote.

“I am glad Teddy is not here,” muttered Phil with a half smile as he thought of his companion back on the “Marie” fast asleep. “I wonder what he will think when he finds that I am missing? I hope they do not turn about and come back to look for me, for I hardly think they will be able to do that and make their next stand in time.”

Once more the lad began pulling himself up the rope. At last, to his great relief, his fingers closed over the stern rail of the river boat. Phil pulled himself up as if he were chinning the bar, though in this case he chinned it only once.

Elbows were braced on the rail, then the right leg was thrown over and Phil Forrest was high and dry on the deck of a great river steamer, after an experience that perhaps never had befallen a human being on the Mississippi before.

He found himself standing face to face with an officer of the boat, who proved to be the mate. The man was so astonished at the dripping figure that had come over the stern, that, for the moment, he did not speak.

“Good evening,” greeted Phil politely.

“Who are you?” demanded the mate sternly.

“I guess I am Old Neptune himself. Maybe I am a mermaid. At least I have just risen from the sea, and mighty glad I am that I have risen.”

The officer seized Phil. Leading the boy to where the light shone from the main cabin window, he peered into the lad’s face. Evidently fairly well satisfied by his brief glance into the honest eyes of the Circus Boy, the officer quickly turned and led Phil to the forward end of the boat, where he summoned the captain, who was lying down in the pilot house.

“What’s this? Whom have you here?”

“I don’t know, sir,” answered the officer. “He came over the side half a mile above here.”

“What—what’s this—came over the side?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Impossible!”

“I saw him. I was standing astern when he climbed over the rail.”

“See here, young man, what does this mean?”

“I fell from a boat, sir, further up the river. I was trying to swim ashore when you nearly ran me down. You see, I did not know you were going to make that sharp turn and I did not have time to get out of the way.”

“That is not a likely story, young man. How did you get aboard this boat? That is what I want to know.”

Phil explained that he had caught hold of a rope.

“Is there a rope trailing, mate?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“Find out.”

The mate returned a few moments later with the information that a hawser was dragging astern.

“Wonderful!” breathed the captain. “How did you ever do it, and you only a boy?”

“I am pretty strong, even if I am a boy,” smiled Phil.

“What is your name?”

Phil gave it.

“How did you happen to get in the river?”

“I told you I fell in, or something of the sort, from the ‘Fat Marie.’ ”

“Never heard of her.”

“I think she was called the ‘Mary Jane.’ ”

“Oh, that’s that circus boat—the Sparling Circus?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you belong to the circus?”

“Yes. I am a bareback rider and a trapeze performer.”

Both men gazed at him with new interest.

“Well, you beat anything that I ever heard of. You certainly must be a performer if you did a thing like that. I remember the pilot’s telling me he thought he heard someone cry out from the river, but as the call was not repeated, he thought he must have been mistaken. Come in, and we will put you to bed.”

“I have no money with me, sir,” said the lad. “If you will extend the courtesies of your craft to me, I will see that you are well paid after I reach my show once more.”

“We will take care of you. Never mind about the pay.”

“By the way, where is your next landing place?”

“Memphis.”

Phil gave a low whistle.

“Where do you want to go?”

“Corinth, I believe is the stand we show at tomorrow.”

“That’s not far from Memphis. We will land you at Memphis in the morning and you can take a train back, getting you to Corinth in plenty of time for your show. I will see that you have a ticket.”

“Thank you ever so much. You are very kind.”

The Circus Boy was put to bed and in a few minutes he was sound asleep, thus far not much the worse for his thrilling experience, though he was completely exhausted, as he realized after he had tucked himself in his berth.

CHAPTER XXIII

The Roman Chariot Races

It was late when the Circus Boy awoke next morning. A steward rapped at the door and a suit of officer’s clothes, brass buttons and all was handed in to him.

“With the captain’s compliments, sir,” said the steward. “He hopes it will fit you. When you are ready, you will please come to the saloon for breakfast.”

“Thank the captain for me, and say that I can’t get there any too soon,” laughed Phil, springing out of bed.

The passengers had all heard the remarkable tale from the captain that morning, and they were anxious to see the young Circus Boy who had performed such a plucky act.

Phil entered the dining room, not thinking for a minute that he would be recognized. When the passengers saw the handsome young fellow in an officer’s uniform, they knew him. Everyone in the room sprang to his feet and three cheers rang out for Phil Forrest.

“Speech, speech!” cried someone.

Blushing faintly, Phil glanced about him.

“You cannot expect a boy to make much of a speech before breakfast, especially after he has been swimming most of the night. I don’t know that I am entitled to any special credit. I saved only my own life, and I do not expect to get a medal for it, either. I hope all of you will visit the Great Sparling Shows at the first opportunity. Then I shall try to entertain you in a way that I understand far better than this. I’m very much obliged to you all.”

Then Phil sat down. The passengers gave him another cheer, louder and more enthusiastic than the first. Mr. Sparling would have been proud of the lad could he have heard that speech. Phil lost no opportunity to advertise the Sparling shows, and every passenger on the boat, that morning, made up his mind to visit the show ere another week had passed.

All the rest of the morning Phil was a hero in the eyes of the passengers, who followed him wherever he went, asking questions about his experience in the river, and how he had happened to fall in, as well as numerous questions about the life of a circus man.

With regard to his accident, Phil had little to say. He seemed to wish to avoid discussing the falling-in matter, but his face took on a serious expression when it was referred to.

At last Memphis was sighted. Phil arranged with the captain to return the uniform, which he promised to send to St. Louis, so that his benefactor could get it on the return trip.

As the craft began drawing in toward the dock, the Circus Boy bade all the passengers good-bye, everyone of whom insisted on shaking hands with him.

Phil walked off, the passengers giving him three cheers as he stepped over the gangplank to the dock. Before he had reached the end of it, he was overtaken by a reporter who had just heard of Phil’s feat and wished an interview.

At first Phil was reluctant to speak.

“I think it will be a good advertisement for the show,” he said to himself. So the Circus Boy related, modestly, the story of his experience in the river and of his rescue of himself; not forgetting to say some pleasant things about the Sparling shows, which would visit Memphis two days hence. That afternoon he saw his story set forth in the Memphis newspaper. He bought two papers, one of which he tucked in his pocket, sending the other to Mrs. Cahill, his guardian. His next move was to start for the station, to take a train for Corinth. He was already too late to reach that town in time for the afternoon performance, but he had wired Mr. Sparling that he was safe.

As it happened the lad reached the show grounds before his message had been delivered. Mr. Sparling, well nigh beside himself with worry, had telegraphed to all points passed by their boats, begging that neither effort nor expense be spared to find his Circus Boy.

The showman was standing in front of his office tent, that afternoon, at about three o’clock, his broad-brimmed slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes, his hands thrust deep in his trousers pockets.

Off under the big top the band was playing a lively tune, and the side-show people were out in front sunning themselves, all discussing Phil Forrest’s mysterious disappearance.

After a short time, Mr. Sparling espied a young man in uniform coming on the lot. He did not pay much attention to the stranger, thinking the fellow was a police officer or something of the sort.

As the young man drew nearer, however, the showman thought he noted something familiar in the springy step and the poise of the body.

“Now, who is that?” he muttered. “Somehow I seem to know that youngster.”

Others about the main entrance were also looking in his direction about that time. Still no one seemed to recognize the young man.

All at once the showman tilted up the rim of his hat and gazed more keenly.

“Phil!” he shouted, casting the hat aside and running forward with outstretched arms. “It’s Phil, it’s Phil Forrest!”

A moment more and Mr. James Sparling had clasped his little Circus Boy about the waist, hugging him delightedly. There was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of the showman, which he sought to hide from Phil.

“Phil! Phil! Where have you been?” he cried leading the boy toward the office tent. “And that uniform—what does it mean?”

“I will tell you all about it as soon as I get my breath,” laughed the lad.

By this time the others out in front had hurried forward, showering questions upon the boy, all of which he answered without giving very much information. He wished to talk with Mr. Sparling first of all.

“Where is Teddy?” was almost his first question.

“He is in the big top at work.”

“I presume he was considerably excited when he missed me, was he not?”

“Yes, at first, but since then he has not said much. Teddy is a queer boy.”

The word was quickly passed that Phil had returned safe and sound, and ten minutes after his arrival every man and woman in the show had heard the news. There was great rejoicing.

Teddy was going through his clown act when he first heard the rumor that Phil was back. Teddy waited until he had worked around to the entrance to the menagerie tent when he suddenly darted through, leaving his work and the ring, a most serious breach of discipline. Teddy, however, did not care. He was willing to be fined. He bolted through the main entrance like a miniature tornado, to the amazement of the door tenders.

“Where’s Phil?” he shouted.

One of the doormen pointed to Mr. Sparling’s office tent.

The little clown was off on a run.

“Hey, Phil, you old rascal! Where have you been?” he demanded, dashing into the small tent.

“I have been out for a swim, old fellow. Did you miss me?”

“I nearly broke my neck thinking about you this afternoon. Landed on my head in the leaping act, and I’ve got a pain in my neck yet.”

“Young man, what are you doing here?” demanded the showman, sternly.

“Same thing you are. Seeing Phil.”

“Get back to your act!”

“I’m off. I’ll see you later, Phil, then we will talk it over.”

“We will, Teddy,” and Teddy was off at top speed to take up his performance where he had so abruptly left it a few minutes before. The ringmaster had not missed him, though he saw at once that the boy was not on his station, when Teddy began to work again.

“Now, Phil, we will hear all about it. How in the name of the Sparling shows did you get into that uniform?”

“The captain of the river boat that picked me up fitted me out.”

“So you really fell in?”

“I got in, right.”

“Tell me all about it.”

The Circus Boy related his experiences from the time he found himself in the river, until his arrival in Memphis that morning.

“Marvelous—almost unbelievable,” breathed Mr. Sparling as the tale was unfolded. “I never heard anything to compare with it.”

When Phil told of his speech in the dining saloon of the river steamboat, Mr. Sparling leaned back with hands on his hips, laughing immoderately.

“Oh, Phil, you are the sort from which great showmen are made!”

Phil handed over the Memphis paper with the account of his experience, which the showman glanced over briefly.

“That will give us another turn-away in Memphis. You can’t stop them, after that. They will come to the show even if they have to fight their way in. That was a great stroke of enterprise, but I would rather it had not happened, of course.”

“What—the interview?”

“No, of course not. I mean your accident.”

“It is all right, Mr. Sparling. I am here now, and none the worse for my bath, but for a time I surely thought I was a goner. I would not care to go through that experience again.”

“I should say not. Yours was the most wonderful escape I ever heard of. I’ll wager there was never anything like it before on this river.”

Mr. Sparling paused suddenly and bent a keen, searching glance on Phil Forrest’s face. The lad felt that he knew what was in the mind of his employer.

“Phil?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You have not told me everything, yet.”

“What makes you think that, Mr. Sparling?”

“Because I know you so well. There is something on your mind that you have not told me. I want to know what it is.”

Phil’s eyes were lowered to the green grass at his feet. For a moment he was silent and thoughtful.

“What is it you wish me to tell you, Mr. Sparling?” he asked in a low voice.

“You have not given me a satisfactory explanation of how you came to get into the river.”

“Perhaps I fell in,” answered the lad with a faint smile.

“Perhaps. But you have not said so. I want you to tell me how you did get in.”

“I think I was thrown in, Mr. Sparling,” answered the Circus Boy quickly.

“Thrown in!” exclaimed the showman, leaping to his feet, his face working convulsively in his effort to control his emotions. “Phil Forrest, do you mean that?”

“I do.”

Mr. Sparling sat down helplessly.

“Is it possible?”

“I am sure of it, sir.”

“Had anyone but you told me that I should have laughed. I know I can depend upon what you say. Tell me more about it?”

“As I have already said, I was leaning on the rail and dropped off into a doze. How long I had been in that position I do not know. I could not have been there many minutes, or I should have gone so soundly asleep that I would have fallen over to the deck, you know.”

“Yes, yes.”

“All at once I felt myself being lifted. At first, as I remember it, the sensation was as if the deck were dropping from under me. As I recalled the incident afterwards, I realized that I had been lifted. You know all that occurred after that.”

“Was there more than one who threw you overboard?”

“I am unable to say. I did not even see one,” said Phil with a half-smile. “I felt myself being lifted—that’s all. The next minute I was in the river, with the ‘Marie’ pounding away downstream at a lively clip.”

“Dastardly! Dastardly!” growled the showman. “I shall send for a detective to meet us in Memphis tomorrow. This thing has gone far enough.”

“I think I agree with you, sir,” was Phil’s half-humorous answer. “But I had been in hopes of solving this mystery myself.”

“Yes, and you came near losing your life as the result. No, sir! This thing must be cleared up at once. I shall wire to St. Louis now, and we will have a man with us sometime tomorrow. Say nothing to anyone of my plan. The detective will join the show in some capacity or other, and have regular duties to perform. You will know him, but no one else will except myself. I think the Roman races are about due under the big top now. Suppose you go in and change your clothes, joining me at my table after you come out. We will talk these matters over at length this evening. When the officer reaches here I shall expect you to tell him freely all that you know as well as what you suspect. Keep nothing from him. Run along, Phil. I want to think this matter over by myself for a few minutes.”

As Phil entered the big top the Roman races were just coming on. The chariot drivers, with their prancing steeds, had entered the arena.

Phil paused to wait until the fast and furious races were over. The leading woman chariot driver was trying out a new three-horse team; that is, two of the horses were new to the work, the third, being an old hand. The new animals were spirited, and after the first round of the arena, Phil saw that they were nervous.

“I am afraid she is going to have trouble with that pair,” muttered Phil with a shake of his head. “If she can keep them up to the mark, they will outrun anything in the show today.”

The new team fairly tore around the arena. They won the first races easily, then lined up in the center to await the finals which were to follow a few minutes later.

The ringmaster’s whistle trilled for the successful drivers to swing out into the concourse. They were driving furiously, almost before the echoes of the whistle had died away.

Making the turn at the lower end of the track in safety, the two teams in the race squared away down the home stretch. All at once Phil saw that something was wrong. The leading chariot was swaying dizzily, and the driver was trying with all her strength to pull the plunging animals down.

Suddenly the wheel on the inner side slipped from its axle and went rolling off into the center of the arena. The axle dropped to the turf, caught, then turned the chariot bottom side up.

The woman driver was hurled off into the center in the wake of the careening wheel, landing on her head and shoulders beside the center platform.

The team did not stop, however. It started directly across the arena, in a diagonal course.

“She is hurt!” cried Phil. “Somebody will be killed unless that wild team is stopped!”

Giving no thought to the danger to himself, Phil Forrest darted across the arena and leaped for the bridles of the plunging, frightened animals.

CHAPTER XXIV

Conclusion

It seemed a foolhardy thing to do, but Phil understood exactly how to go about it. If he were able to turn the team, he would undoubtedly save them from plunging into the seats where hundreds of people were sitting. A trained circus horse always will avoid the spectators, but there is no accounting for what a green animal will do.

Grasping the bit of the animal nearest to him, Phil threw his whole weight into the effort. To his intense satisfaction the team swerved, half turned and dashed across the arena again. This time, however, they did not go far. The outfit smashed into the main center pole, and Phil went on, sitting down violently in the middle of the concourse, unhurt, but more or less shaken up.

By that time ring attendants had caught the frightened horses. All danger was over.

Phil Forrest was loudly cheered by the spectators, but his borrowed officer’s uniform was a hopeless wreck. It was torn beyond any possibility of repair.

Upon investigation, which Phil made at once, he found that the cap that held the chariot wheel in place, had been removed. No trace of it ever was found, and Phil well knew that the mysterious enemy was once more at work. The news was conveyed to Mr. Sparling, with the information that Phil had gleaned.

He also bore the unwelcome tidings to his employer that their leading woman chariot driver had broken both arms and that she would not perform again that season, if ever again.

Mr. Sparling was so angered over this latest outrage that he was scarcely able to control himself. Yet he knew that it would be best to maintain silence until the detective had had an opportunity to make an investigation. Some of the circus people, however, had voiced a suspicion that the accident was a deliberate attempt to do the show an injury, and this was quickly passed from lip to lip, until almost everyone had heard it. The show people accepted the situation quietly, as was their wont, nevertheless they were very much excited. There was no telling when they themselves might fall victims to the mysterious enemy, and each one vowed to run down the scoundrel who they knew must be a member of the circus family.

Phil made some guarded inquiries, but was unable to learn whether or not anyone had been observed about the chariots that day. The hub cap, of course, might have been removed while the chariots were still on the boat, but in that event its loss would no doubt have been noticed, for the caps were of brass, large and prominent.

Phil decided that the act must have been committed just before the chariots were driven into the arena for the Roman races.

In this, Phil Forrest was right.

The solution of the mystery was at hand, however, and was to come in a most unexpected manner.

Supper had been eaten, and most of the performers were out on the lot, enjoying the balmy air of the early evening for the few moments left to them before they would be obliged to repair to the dressing tent to make ready for the evening performance.

Phil decided to go in, after finishing a talk with Mr. Sparling in the latter’s private tent. As the lad passed through the menagerie tent the attendants were lighting the gasoline lamps there and hauling them up the center poles.

Under the big top, however, one could not see half its length. The lights there would not be turned on for fifteen or twenty minutes yet. Not a person was in sight as Phil entered the tent, making his way slowly down the concourse. He paused half-way down, seating himself on a grandstand chair in one of the arena boxes, where he thought over the latest exploit of the show’s enemy.

“This time they were not after me, but after the outfit itself,” he muttered. “That is the time the fellow showed his hand, and it gives me an idea. I—hello, there is someone who acts as if he did not wish to be seen.”

Phil sat still and watched. Someone had slipped in under the tent down at the other end, directly across the arena from where the bandstand was located. It had now become so dark in the tent that Phil could not make out the fellow’s features. In fact, the man was a mere shadow.

“I wonder what he is doing there?”

Then a thought struck Phil Forrest like a blow.

“That’s where they put the big net between performances.”

Phil crept down into the arena and made his way back to the entrance to the menagerie tent, where he quickly slipped out into the open and ran down along the outside of the big top at his best speed. As he drew near the spot where he had seen the man, he moved cautiously.

Finally Phil dropped down and peered under the tent. He was less than ten feet from where the fellow was at work. The Circus Boy could catch a “rip, rip” now and then.

“The fiend is cutting the net,” he muttered. “I wonder who he is. Ah, I know him now! He is one of the tent men. I never thought he was in this thing. I must catch him—I must make the attempt, for he may get away. I don’t even know the fellow’s name, nor do I understand his enmity toward the show or myself.”

Phil wriggled in under the tent, now, not fearing discovery, for inside the tent, it was quite dark. Slowly raising himself to his feet, he edged nearer, step by step, to where the man was at work. The man had partly spread the net out by this time, to make sure that he was cutting it in the right place so that it would give way beneath the weight of the performer unfortunate enough to drop into it first.

“The fiend!” repeated Phil, clenching his fists. “I’m glad I am the one to discover him. Mr. Man, I have a score to settle with you and I’m going to begin the settling up now.”

Phil crouched low. He was now only a few feet from the stooping figure.

All at once the boy threw himself forward. He landed on the man, forcing him to the ground. As he struck, Phil raised his voice in the showmen’s rallying cry.

“Hey, Rube!” he shouted in a sing-song voice that was heard in the dressing tents and even out in the menagerie tent.

His first care, then, was to pinion the man so he could not use his hands, for the Circus Boy knew that his captive had a knife in one hand.

Men came running from all directions, Mr. Sparling among the number, for he had been in the menagerie tent when the cry reached him, and feared some fresh trouble was at hand.

“What is it? Where is it?” roared the showman.

“Here, here! Bring lights. Bring—”

The man beneath him began to struggle. In fact the fellow staggered to his feet, the boy being too light to hold him down.

Phil grabbed him about the waist, pinioning the man’s arms to his sides. Then began a desperate struggle, during which the combatants fell to the ground, rolling over and over in their fierce battle.

“It’s Phil Forrest!” shouted the owner.

He sprang forward and with a mighty tug, jerked the tentman free of the Circus Boy’s body. At that instant the fellow leaped to his feet and started to run.

“Stop him!” howled Phil.

Teddy, who had come running up, suddenly stooped over and constituting himself a battering ram, ran full tilt into the tentman, the boy’s head landing in the pit of the circus hand’s stomach. The fellow went down, whereupon Teddy promptly sat on him until the others reached the scene.

“Now, what does this mean?” demanded the showman sternly.

“It means that I caught this fellow cutting the net. If you will look at it you will find it to be badly mutilated, I think.” An examination proved that Phil was right. Mr. Sparling had all he could do to prevent the angry circus men from wreaking their vengeance on the wretch then and there.

Teddy, in the meantime, had been peering into the man’s face.

“I know him! I know him!” howled the Circus Boy, dancing about.

“You know him?”

“Yes, do you remember Bad Eye who was mixed up with Red Larry, the fellow we sent to jail two or three seasons ago?”

“Yes.”

“That’s Bad Eye,” pointing to the prisoner, “and he is bad medicine, besides.”

“Is it possible?” muttered Phil, a new light breaking over him.

Suddenly Teddy uttered a yell.

“I’ve got him! He’s the fellow who stole my egg.” Teddy made a dive for the prisoner, but strong hands pulled him away.

Bad Eye, it developed, smarting under the punishment that had been meted out to his companion, had once more joined the show, determined upon revenge. He had in the meantime grown a full beard, so that no one recognized him. Now, Phil Forrest knew why the voice was dimly familiar to him when he had heard it that night out on the lot.

Caught red-handed, Bad Eye made a full confession. And to the surprise of everyone, he implicated Manuel, the assistant to the Spanish clown. Bad Eye admitted having thrown Phil Forrest overboard, as well. He denied having stolen Tucker’s egg, placing the full responsibility for this on the shoulders of Manuel.

What was done with the egg was never known, though Manuel was believed to have thrown it overboard. Diaz, after his one violent outbreak, had made no further evil attempts.

Bad Eye and Manuel were tried and convicted in due time, and placed where they would do the show no further harm.

The show went on, and after several successful weeks, reached New Orleans, where the final performance of the season was given. All hands then turned their faces northward. Teddy and Phil decided to take a steamship for New York, thence proceeding to their home by train. Each lad was a few thousand dollars richer than when he had joined out in the spring.

They waved their adieus to Mr. Sparling from the deck of an ocean steamer next morning as the big ship slowly poked its nose out into the gulf.

“You can’t down the Circus Boys,” said Phil, with a pleased smile as they leaned over the rail.

“At least, not this season,” added Teddy.

But the exciting experiences of the Circus Boys were not yet at an end. The lads will be heard from further in another volume, under the title: “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE PLAINS; Or, The Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show.”

In this forthcoming volume the lads pass through a phase of circus life never experienced by them before. They will find, too, that all the thrills of the circus life are not confined to the sawdust arena, but that there is every whit as much excitement and real peril in the daily life of the advance man on the advertising car ahead of the show.

THE END

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE PLAINS

or

The Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show

First Published 1920

CONTENTS

I. On the Owner’s Private Car

II. Off for New Fields

III. Coming to an Understanding

IV. Introduced to the Crew

V. The Midnight Alarm

VI. Almost Tragedy

VII. The First Day’s Experience

VIII. The Circus Boy Wins

IX. Teddy Gets into Trouble

X. A Surprise, Indeed!

XI. Three Cheers and a Tiger

XII. Facing an Emergency

XIII. A Baffled Car Manager

XIV. Teddy Writes a Letter

XV. In an Exciting Race

XVI. A Battle of Wits

XVII. The Charge of the Paste Brigade

XVIII. The Missing Show Cars

XIX. Phil’s Daring Plan

XX. On a Wildcat Run

XXI. In a Perilous Position

XXII. A Dash for Liberty

XXIII. The Deserted Village

XXIV. Conclusion

CHAPTER I

On the Owner’s Private Car

“Bates!”

The voice of James Sparling rose above even the roar of the storm.

A uniformed attendant stepped into the little office tent occupied by the owner of the Great Sparling Combined Shows. Shaking the water from his dripping cap, he brought a hand to his forehead in precise military salute.

“How’s the storm coming, Bates?” demanded the showman, with an amused twinkle in his eyes as he noted the bedraggled condition of his messenger.

“She’s coming wet, sir,” was the comprehensive reply.

And indeed “she” was. The gale was roaring over the circus lot, momentarily threatening to wrench the billowing circus tents from their fastenings, lift them high in the air preparatory to distributing them over the surrounding country. Guy ropes were straining at their anchorages, center and quarter poles were beating a nervous tattoo on the sodden turf. The rain was driving over the circus lot in blinding sheets.

The night was not ideal for a circus performance. However, the showmen uttered no protest, going about their business as methodically as if the air were warm and balmy, the moon and stars shining down over the scene complacently.

Now and again, as the wind shifted for a moment toward the showman’s swaying office tent, the blare of the band off under the big top told him the show was moving merrily on.

“Bates, you are almost human at times. I had already observed that the storm was coming wet,” replied the showman.

“Yes, sir.”

“I have reason to be aware of the fact that ‘she is coming wet,’ as you so admirably put it. My feet are at this moment in a puddle of water that is now three inches above my ankles. Why shouldn’t I know?”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the patient attendant.

“What I want to know is how are the tents standing the blow?”

“Very well, sir.”

“As long as there is a stitch of canvas over your head you take it for granted that the tops are all right, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“The emergency gang is on duty, of course?”

“They’re out in the wet, sir.”

“Of course; that is where they belong on a night like this. But what were you doing out there? You have no business that calls you outside.”

“I was helping a lady, sir.”

“Helping a lady?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What lady?”

“The English Fat Girl got mired on the lot, sir, and I was helping to get her out,” answered the attendant solemnly.

“Pshaw!”

“Yes, sir.”

“You will please attend to your own business after this. If the English Fat Girl gets mired again we will have the elephant trainer bring over one of the bulls and haul her out. She won’t be so anxious to get stalled after that, I’m thinking,” snapped the showman.

“Yes, sir.”

“What act is on now under the big top?”

“The ground tumblers are in the ring, sir.”

Mr. Sparling reflected briefly.

“Has Mr. Forrest finished his work for the evening?”

“I think so, sir. He should be off by this time.”

“Can you get to the dressing tent without finishing the job of drowning at which you already have made such a good start?” demanded the showman quizzically.

“Yes, sir,” grinned Bates.

“Then, go there.”

The attendant started to leave the tent.

“Come back here!” bellowed the showman.

Bates turned patiently. He was not unused to the strange whims of his employer.

“What are you going to do when you get to the dressing tent?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

“I thought not. You are an intelligent animal, Bates. Now listen!”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Sparling scowled, surveying his messenger with narrowed eyes.

“Tell Mr. Philip Forrest that I wish to see him in my private car at the ‘runs,’ ”—meaning that part of the railroad yards where the show had unloaded early that morning.

“Yes, sir.”

“Wait! You seem anxious to get wet! Have the men strike my tent at once. It is likely to strike itself if they do not get busy pretty quick,” added the showman, rising.

The messenger saluted, then hurried out into the driving storm, while Mr. Sparling methodically gathered up the papers he had been studying, stuffing them in an inside coat pocket.

“A fine, mellow night,” he said to himself, peering out through the flap as he drew on his oilskins. Pulling the brim of his sombrero down over his eyes he stalked out into the storm.

A quick glance up into the skies told his experienced eyes that the worst of the storm had passed, and that there was now little danger of a blow-down that night. He started off across the circus lot, splashing through the mud and water, bound for his comfortable private car that lay on a siding about half a mile from the circus grounds.

He found a scene of bustle and excitement in the railroad yards, where a small army of men were rushing the work of loading the menagerie wagons on the first section, for the train was going out in three sections that night.

“It is a peculiar fact,” muttered the showman, “that the worse the weather is, the louder the men seem called upon to yell. However, if yelling makes them feel any the less wet, I don’t know why I should object.”

The showman quickly changed his wet clothes and settled himself at the desk in his cosy office on board the private car. He had been there something like half an hour when the buzzing of an electric bell called the porter to the door of the car.

A moment later and Phil Forrest appeared at the door of the car.

“You sent for me, did you not, Mr. Sparling?”

“Why, good evening, Phil,” greeted the showman, looking up quickly with a welcoming smile on his face.

“I call it a very bad evening, sir.”

“Very well, we will revise our statement. Bad evening, Phil!”

“Same to you, Mr. Sparling,” laughed the lad. “Yes, I think that fits the case very well indeed.”

“And now that we have observed the formalities, come in and sit down. Are you wet?”

“No; I went to my car and changed before coming in. I thought a few minutes’ delay would make no difference. Had you sent for me on the lot I would have reported more promptly.”

“Quite right, my boy. No, there was nothing urgent. The storm did not interfere much with the performance, did it?”

“No. The audience was a little nervous at one time, but the scare quickly passed off.”

“Where’s your friend?”

“Teddy Tucker?”

“Yes.”

“He was having an argument with the Strongest Man on Earth when I left the dressing tent,” laughed Phil. “It was becoming quite heated.”

“Over what?”

“Oh, Teddy insisted on sitting on the strong man’s trunk while he took off his tights. There was a mud hole in front of Teddy’s trunk and he did not wish to get his feet wet and muddy.”

“So the Strongest Man on Earth had to wait, eh?” questioned the showman with an amused smile.

“Yes. Teddy was threatening to thrash him if he did not keep off until he got his shoes on.”

Mr. Sparling leaned back, laughing heartily.

“Your friend Teddy is getting to be a very belligerent young man, I fear.”

“Getting to be?”

“Yes.”

“It is my opinion that he always has been. Teddy can stir up more trouble, and with less provocation, than anyone I ever knew. But, you had something you wished to say to me, did you not?”

“To be sure I had. Something quite important. Have you had your lunch?”

“No; I came directly to the train from the lot.”

“I am glad of that. I thought you would, so I ordered supper for two spread in the dining compartment. It must be ready by this time. Come. We will talk and eat at the same time. We have no need to hurry.”

The showman and the Circus Boy made their way to the dining compartment, where a small table had been spread for them, which, with its pretty china, cut glass and brightly polished silver, made a very attractive appearance.

“This looks good to me,” smiled Phil appreciatively.

“Especially on a night like this,” answered Mr. Sparling. “Be seated, and we will talk while we are waiting for supper to be served.”

Readers of the preceding volumes of this series will need no introduction to Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker. They well remember how the Circus Boys so unexpectedly made their entry into the sawdust arena in “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS” after Phil by his quick wit had prevented a serious accident to the lion cage and perhaps the escape of the dangerous beast itself. Both boys had quickly worked their way into the arena, and after many thrilling experiences became full-fledged circus performers.

Again in “THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT,” the lads won new laurels on the tanbark. It will be recalled, too, how Phil Forrest at the imminent risk of his own life trailed down and captured a desperate man, one of the circus employees who, having been discharged, had followed the Sparling Show, seeking to revenge himself upon it. It will be remembered that in order to capture the fellow, the Circus Boy was obliged to leap from a rapidly moving train and plunge down a high embankment.

But their exciting experiences were by no means at an end. The life of the showman is full of excitement and it seemed as if Teddy and Phil Forrest met with more than their share in “THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND.” Phil Forrest, while performing a mission for his employer, was caught by a rival circus owner, held captive for some days, then forced to perform in the rival’s circus ring, leaping through rings of fire in a bareback riding act. The details of Phil’s exciting escape from his captors are well remembered, as will be his long, weary journey over the railroad ties in his ring costume. It was in this story that the battle of the elephants was described, all due to the shrewd planning of Phil Forrest.

The following season found the Great Sparling Shows following a new route. In “THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI,” the lads embarked with the circus, on boats, which carried them from town to town along the big river. It was on this trip that Phil Forrest met with the most thrilling experience of his life, and it was only his own pluck and endurance that saved him from a watery grave at the bottom of the Mississippi.

And now, for the fifth season, the Circus Boys are found under canvas again, headed for the far west.

“How are things going with you?” questioned Mr. Sparling after the two had seated themselves at the table in the dining compartment.

“Rather slowly, Mr. Sparling.”

“How is that?”

“I haven’t enough to do this season. I am afraid I shall get lazy, unless you give me something else to do.”

“Let me see; how many acts have you this season?”

“I am on the flying trapeze, then I do a single bareback riding act and a double with Little Dimples, the same as I did last season.”

The showman nodded reflectively.

“Besides which, you attend to numerous business details for me, manage the side shows, keep an eye on the candy butchers, make yourself responsible for the menagerie tent and other things too numerous to mention. Yes; you should have a few more things to do,” grinned the showman. “I could run this show with a dozen men like you, Phil. In all my circus experience I never saw your equal.”

Phil flushed. He did not like to be complimented. He did his work because he loved it, not wholly for the handsome salary that he was now drawing from the little red ticket wagon every week. Phil was ambitious; he hoped, as has been said before, to have a show of his own someday, and he let no day pass that he did not add to his store of knowledge regarding the circus business.

In this ambition Mr. Sparling encouraged him, in fact did everything possible to aid the lad in acquiring a far-reaching knowledge of the vocation he had chosen for his lifework.

“Thank you, Mr. Sparling. Let’s talk about something else.”

“We will eat first. You probably will enjoy that more than you do my compliments.”

“I am sure of it,” answered the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.

“I have been thinking of giving you some additional work.”

Phil glanced up at his employer with quickened interest.

“Yes, I am thinking of closing you.”

“You mean you are thinking of dropping me from the show?” asked the lad, gazing at the showman with steady, inquiring eyes.

“Well, I should hardly say that. I am afraid the Sparling Show could not get along without you. I am thinking very seriously of transferring you.”

“Transferring me?” wondered Phil.

“Yes. By the way, do you know much about the advance work, the work ahead of the show?”

“Very little. I might say nothing at all, except what I have picked up by reading the reports of the car managers, together with the letters you write to these men.”

“That is all right, as far as it goes, but there is a deal more to the advertising department of a show than you will ever learn from reports and correspondence.”

“So I should imagine.”

“Yes; the success, the very existence of a circus is dependent upon the work of the men ahead of it. Let that work be neglected and you would see how soon business would drop off and the gate receipts dwindle, until, one day, the show would find itself stranded.”

“Nothing could strand the Sparling Show,” interposed Phil.

“You are mistaken. Bad management would put this show out of business in two months’ time. That is a point that I cannot impress upon you too strongly. Any business will fail if not properly attended to, but a circus is the most hazardous of them all.”

“But the risk is worth taking,” remarked Phil.

“It is. For instance, when a show has a business of sixteen or eighteen thousand dollars a day for several weeks, it rather repays one for all the trouble and worry he has gone through.”

“I should say it does,” answered Phil, his eyes lighting up appreciatively.

“And now we come to the point I have been getting at.”

“Yes; what is it you have in mind for me?”

“I am going to ask you to join the advance for the rest of the season, Phil.”

“I, join the advance?” questioned the lad in a surprised tone.

“Yes.”

“And leave the show?”

“That will be a necessity, much as I regret to have you do so.”

Phil’s face took on a solemn expression.

“How would you like that?”

“I do not know, Mr. Sparling. I am afraid I should not know what to do with myself away from the glitter and the excitement of the big show.”

“Excitement? My dear boy, you will find all the excitement you want ahead of the show. As for work, the work ahead is never finished. There is always plenty to do after you have finished your day’s work. Besides, this branch of the business you must familiarize yourself with, if you are to go later into the executive branch of the circus business.”

“I am ready to go wherever you may wish to send me, Mr. Sparling,” said the young man in a quiet tone.

“I knew you would be,” smiled the showman.

“Where will you send me, and what am I to do?” asked Phil, now growing interested in the prospect of the change.

“I have decided to send you out on Advertising Car Number Three. That is the busiest car of the three in advance of the show. You ask what you are to do. I will answer—everything!”

“Car Three,” mused the Circus Boy.

“Yes; it is in charge of Mr. Snowden,” continued the showman with a twinkle in his eyes, but which Phil in his preoccupation failed to observe. “I am thinking that Snowden will give you all you want to do, and perhaps a little more.”

“When do you wish me to join?”

“At once.”

“Now?”

“You may start as soon as you are ready.”

“I am ready, now,” replied the lad promptly.

“I did not mean for you to leave in quite such a hurry as that,” laughed Mr. Sparling. “Besides, this is rather a bad night to make a change. Take your time, get your things in shape, and leave when you get ready.”

“Does Mr. Snowden know I am to join him?”

“Yes; I have already written him to that effect—that is, I told him you probably would join at an early day.”

“Where is Car Three now?”

Mr. Sparling consulted his route card.

“It is in Madison, Wisconsin, today. This car keeps about four weeks ahead of the show, you know. We are in Flint, Michigan, today. Do you think you can get away tomorrow?”

“Certainly. Where do we show tomorrow?”

“Saginaw.”

“It will be an easy jump from there to Madison.”

“Yes; but you will not catch the car at Madison. I think you had better plan to join them at St. Paul the day after tomorrow. Will that suit you?”

“Yes. I suppose my dressing-room trunk will be carried right along with the show?”

“Of course. You will close your season before the show itself does; then you can return to us, though I shall not expect you to perform. You no doubt will be a little rusty by that time.”

“I should say I would be. But, Mr. Sparling—” added the boy, a sudden thought coming to him.

“Yes?”

“What about Teddy? Does he remain with the show?”

“Teddy? I had forgotten all about that little rascal. Yes, he—but wait a moment. Upon reflection I think perhaps he had better go along with you. He wants to own a show one of these days, doesn’t he?”

“I believe he does,” smiled Phil.

“Then this will be a good experience for him. Besides, I should be afraid to trust him around this outfit if you were not here to look after him. He would put the whole show out of business first thing I knew. Yes, he had better go with you. And another thing—salaries in the advance are not the same, you know.”

“I am aware of the fact, sir.”

“You will draw the same salaries that other employees of Number Three do, and in addition to this I shall send you both my personal checks, so that you will be drawing the same money you now are.”

“It is not necessary,” protested Phil.

Mr. Sparling waved the objection aside.

“It is my plan. Go to your car and tell your friend to get ready now, and report to me in the morning at Saginaw for further instructions.”

Phil rose. His face was flushed. He was now full of anticipation for the new life before him. And it was to be a new life indeed—a life full of astonishing experiences and adventures.

Phil bade his employer good night, and hurried away to his own car to tell the news to Teddy.

CHAPTER II

Off for New Fields

“Teddy, Teddy, wake up!” commanded Phil, hauling his companion from his berth in the sleeping car.

Teddy scrambled out into the aisle of the car and promptly showed fight.

“Here, what are you doing, waking me up this time of the night?” he demanded.

“I have great news.”

“News?” questioned the boy, showing some slight signs of interest in the announcement.

“Yes, news, and good news, too.”

“All right, I’m easy. What is it?”

“We are to join the advance.”

“Advance of what?”

“The advance of the Sparling Shows, of course,” glowed Phil.

Teddy grew thoughtful.

“What, and leave the show?”

“Certainly.”

“Not for mine!”

“Oh, yes, you will! You know, we wish to learn all we can, and neither of us knows anything about that end of the business. It is a splendid opportunity, and we should be very grateful to Mr. Sparling for giving us the chance. Besides, it will be a very pleasant life. We shall be traveling in a private car, with no responsibilities beyond our work. Will it not be fine?”

“I—I don’t know. I shall have to try it first. I decline to commit myself in advance. When do we go?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Pshaw! Boss Sparling seems to be in an awful hurry to get rid of us. All right, I’ll go. I need a rest, anyway—for my health. I’ve been working too hard so far this season.”

“Too bad about you,” scoffed Phil. “We leave from Saginaw as early tomorrow as we can get away. We shall have to get a few things from our dressing-tent trunks, then pack up the things we do not need, sending them on with the show.”

“Do I take my donkey?” questioned Teddy, half humorously.

“Your mule? The idea! Now, what would you do with a donkey on an advance car, I should like to know?”

“He might make things interesting for the rest of the crowd.”

“I should say he would! But, from what little I know of the advance, you will have plenty to interest you without having an ill-tempered donkey along. Good night, Teddy. This is our last night with the show for a long time to come.”

Phil made his way to his own berth, where he promptly went to sleep, putting from his mind until the morrow all thought of what lay before him.

Early the next morning both lads were awake; by the time their section pulled in at Saginaw they had nearly completed the packing of their personal baggage.

The rest was quickly accomplished, after they had eaten their breakfast under the cook tent. All preparations made, a final interview with Mr. Sparling had, and good-byes said, the Circus Boys boarded a train just as the strains of the circus band were borne to their ears.

“The parade is on,” said Phil as their train moved out.

“And we are not there to ride in it. We’ll have to get up some sort of a parade for Car Number Three, I’m thinking,” smiled Teddy.

Late that afternoon the boys reached St. Paul. After considerable searching about they finally found Car Number Three. Mr. Snowden was not on board, so, telling the porter who they were, the lads made themselves comfortable in the office of the car, a roomy compartment, nicely furnished, equipped with two folding berths, a desk, easy chairs and other conveniences.

“This is pretty soft, I’m thinking,” decided Teddy.

“It is very nice, if that is what you mean,” corrected Phil.

“That’s what I mean. Do we live in here?”

“No; I should imagine we are to berth at the other end of the car.”

“Let’s go look at it.”

The other end of the car comprised one long apartment with folding berths and benches for laying out the lithographs. At the far end was a steam boiler, used in making paste with which to post the bills. That compartment had nothing either of elegance or comfort.

“Do the men sleep on those shelves up there?” questioned Teddy of the porter.

“Shelves, sir? Hi calls them berths, sir,” answered the porter, who was an Englishman.

“Humph!”

“What do you think of our new home, Teddy?” smiled Phil.

“I’ve seen better,” grumbled the Circus Boy. “I think I prefer the stateroom. Where’s the boss?”

“He’s out just now looking over the work.”

Teddy, with a scowl on his face, went outside to take a look at the car from the outside. The car was a bright red, with the name of the Sparling Shows spread over its sides in gilded letters.

“If the inside were half as good-looking as the outside, it would be some car,” was Teddy’s conclusion, after walking all around the car. “I think I’ll go back and join the show.”

“Oh, be sensible, Teddy,” chided Phil. “We shall be very comfortable after we once get settled. Here comes Mr. Snowden, I think.”

Approaching them, the boys saw a thin, nervous-appearing man of perhaps forty-five years of age.

“Are you Mr. Snowden?” asked Phil, politely.

“Yes; what do you want?”

“I am Phil Forrest, and this is my friend, Teddy Tucker. We have come on to join the car.”

Mr. Snowden looked the lads over critically.

“Humph!” he said. “Come inside.”

Whether or not his survey of them had been satisfactory neither lad knew.

“Now, what are you going to do on this car?” demanded the car manager sharply, when they had seated themselves in his office.

“That is for you to say, sir. We are at your disposal,” replied Phil.

“What can you do?”

“We do not know. This is entirely new work for us. We have been performers back with the show, you know.”

“Humph! Nice bunch to ring in on an advertising car!” grunted the manager. “Either of you know how to put up paper?”

“I think not.”

“What do you mean by paper?” interposed Teddy.

The manager groaned.

“You don’t know what paper is?”

“No, sir.”

“Paper is advertising matter, any kind of show bills that are posted on billboards, barns or any other old place where we get the chance. Everything is paper on an advertising car. Forrest, I think I’ll send you out on a country route tomorrow. Know what a country route is?”

“I think so.”

“Well, in case you do not, I will tell you. Every day we send out men to post bills through the country. The routes are laid out by the contracting agent long before we get to a town. You go out in a livery rig, and you will have to drive from thirty to forty miles a day. You are an aerial performer, are you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you will be able to climb barns all right. We will call you Car Number Three’s barn-climber. We’ll see how good a performer you really are. For the first few days I will send you out with one of the billposters; after that you will have to go it alone. If you are no good, back you go. Understand?”

“I think so. I shall do the best I can.”

“And what do I do?” demanded Teddy.

The car manager eyed him disapprovingly.

“What do you do?”

“Yes.”

“I have a nice gentlemanly job laid out for you. You will operate the steam boiler and make up the paste for the next day. You’ll wish you had stayed back with the show before I get through with you.”

“And I’ll go there, too, if you talk like that to me,” retorted Teddy, flushing angrily.

“What’s that? What’s that?” snapped the manager. “See here, young man, I am in charge of this car. You will do as I tell you, and if you get noisy about it I’ll show you how we do things on an advertising car. Get out of here before I throw you out.”

“See here, you, I won’t be talked to like that. I’ll wring your neck for you, some fine day, first thing you know!” bellowed Teddy, now thoroughly aroused.

The manager grabbed the lad by the shoulders and shot him through the screen doors before Teddy had an opportunity to object.

Teddy, red-faced and boiling with rage, was about to project himself into the stateroom again when Phil motioned him to go away. Teddy did so reluctantly.

“Where do we sleep, Mr. Snowden?” inquired Phil, hoping to get the car manager in a more gentle frame of mind by changing the subject.

“Sleep on the roof, sleep in the cellar! I don’t care where you sleep! You get out of here, too, unless you want me to throw you out!”

“I think you had better not do that, sir.” Phil’s voice was cool and pleasant.

“What’s that! What’s that! You dare to talk back to me. I’ll—”

“Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each other at the beginning.”

The car manager’s words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the stateroom of Car Number Three.

“Say it!” he exploded.

“I have very little to say, sir. But what I have to say will be to the point. I am well aware that discipline must be preserved here as well as back with the show. I shall always look up to you as my superior, and treat you in a gentlemanly and respectful manner. I shall hope that you, also, will treat me in a gentlemanly manner as long as I deserve it, at least.”

“You—you threaten me, you young cub—you—”

“No; I do not threaten you. I am simply seeking to come to a friendly understanding with you.”

“And—and if—if I decide to treat you as I do the rest of my men—what then?” sneered the manager.

“That depends. I can answer that question when I see how you do treat them. From what I have seen, I should imagine they do not lead a very happy existence,” continued the Circus Boy with a pleasant smile.

“If I keep you on this car I’ll use you as I please, and the quicker you understand that the better. Now, what do you propose to do?”

“I propose,” said Phil, still preserving an even tone, “to do my duty and at the same time keep my self-respect. I propose, if you persist in directing insulting language at me, to give you a thrashing that will last you all the rest of the season.”

Teddy, who had sat down on a pile of railroad ties beside the tracks, could see and hear all that was going on in the stateroom.

“Soak him, Phil!” howled the boy on the tie pile.

Snowden’s eyes blazed and his fingers opened and closed convulsively.

With an angry growl he hurled himself straight at Phil Forrest.

CHAPTER III

Coming to an Understanding

“Be careful, Mr. Snowden!” warned the Circus Boy, stepping out of harm’s way. “I am not looking for trouble, but I shall defend myself.”

“I’ll teach you to talk back to me. I’ll—”

Just then the car manager stumbled over a chair and went down with a crash, smashing the chair to splinters.

“Mr. Sparling will not tolerate anything of this sort, I am sure,” added Phil.

By this time, the manager was once more on his feet. His rage was past all control. With a roar of rage Snowden grabbed up a rung of the broken chair and charged his slender young antagonist.

A faint flush leaped into the face of Phil Forrest. His eyes narrowed a little, but in no other way did he show that his temper was in the least ruffled.

The chair rung was brought down with a vicious sweep, but to Snowden’s surprise the weapon failed to reach the head of the smiling Circus Boy.

Then Phil got into action.

Like a flash he leaped forward, and the car manager found his wrists clasped in a vise-like grip.

“Let go of me!” he roared, struggling with all his might to free himself, failing in which he began to kick.

Phil gave the wrists a skillful twist, which brought another howl from Snowden, this time a howl of pain.

“I am not looking for trouble, sir. Will you listen to reason?” urged the lad.

“I’ll—I’ll—”

Snowden did not finish what he had started to say. Instead he moaned with pain, writhing helplessly in the iron grip of Phil Forrest.

“Do you give up? Have you had enough?”

“No!” gritted the car manager.

The Circus Boy tightened his grip ever so little.

“How about it?”

“Give him an extra twist for me,” shouted Teddy.

“I give in! Let go quick! You’ll break my wrists!”

“You promise to carry this thing no further if I release you?”

“I said I have had enough,” cried Snowden angrily.

“That won’t do. Will you agree to let me alone, if I release you now?” persisted Phil.

“Yes, yes! I’ve had all I want. This joke has gone far enough.”

“Joke?”

“Yes.”

“You have a queer idea of jokes,” smiled Phil, releasing his man and stepping back, but keeping a wary eye on the car manager, as the latter settled back into a chair, rubbing his wrists. They still pained him severely.

“I am sorry if I hurt you, Mr. Snowden. But I had to defend myself in some way. I could have been much more violent, but I did not wish to be unnecessarily so.”

“You were rough enough. I’ve got no use for a fellow who can’t take a joke without getting all riled up over it. Get out of here!”

“What are you doing at this end of the car?” snarled the manager to Henry, the English porter, who had been peering into the office, wide-eyed. He had been a witness to the disturbance, but at the manager’s command he hastily withdrew to his own end of the car.

“Shall we shake hands and be friends now, Mr. Snowden?” asked Phil.

“Shake hands?”

“Yes, of course.”

“No. I’ll not shake hands with you. I want nothing further to do with you. Either you get off this car, or I do. We can’t both live on it at the same time.”

“So far as I am concerned, we can do so easily,” answered the Circus Boy.

“I said either you or I would have to get off, and I mean exactly what I said.”

The manager wheeled his chair about, facing his desk, and wrote the following telegram:

Mr. James Sparling,

Saginaw, Michigan.

I demand that you call back the two boys who joined my car today. Either they close or I do. They’re a couple of young ruffians. If they remain another day I’ll not be responsible for what I do to them.

Snowden.

The car manager handed the message to Phil. “Read it,” he snapped.

Phil glanced through the message, smiling broadly as he returned it to the manager.

“That certainly is plain and to the point.”

“I’m glad you think so. Take that message to the telegraph office, and send it at once.”

“Yes, sir.”

Mr. Snowden had expected a refusal, but Phil rose obediently and left the car. He took the message to a telegraph office, Teddy accompanying him.

“Why didn’t you finish him while you were about it, Phil?” demanded Teddy. “You had him just to rights.”

“I did quite enough as it was, Teddy. I am very sorry for what I did, but it had to come.”

“It did. If you hadn’t done it I should have had to,” nodded Teddy rather pompously. “But I shouldn’t have let him off as easily as you did. I certainly would have given him a rough-and-tumble.”

“It is a bad enough beginning as it is. Now, Teddy, I want you to behave yourself and not stir up any trouble—”

“Stir up trouble? Well, I like that. Who’s been stirring up trouble around here, I’d like to know. Answer me that!”

“I accept the rebuke,” laughed Phil. “I am the guilty one this time, and I’m heartily ashamed to admit it at that.”

“What do you think Mr. Sparling will do?”

“I don’t know. I can’t help but think he had some purpose in sending us on to join this car, other than that which he told us. However, time will tell. We are in for an unpleasant season, but we must make the best of our opportunity and learn all we can about this end of the business.”

“I’ve learned enough this afternoon to last me for a whole season,” answered Teddy grimly.

By the time they returned to the car the men had come in from the country routes, as had the lithographers who had been placing bills in store windows about the town.

“He’s at it again,” grinned Teddy, as the voice of the manager was heard roaring at the men. Snowden was charging up and down the car venting his wrath on the men, threatening, browbeating, expressing his opinion of all billposters in language more picturesque than elegant. Not a man replied to his tirade.

“Evidently they are used to that sort of treatment,” nodded Phil. “Well it doesn’t go with me at all. Come on; let’s go in and see what it’s all about.”

CHAPTER IV

Introduced to the Crew

“And the next man who puts up only two hundred sheets in a day gets off this car!” concluded Snowden with a wave of the hand that took in every man in the car. “Get in your reports, and get them in quick, or I’ll fire the whole bunch of you now!” he roared, turning and striding to his office, where he jerked the sliding door shut with a bang that shook the car.

“Well, the boss has ’em bad tonight, for sure,” exclaimed Billy Conley who bore the title of assistant car manager, but who was no more manager than was Henry, the English porter.

“Hello, who are you?” demanded one of the men, as Phil and Teddy stepped in through the rear door of the coach.

“Good evening, boys,” greeted Phil easily.

All eyes were turned on the newcomers.

“Howdy, fellows,” said Teddy good-naturedly. “Fine, large evening.”

Everybody laughed.

“Are you the boys who joined out today, from back with the show?” asked Conley.

“Yes. Let me introduce myself. I am Phil Forrest and this, my companion, is Teddy Tucker. We’re green as grass, and we shall have to impose upon your good nature to set us straight.”

The Circus Boys had won the good opinion of the men of Car Three at the outset.

“That’s the talk,” agreed Billy. “Line up here and I’ll introduce you to the bunch. The skinny fellow over there by the boiler is Chief Rain-in-the-Face. The one next to him is Slivers. The freakish looking gentleman standing at my right is Krao, the Missing Link. On my left is Baby Egawa—”

“Otherwise known as Rosie the Pig,” added a voice.

“Everybody on an advance car has a nickname, you know. You’ll forget your real names, if you stay on an advance car long enough. I couldn’t remember mine if I didn’t get a letter occasionally to remind me of it, and sometimes I almost feel as if I was opening another fellow’s letters when I open my own.”

“Glad to know you, boys,” smiled Phil. “Do you know where we are to sleep?”

“See that pile of paper up there?”

“Yes.”

“Well, it’s that or the floor for yours. All the rest of the berths are occupied, unless the Boss is going to let you sleep in the office with him.”

“I rather think he will not invite us. He seems to be in a huff about something tonight,” answered Phil dryly, at which there was a loud laugh.

“What’s this Johnnie Bull tells me about a roughhouse in the office this afternoon?” demanded Conley suddenly.

“I would rather not talk about that,” replied Phil, coloring.

“Come here, you Englishman, and tell us all about it. Our friend is too modest.”

The porter did not respond quickly enough to suit the men so they pounced upon him and tossed him to the top of a pile of paper.

“Now, talk up, or its the paste can for yours,” they demanded.

Henry rather haltingly described what he had seen in the stateroom that afternoon, describing in detail how Phil had worsted the manager of the car.

When the recital had been concluded, all hands turned and surveyed Phil curiously.

“Well, who would have thought it?” wondered Rosie, in an awed voice.

Krao, the Missing Link, and Baby Egawa sidled up to Phil and gingerly felt his arm muscles.

“Woof!” exclaimed the Baby. “Bad medicine! Heap big muscle!”

“That’s so. I had forgotten you boys were performers back with the show,” nodded Billy. “What are you up here for—learning this end of the business?”

“Yes; that is what we are here for,” answered Phil. “Mr. Sparling wished us to do so.”

“You have come to a good place to learn it,” emphasized Conley. “But you’ll have to fight your way through. You have done a mighty good job in downing the Boss, but look out for him. He’ll never forget it. If he doesn’t get you fired, he will get even with you in some other way.”

Phil laughed.

“I’ll do my duty. But I am not afraid of him. Are all car managers like Mr. Snowden?”

“Most of them. Some better, some worse. They think they are not doing their duty, earning their meal-tickets, unless they are Roaring Jakes. But Snowden is the worst ever. He has the meanest disposition of any man I ever knew. This is his first season on Number Three, and I shouldn’t be surprised if it were his last. I hear Boss Sparling doesn’t take to him. Know anything about that?”

Phil shook his head.

“Why do you let him treat you as he does?”

“Let him? Well, I’ll tell you confidentially. Most of us have families to support. Some of us have wives; others mothers and sisters to look after. It’s put up with the roast or get out. And let me tell you, the Boss isn’t slow about closing out a fellow he doesn’t like. He’ll fire you at the drop of the hat.”

“I’m hungry; where do we eat?” interrupted Teddy.

“Eat?”

“Sure! Don’t you fellows in advance eat?”

“Well, we go through the motions. That’s about all I can say for it. This living at contract hotels isn’t eating; it isn’t even feeding. You folks back with the show don’t have to put up with contract hotels; you eat under the cook tent and you get real food.”

“What’s a contract hotel?” asked Teddy.

Phil looked at his companion in disgust.

“Teddy Tucker, haven’t you been in the show business long enough to know what a contract hotel is?”

Teddy shook his head.

“I’ll tell you, I’ll explain what a contract hotel is,” said Billy. “The contracting agent goes over the route in the spring and makes the arrangements for the show. He engages the livery rigs to take the men out on the country routes, and when he gets through with the livery stable business he hunts up all the almost food places in town until he finds one that will feed the advance car men for five or ten cents a meal. Then he signs a contract and goes off to a real hotel for his own meal. Oh, no, Mr. Contracting Agent doesn’t get his meals there. Well, we’re booked to eat at one of those almost food places in every town we make. And some of them are not even ‘almost.’ We are going to one of the kind now. Want to come along?”

“Sure,” replied Teddy.

“You won’t be so anxious after you have had a week or so of them.”

All hands started for the hotel.

“What about your reports? I thought Mr. Snowden told you to get them in at once,” asked Phil after they had left the car.

“Let him wait,” growled Billy.

“But he will raise a row when you get back, will he not?”

“He’ll roar anyway, so what’s the odds? We’re used to that.”

“A queer business, this advance car work,” said Phil thoughtfully. “I never had any idea that it was like this. If ever I own or run a show it will be different—I mean the advance cars will be run on a different principle from this one.”

“I hope you do, and that I am working for you,” grinned Conley. “Here we are.”

Billy’s description of a contract hotel Phil decided had not been overdrawn. All hands filed into the dining room, and Phil had lost most of his appetite before reaching his chair.

A waiter who looked as if he might have been a prizefighter at one time shambled up to them with a soiled napkin thrown over one arm. As it chanced, he approached Teddy first.

“Bean soup! What’ll you have,” he demanded with a suddenness that startled the Circus Boy.

Teddy surveyed the waiter with large eyes, then permitted his gaze to wander about the table to the faces of the grinning billposters.

“Bean soup. What’ll I have?” reflected the lad soberly. “Now isn’t it funny that I can’t think what kind of soup I want. Bean soup; what’ll I have?”

The waiter shifted his weight to the other foot, flopped the napkin to the other arm and stuck out his chin belligerently.

“Bean soup! What’ll you have?” he demanded, with a rising inflection in his voice.

“Let me think. Why, I guess I’ll take bean soup if it’s all the same to you,” decided Tucker, solemn as an owl.

The billposters broke out into a roar of laughter. They fairly howled with delight at Teddy’s droll manner, but the Circus Boy did not even smile. He looked at them with a hurt expression in his eyes until the men were on the point of apologizing to him.

They did not know young Tucker.

The rest of the meal passed off without incident.

“Well, what did you think of the contract hotel?” questioned Conley, as they were strolling back to the car.

“I think I shall starve to death in a week, if I have to eat in that sort of a place,” answered Teddy. “Why didn’t the contracting agent sign us up with a livery stable? I’d a sight rather feed there than at a contract hotel if they are all like this.”

“Yes, the food is at least clean in a livery stable,” laughed Phil. “But we shall get along all right. If we get too hungry we can go out and buy our own meals now and then. Do you ever do that, Mr. Conley?”

“I should say we do. We have to, or we shouldn’t have any stomachs left. Now, you want to know something about this car work, don’t you?”

“I should like to very much, if you can spare the time to tell me about it.”

“Wait till I get my report made out, then we’ll have a nice long talk, and I will tell you all about it.”

“There is Mr. Snowden waiting for you.”

“Never mind him. His bite isn’t half so bad as his bark.”

The men piled into the car, whereupon Manager Snowden unloosed the vials of his wrath because their reports were not in. To his tirade no one gave the slightest heed. The men went methodically to work, writing out their reports to which they signed their names, folded the papers, and tossed them on the manager’s desk without a word of explanation.

For a few moments there was silence in the office while the manager was going over the reports. All at once there was a roar.

“Pig! Come here!”

Rosie got down from the pile of paper on which he had been sitting, taking his time about doing so, and, wearing a broad grin, strolled to the office at the other end of the car.

“What’s the trouble now?” demanded Rosie.

“Trouble? Trouble? That’s the word. It’s trouble all the time. Where are your brains?”

“In my head, I suppose,” grinned Rosie.

“No!” thundered the manager. “They’re in your feet. All you know how to do is to kick. You’re a woodenhead; you’re no good.”

Rosie accepted the tirade with a quiet smile.

“If you will tell me what it is all about I may be able to explain.”

“Look at those billboard tickets!”

“What’s the matter with them?”

“Matter? Matter?”

“Yes, that’s what I asked.”

“They’re torn off crooked.”

“Well, what of that?”

“What of that? Why, you woodenhead, when those tickets are presented at the door when the show comes around, the ticket takers won’t accept them. Then there will be a howl that you can hear all across the state of Minnesota. How many times have I told you to be careful?”

“The tickets are all right,” growled Rosie, now a little nettled.

“What! What! You dare contradict me? I’ll fire you Saturday night! I’d fire you now only I am short of money. Get out of here! Come back!”

Rosie turned dutifully, but with a weary expression on his face.

“I fine you eleven dollars and fifty cents. That’s about what the tickets will come to. Now go. Send Rain-in-the-Face here!”

The interview with Rain-in-the-Face sounded not unlike a series of explosions to those out in the main compartment of the car. Every face wore a grin, and each man expected it would be his turn next.

“Come on, let’s go outside and talk,” said Conley.

“I should think you would want to get away from it all,” answered Phil. “I don’t know; whether I can stand this sort of thing or not.”

“You’ll get used to it after awhile.”

“Something’s going to happen,” croaked the Missing Link, dismally, as the two left the car by the rear door.

“I guess the freak is right,” nodded Billy Conley. “There is going to be an explosion here that will shake the state.”

There was, but not exactly in the way he imagined.

CHAPTER V

The Midnight Alarm

“Now tell me, if you will, what the routine of the work on an advance car is,” said Phil after he and Billy had sat down beside the tracks.

“It would take all night to do that, but I’ll give you a few pointers and the rest you will have to pick up for yourself. In the first place an advertising car includes billposters, lithographers, banner men and at least one programmer.”

“Sounds all right, but it doesn’t mean much of anything to me,” laughed Phil.

“The billposters post the large bills on the billboards, and anywhere else that they can get a chance, mostly out in the country and in the country towns. In places where there is a regular billposter, he does that work for us. Any boards not owned by a billposter, or a barn or a pigpen or a henhouse on the road is called a ‘daub.’ At least two tickets are given for every place we put a piece of paper on. These tickets are numbered and signed. Now, if a fellow out in Kankakee, we will say, should chance to tear down the bill, when he presented his ticket at the gate on the day of the show, it would be refused. He’d pay or stay out.”

“But how would they know he had taken down the poster,” questioned Phil.

“Checkers follow along at intervals and check up every piece of paper we put up. We send the record of our work to the car back of us and they in turn send our and their reports to the car behind them.”

“It is a wonderful system, indeed,” marveled Phil.

“Yes. To go back a little I will say that this is a ‘scout car’ or what is known among showmen as ‘the opposition car.’ It goes only where there is trouble, where there is opposition. For instance, more than half a dozen shows are coming into this territory, this season, and it is up to us to cover every available space with our paper before their cars get on the ground.”

“But will they not paste their bills over yours, over those you have already put up?”

“They seldom do. It is an unwritten law in the show business that this is not to be done.”

Teddy had come up to them in time to hear the last remark.

“I thought there wasn’t any law, written or unwritten, in this business,” he said.

“You will find there is, young man. Then, to come to the lithographers, as I think I already have told you, these men place small bills in store and shop windows, giving tickets for the privilege the same as do the billposters. One man goes ahead of them and does what we call ‘the squaring,’ meaning that he enters the stores and asks the privilege of putting up the lithographs. In most cases the owners of the places object, and he has to convince them that it is to their advantage to have the paper in their windows.”

“I didn’t think there was so much to it, but I think I should like that work. I’ll be a squarer,” decided Teddy.

“The banner men put up what are called ‘banners,’ cloth signs. These are tacked up in high places and the banner men have to be good climbers. They fill their mouths with tacks, points in, heads out. They use magnetic hammers.”

“What’s this, a joke?” interrupted Teddy.

“It is not a joke. The head of each hammer so used is a magnet, and is used to pick the tacks from the mouth of the banner man. The tack sticks to the head of the hammer and is thus ready to be driven. An expert banner man will drive tacks almost as rapidly as you could fire a self-acting revolver.”

“That is odd. What does the fellow called the programmer do?”

“He takes the small printed matter around, and drops it on doorsteps and in stores. When we are making a day run with the car he drops the printed matter off at stations and crossroads, or wherever he sees a man. Following us come route-riders.”

“What are they?”

“Men who ride over the country routes to see whether the billposters have put up the paper indicated on their reports, or thrown the stuff in a ditch somewhere. After them come checkers, one after the other. This is Car Three, as you know. Car Two follows about two weeks behind us, and Car One comes along a week ahead of the show. What are you going to do?”

“Mr. Snowden said I was to go out with one of the men on a country route.”

“Then you come along with me, unless he directs you differently. I can give you pointers that would take you a long time to learn were you left to pick them up yourself. Don’t say anything to him about it unless he speaks to you, but prepare to go out with me early in the morning. I have a big drive tomorrow, some fifty miles, and you will get all you want for one day’s work.”

“Yes; that will be fine.”

“What is your friend here to do?”

“I am the paste-maker,” answered Teddy with a sheepish grin. “I make the stickum stuff for this outfit.”

“A nice job,” jeered the assistant manager. “You will get all you want of that work in about thirty minutes. The Boss must certainly have a grudge against you. You will be hanging around the car all day, however, and if the Boss is away any you will have a chance to get forty winks of sleep in the stateroom now and then.”

“No; Teddy is not here to sleep. He is here to work.”

“Yes; everybody works around here but Father.”

“Is the work the same on the advance cars of all shows?”

“All circuses, yes. We do things just the same as the fellows did them forty years ago. Nobody seems to have head enough to do things differently, and goodness knows some modern methods are necessary.”

“How long have you been on this car?”

“Four years; this is my fifth season here.”

“Why, that is exactly the time we have been with the Sparling Shows.”

Billy nodded.

“I saw you work last season. You are a bird on the trapeze, and ride—whew, but you can beat anything I ever saw on bareback! I knew I had seen you before when you came in this evening, but I couldn’t place you. I remembered after a little. Say, Phil, I’m glad you handed it out to the Boss this afternoon.”

“And I am very sorry. I don’t know what Mr. Sparling will think of it. Still, I had to do something. I saw right away that he had made up his mind to treat us badly. What time do we pull out tonight?”

“Twelve o’clock, I think. And speaking of that, it is time to turn in.”

The three entered the car. Mr. Snowden already had turned in, his end of the car being dark and silent. Most of the billposters also had climbed to their berths near the roof of the car, and some of them were snoring heavily.

“Do they do this all night long?” questioned Teddy.

“Do what?”

“Roll logs!”

“Well, yes,” laughed Billy; “they are pretty good snorers, all of them. Do you snore?”

“I might, on a pinch. I don’t know whether I do or not. I am usually asleep when I snore. How about it, Phil, do I snore?”

“Not when I am within punching distance of you.”

The boys undressed, got into their pajamas, and after considerable effort managed to climb to the top of the pile of paper, where their blankets had been spread for them by the porter.

“Not much of a bed, is it Teddy?” laughed Phil.

“The worst ever!” agreed Teddy. “How I’m going to stick in that bed when the car gets under motion I don’t know. I wish I was back with the show.”

“Never mind, old chap. We have had things pretty easy for the last four years. A little hardship will not hurt either of us. And I know we are going to like this life, after we get more used to it. What time do we get up; do you know?”

“No, I don’t know anything about it. I guess in time for late breakfast,” answered Teddy grimly. “Good night.”

In a few minutes the Circus Boys were sound asleep. They did not even awaken when, about midnight, a switch engine hooked to their car, and after racing them up and down the railroad yards a few times, coupled them to the rear of the passenger train that was to pull them to their next stand, some seventy-five miles away. A few minutes later and they were rolling away. The road was a crooked one and the car swayed dizzily, but they were too used to the sensation to be in the least disturbed by it.

An hour or two had passed when, all at once, every man in the car was suddenly startled by a blood-curdling yell and a wild commotion somewhere in the darkness of the car.

“What is it?”

“Are we wrecked?”

“What did we hit?”

This and other exclamations were shouted in loud tones, as the men came tumbling from their berths, some sprawling over the floor, where a lurch of the car had hurled them.

CHAPTER VI

Almost a Tragedy

“Strike a light!”

“Are we off the rails?”

“No, you idiot. Don’t you feel the car going just the same as before? And he’s wheeling her a mile a minute at that. Hurry with that light, somebody!” commanded Billy.

At this moment they heard the sliding door of the manager’s stateroom come open with a crash.

“Now, here’s trouble for certain!” muttered the Missing Link. “The Boss is on deck.”

“I guess my friend Teddy has got into trouble,” said Phil Forrest, slipping quickly from his bed on top of a pile of gaudy circus posters. “Ted! Ted, where are you?”

There was no answer.

“What is all this row about?” thundered the manager, stalking down the car, clad only in his pajamas.

“We do not know, sir. We are trying to find out. I am afraid my friend has fallen out of bed and hurt himself,” answered Phil.

“I hope it killed him!” bellowed Mr. Snowden. “The idea of waking up the whole car at this time of the night! This nonsense has got to stop, and right quick at that. Where’s that light?”

Phil was groping about the floor, trying hurriedly to locate Teddy. But no Teddy was to be found.

Finally a match flickered; after lurching about the car the man with the match finally succeeded in locating the bracket lamp near the end of the car.

Anxious eyes peered about them in the dim light.

“Look!” howled Rosie the Pig.

A pair of wildly kicking legs were seen protruding from one of the big paste cans, these cans being made like the big garbage cans that one sees in backyards in the city.

“It’s Teddy! There he is!” cried Phil, springing forward.

“He’s gone in the paste can head first!” yelled another of the crew.

“Help me get him out; he has stuck fast!” shouted Phil, tugging desperately at his companion’s heels.

The car set up a roar of laughter at the ludicrous sight. To Phil, however, it was no laughing matter. The paste can was nearly full of paste and of about the same consistency as dough in a bread pan. It was thick and wickedly blue, for it had been mixed with bluestone to preserve it until required by the billposters.

“Pull him out, you idiots!” bellowed the car manager. “If he isn’t dead now, he can’t be killed. Pull him out and throw him overboard!”

Phil flashed an indignant look at Mr. Snowden.

By this time others had come to his assistance. It required their united efforts to rescue Teddy from his perilous predicament.

They hauled him out and laid him on the door.

“Teddy, Teddy!” cried Phil, but Tucker made no reply. In the first place his mouth was so full of paste that he could not utter a sound. Again, he was half unconscious, nearly smothered and still unable to breathe freely.

Phil grabbed off the jacket of his own pajamas and began wiping the blue paste from the unfortunate lad’s mouth, eyes and nose.

A happy thought appeared to strike the car manager. He dashed to the sink, and, quickly filling a pail of water, ran back to the spot where Teddy was lying.

Snowden turned the pail bottom side up, apparently intending to douse the water into Tucker’s face.

Instead, the contents of the pail landed on Phil Forrest’s head, spreading itself over his bare back, and trickled down in rivulets over Teddy’s face.

The water was almost ice cold.

“Wow!” howled Phil, springing to his feet. “Who did that?”

“I did, and I’ll do it again,” jeered the car manager.

“Get me another pail, but I’ll do the spilling this time. Don’t you dare duck me again, or I’ll settle with you after I get through with my friend.”

One of the crew grabbed up the pail to run for water. This time the pail was handed to Phil who instantly began mopping the face of young Tucker.

In a moment or so Teddy began to gasp. His dive had nearly been the end of him.

“Get a net,” he murmured as he slowly came to, whereat everyone save the car manager laughed loudly. “Wha—what happened? Did we run off the track?”

“No, you took a high dive into a can of paste,” jeered Billy. “You’re the champion high diver of Car Three.”

Mr. Snowden, stooping over, grabbed the luckless Teddy by the collar and jerked him to his feet.

“Get up, you lummox!” he commanded.

Teddy blinked very fast. Mr. Snowden began to shake him. Phil stepped forward quickly and pushed the car manager away.

“Wha—what!” growled Snowden, an angry light leaping into his eyes.

“You let the boy alone,” commanded Phil. “Because he has had an accident is no reason why you should punish him!”

“You—you—you—”

Phil paid no heed to him, but led the unsteady Teddy to the far end of the compartment.

“You get off this car, both of you!” yelled the manager.

“What, with the train running sixty miles an hour?” questioned Phil, turning slowly.

“Yes; I don’t care if it kills you both. Good riddance—good job if it did.”

“I think you have another guess coming, Mr. Car Manager,” replied Phil calmly.

Snowden glared at the Circus Boy who had thus defied him; then turning sharply on his bare heel he strode back to his stateroom.

A broad grin appeared on the faces of the car crew.

“I guess that will be about all for this evening,” announced Rain-in-the-Face.

“Is there a rope on this car?” asked Phil.

“Yes; what do you want a rope for?” replied Billy.

“He’s going to complete the job by hanging the Boss from a brake beam,” spoke up Rosie.

“Not quite as bad as that, I guess,” laughed Phil. “I am going to tie my friend Teddy in his bed. There is no telling what may happen to him, if I do not. Teddy, had we happened to be sound sleepers you would in all probability be dead by this time.”

Tucker shivered.

“That would please Mr. Snowden too much, you know.”

“Then tie me in. I don’t want to please him. Did he duck me while I was asleep?”

“He tried to. As it chanced my bare back got most of the ducking,” answered Phil with a short laugh, for he believed the car manager had purposely poured the water on him.

“But he shook me,” protested Teddy.

“He did that,” chorused the crew. “What are you going to do about it?”

“Well,” reflected Tucker; “I think he and I will fight a duel tomorrow at sunrise.”

Once more all hands turned in, Phil humorously making a pretense of tying his companion to his “berth.” As a matter of fact, Phil did tie the rope about Teddy’s wrist, wrapping the free end about his own arm, and thus the boys went to sleep once more.

It seemed as if they had been asleep only a few minutes when they were suddenly startled into wakefulness by a loud noise.

This time, however, it was not a yell, but a roar.

Phil sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Get up, you lazy good-for-nothings!” bellowed the car manager, dancing up and down the aisle, still in his pajamas, his hair standing up, his eyes wild and menacing.

“Is that all?” muttered Teddy, sinking back into a sound sleep again.

Phil sprang from the pile of papers on which he had been sleeping, landing lightly on the floor in his bare feet.

“Good morning, Mr. Snowden. I hope you had a good night’s sleep,” greeted the Circus Boy.

Snowden glared at the lad, as if trying to make up his mind whether or not Phil was making sport of him. But there was only pleasantness in the face of Phil Forrest.

“Huh!” grunted the manager. Then he once more began racing up and down the car, roaring at his men, threatening and expressing his opinion of them in the way with which Phil already had become familiar.

Teddy lay curled up, with one foot protruding from beneath the covers. Whether or not he had done this purposely, it was difficult to decide. Be that as it may, Mr. Snowden caught sight of the pink foot. He rose to the bait like a bass to a fly.

In another second he had pounced upon the foot. Grabbing it with both hands he gave it a violent tug. Tucker responded. He came slipping from the “berth,” throwing the quilts before him as he did so. The quilts landed over the car manager’s head. Then came Teddy Tucker.

Ted landed, full on Mr. Snowden’s head, with a wild yell.

Down went the manager and the Circus Boy, with the latter on top, in a writhing, howling, confused heap.

CHAPTER VII

The First Day’s Experience

“Give it to him, Teddy!” howled the crew.

Tucker, as soon as he could right himself, sat down on the manager’s head, at the same time holding Mr. Snowden’s hands pinioned to the floor.

The muffled voice under the quilts waxed louder and more angry as the seconds passed. Phil, who had gone to the wash room to make his toilet, hurried back at sound of the row.

“Teddy Tucker, what are you doing?” demanded Phil, for the moment puzzled at the scene before him.

“I’m sitting on the Boss,” answered Teddy triumphantly. “Shall I give him one for you?”

“Yes—give him two for each of us,” shouted the billposters.

Phil strode to his companion, grabbed the lad by the collar of his pajamas and jerked him from the helpless man under the quilts.

“Now, you behave yourself, young man, or you will have to reckon with me,” he commanded, pushing Teddy aside.

“You let me alone. This is my inning. I guess I can sit on the Boss, if I want to, without your interfering with the fun.”

Giving no heed to the words, Phil quickly hauled the quilts off and assisted Mr. Snowden to rise.

“I guess Teddy must have fallen on you, sir,” suggested Phil solemnly.

“He did it on purpose! He did it on purpose!”

“You pulled him out of bed, did you not, sir?”

“Yes; and next time I’ll pull him so he’ll know it. Get out of here, every man of you, and get your breakfasts; then get off on your routes. Things are coming to a fine pass on this car. Young man, I will talk to you later.”

The manager, with red face and angry eye, strode to his stateroom, while the grinning billposters made haste to get into their clothes. A few minutes later, and all hands were on their way to breakfast.

This meal at the new hotel was a slight improvement over the dinner they had eaten the night before. Besides, all hands were in good humor, for they had had more real excitement on Car Three, since the advent of the Circus Boys, than at any time during the season.

By the time they reached the car again six livery teams were in waiting for the men who were to go out on the country routes.

All was instantly bustle and excitement. Paste cans were loaded into the wagons, brushes and pails, together with the paper that had been carefully laid out and counted, the night before, for each billposter. A record of this was kept on the car.

Phil lent a hand at loading the stuff, and they found that the slim lad was stronger than any of them. It was an easy matter for him to lift one of the big cans of paste to a wagon without assistance. Teddy, however, stood by with hands thrust in pockets, an amused grin on his face. The baleful eye of the car manager was upon him.

“Have you heard from Mr. Sparling this morning?” asked Phil.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Snowden shortly.

“What did he say?”

“That is none of your business, young man.”

“You are right. I accept the rebuke. While I am interested, it really is none of my business,” answered the lad with a smile.

“Where are you going?”

“You told me to go out on one of the country routes.”

“Oh! What route are you going on, if I may ask?”

“I had thought of going with Mr. Conley.”

“You will do nothing of the sort. You will go where I tell you to. I—”

“I suggested that he go with me, Mr. Snowden,” interposed Billy. “I have a hard route to work today and I shall need some help if I get over it before dark.”

“Very well; go on. I hope he falls off a barn or something. If he does, leave him.”

“For your sake, I shall try to take care of myself,” answered Phil with an encouraging smile.

“Tucker!”

“Yes, sir.”

“Start a fire under that boiler. Henry, you show him how to manage the boiler and mix the paste. I don’t imagine he even knows dough when he sees it.”

“I know a dough-head when I see one,” spoke up Teddy promptly, after delivering himself of which sentiment he strolled away with hands in his pockets, whistling merrily.

The drive to the country in the fresh morning air was a most delightful one to Phil.

After leaving the town they soon came in sight of a deserted house. It evidently had been abandoned, for it was in a bad state of dilapidation.

“There’s a dandy daub!” exclaimed Billy. “We’ll plaster it with paper until the neighbors won’t know it. When we get there, hop off and bring some pails of water, will you?”

“Sure,” answered Phil. While he was doing this, the billposter was spreading his paper out on the ground, deciding on the layout that he would post.

A few minutes later and the gaudy bills were going up like magic on the road side of the house and the two ends, so that the pictures might be seen from every point of view from the highway. The house had been transformed into a blaze of color.

“All right,” sang out Billy. “Good job, too.”

Phil had learned something. He had noted every movement of the billposter.

“How long does it take to learn to post, Billy?” he asked.

“Some fellows never learn. Others get fairly expert after a few weeks puttering around.”

“May I try one today?”

“Sure thing. If the next one is easy I will give you a chance at it.”

The next daub proved to be a small hay barn a little way back in a field.

“There’s your chance, my boy,” he said.

Phil jumped out before the wagon had come to a stop and, with paper and brush under his arms, ran across the field. With more skill than might have been expected with his limited experience he smeared the paper with paste, then sought to raise it up to the side of the building as he had seen Billy Conley do.

This was where Phil came to grief. A gust of wind doubled the paper up, the pasted side smearing the bright colors of the face of the picture, until the colors were one hopeless daub. To cap the climax the whole thing came down over Phil’s head, wrapping him in its slimy folds.

“Hey, help!” he shouted. “I’m posting myself instead of the barn.”

Billy sat down on the ground, laughing until the tears ran down his cheeks.

“If it hadn’t been for that unexpected gust of wind I should have made it nicely,” explained Phil with a sickly grin. “Oh, pshaw, I’m not as much of a billposter as I thought I was. I guess there is more to this game than I had any idea of.”

“You will learn. You took a pretty big contract when you tried to put up that eight-sheet.”

“We will let you try a one-sheet on the farther end of the barn. A one-sheet is a small, twenty-eight inch piece of paper, you know.”

Phil nodded.

“I’ll try it,” he said. “I guess a one-sheet is about as big a piece of paper as I am fit to handle just yet.”

He managed the one-sheet without the least trouble, and did a very good job, so much so that Billy complimented him highly.

“You will make a billposter yet. One good thing about you is that you are willing to learn, and you are quick to admit that you do not know it all. Most fellows, when they start, have ideas of their own—at least they think they have.”

After that Phil did the small work, thinned the paste and made himself generally useful.

“Oh, look at that!” he cried, pointing off ahead of them.

“What is it, Phil?”

“See that building standing up on that high piece of ground. Wouldn’t that be a dandy place on which to post some paper?”

The building he had indicated was a tall circular structure, painted a dark red, with a small cupola effect crowning its top.

“That is a silo. You wouldn’t be able to get permission to post a bill on there, even if you could get up there to do it,” said Conley.

“Why not?”

“Why not? Why that farmer, I’ll wager, sets as much store by that building as he does his newly-painted house.”

“I’ll go ask him. You don’t mind if I ‘square’ him, do you?” questioned the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.

“Ask him, for sure. But we couldn’t post up there. We have no ladders that would reach; in fact we have no ladders at all. I mean the farmer has no ladders long enough.”

“Never mind; I’ll figure out a way,” replied the Circus Boy, whose active mind already had decided upon a method by which he thought he might accomplish the feat, providing the farmer was willing.

Reaching the farm, Phil jumped out and ran up to the house.

“Do you own this place, sir?” he asked of the farmer who answered his ring at the bell.

“I do.”

“It’s a beautiful place. I am representing the Sparling Circus, and we thought we would like to make a display on your silo.”

The farmer gazed at him in amazement.

“Young man, you have a cast-iron nerve even to ask such a thing.”

“I know the mere matter of tickets to the show will be no inducement to a man of your position. But I am going to make you a present of a box for six people at the circus. You will take your whole family and be my guest. I will not only give you an order for it, but will write a personal letter to the owner, who is my very good friend. He will show you all there is to be seen, and I will see to it that you take dinner with him in the circus tent. No; there is no obligation. All the farmers—all your neighbors will be envious. I want you to come. We won’t speak of the silo. I don’t expect you to let me post that; but, if you will permit me to put a three-sheet on your hog pen back there, I shall be greatly obliged.”

Despite the farmer’s protestations, Phil wrote out the order for the box, then scribbled a few lines to Mr. Sparling, which he enclosed in an envelope borrowed from the farmer.

“Thank you so much,” beamed the Circus Boy, handing over the letter to the farmer, accompanied by the pass and order for the arena box at the circus. “It is a pleasure to meet a man like you. I come from a country town myself, and have worked some on my uncle’s farm.”

“You with the circus, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Looks to me like you was a pretty young fellow to be a circus man.”

“Oh no, not very. I belong back with the show. I am a performer, you know. I am out with the advertising car to learn the business.”

“A performer?” wondered the farmer, looking over the trim figure and bright boyish face. “What do you perform?”

“I perform on the flying trapeze and do a bareback riding act.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know, young fellow, I never got such a close squint at a circus fellow before in my life. But, come to size you up, I reckon you can do all them things you’ve been telling me about. Yes, sir, I’ll go to the circus. Will you be there to cut up in the ring?”

“I cannot say. It is doubtful, as I probably shall be ahead of the show for the rest of the season. Well, thank you very much. We will decorate the hog pen,” added the lad, touching his cap and turning away.

An arena box, value twelve dollars, was a pretty high price to pay for a three-sheet on a hog pen, but Phil Forrest knew what he was doing. At least he thought he did, and he did not walk very fast on his way to the road.

“Hey, come back here,” called the farmer.

“Yes, sir,” answered Phil turning inquiringly.

“Come here.”

He walked back to where the farmer was standing fingering the pass and the letter.

“I—I reckon you needn’t stick them bills on the hog pen.”

The Circus Boy’s heart took a sudden drop.

“Very well, sir; just as you say. I do not wish to do anything to displease you.”

“But I reckon you can plaster that silo full of them circus pictures from top to bottom, if you want to,” was the unexpected announcement.

Phil Forrest’s heart bounded back into position again.

CHAPTER VIII

The Circus Boy Wins

“Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much!” answered the lad, his eyes glowing.

“You’re a square kid and I like you.”

“I appreciate your kindness, I assure you, and I will write a letter to the owner of the show about you this evening when I get back to the car. Have you any ladders that we can borrow, and a long rope?”

“I reckon you’ll find all them things in the hay barn. Help yourself. I’ve got to run up to the back farm, but maybe I’ll be back before you get through your job. So long.”

Phil hurried back to the road, where Billy and the wagon were waiting. The lad’s feet felt lighter than usual.

“Well, what luck?” demanded Billy.

“I may be a poor apology as a billposter, but as a diplomat I’m a winner, Billy.”

“You—you don’t mean you got the silo?” gasped Conley.

“I got the silo, and I can have the hog pen too, if I want it, and perhaps the farmer’s house thrown in for good measure,” answered Phil, his face flushed from his first triumph as a publicity showman.

“Well, of all the nerve!”

“That’s what the farmer said,” laughed Phil. “But he changed his mind.”

“What do you think of that?” demanded Billy, turning to the driver.

“The kid is all right.”

“You’re right; he is. The next question, now that you have got the silo, is what are you going to do with it?”

“Post it,” answered Phil promptly.

“You can never do it.”

“I’ll show you what a circus man can do.”

“Come along and unload your truck. Help me get some ladders out of the barn.”

Wonderingly, Billy did as he was bid, and the driver, now grown interested, hitched his horses to the fence and followed them.

The silo was empty. Phil measured the distance to the top with his eyes.

“About forty feet I should say,” he decided. “We shall have to do some climbing.”

The ladders were far too short, but by splicing two of them together, they reached up to an opening in the silo some ten feet from the top.

Phil hunted about until he found a long plank; then setting the spliced ladders up inside the silo he mounted to the opening, carrying one end of a coil of rope with him. Upon reaching the opening he directed Billy to tie the other end of the rope to the plank. This being done, Phil hauled the board up to where he was sitting perched on the frame of the opening.

“I’d like to know what you’re going to do?”

“If you will come up here I will show you.”

“Not on your life,” replied Billy promptly. “I know when I’m well off, and if you don’t look out, Boss Snowden will get his wish.”

“What wish was that?”

“That you might fall off a barn and break your neck.”

The Circus Boy’s merry laugh floated down to them as he worked in an effort to get the plank into position. By tying the rope to one end of the plank to support it he gradually worked the plank out through the opening, after a time managing to shove the end nearest to him under a beam.

“There, I’d like to see you turn a trick like that, Billy Conley,” he shouted.

“I wouldn’t,” retorted Billy. “What’s the next move?”

“In a minute. Watch me!”

The lad made a large loop in the rope in the shape of a slip knot. All preparations being made he boldly walked out on the plank which, secured at one end like a springboard, bent and trembled beneath his weight.

The men down below gasped.

The farmer, having changed his mind, had come out to watch the operation rather than visit the back farm. Two neighbors had by this time joined him.

“Who’s the fellow up there?” asked one.

“He is a performer in a circus.”

“A performer? Shucks! He’s no more performer than I am.”

“Watch him and perhaps you may change your mind,” answered Billy, who had overheard the remark. “That boy is one of the finest circus performers in this country. Do you think he could stand out on that plank, more than thirty feet above the ground, if he were not a performer? Why, I wouldn’t be up there for a million dollars, and you wouldn’t, either.”

“That’s right,” answered the farmer himself. “That beats all the circus performances I ever saw. What is the kid going to do?”

“I don’t know,” confessed Billy. “He knows and that’s enough.”

Phil, having tested the plank to his satisfaction and studied his balance, now cast his eyes up to the little cupola on top of the silo. Then he began slowly swinging the loop of the rope over his head, after the fashion of a cowboy about to make a cast.

They were at a loss to understand what he was trying to do, but every man there was sure in his own mind what Phil Forrest would do—fall off.

Suddenly he let go of the loop. It soared upward. Then they began to understand. He was trying to rope the cupola.

The rope fell short by about three feet, as nearly as he was able to judge.

“Oh, pshaw!” muttered Phil. “That was a clumsy throw. I would make just about as good a cowboy as I am a billposter. Well, here goes for another try.”

He put all his strength into the throw this time.

The rope sped true, dropping as neatly over the peak of the cupola as if the thrower had been standing directly over the projection.

A cheer rose from the men below.

It died on their lips.

“He’s falling!” they cried with one voice.

The farmers stood gaping. But Billy, with the quick instincts of a showman, darted beneath the plank hoping to catch and break the lad’s fall.

Phil had leaned too far backward in making his cast. He had lost his balance and toppled over. Here his training in aerial work served him in good stead. As he felt himself going he turned quickly facing toward the outer end of the plank.

Like a flash both hands shot out. They closed about the end of the plank by a desperately narrow margin.

The plank bent until it seemed as if it must snap under his weight. Then it shot upward, carrying the boy with it, he kicking his feet together as he was lifted and laughing out of pure bravado.

Phil knew he was safe now. The drop had tested the plank, so that there was now slight danger of its breaking.

On the second rebound he swung himself to the upper side of it and stood up.

“Hurrah!” he shouted.

Billy was pale and trembling.

“If you do that again I’ll have an attack of heart disease, Phil!” he called. “Now, what are you going to do? The rope is hanging seven or eight feet away from you.”

“Hello, that’s so. I hadn’t observed that before. I should not have let go of it. Never mind, I’ll get it unless something breaks. See here, Billy, you get from under there.”

“Is the plank likely to fall?” asked Billy innocently.

“The plank? No. I am likely to take a tumble,” answered Phil, with a short laugh. All at once he grew serious and still. “I think I can make it,” he decided.

His resolution formed, the lad crouched low, so as not to throw so great a leverage on the plank that it would slip from under him when he leaped. He prepared for the spring.

“Don’t do it!” howled Billy, now thoroughly frightened. “Don’t you see what he’s up to? He’s going to jump off the plank and try to catch hold of the rope hanging from the cupola. He’ll never make it. He’ll miss it sure as he’s a foot high. This is awful!”

“Don’t bother me, Billy. Mr. Farmer, is that cupola strong enough to bear my weight on a sudden jolt?”

“It ought to hold a ton, dead weight.”

“Then I guess it will hold me. Don’t talk to me down there. Here goes!”

It seemed a foolhardy thing to do. To the average person it would have meant almost sure death. It must be remembered, however, that Phil Forrest was a circus performer, that he felt as thoroughly at home far above the ground as he did when standing directly on it.

He leaped out into the air, cleared the intervening space between the plank and the rope, his fingers closing over the latter with a sureness born of long experience.

His body swung far over toward the other side of the silo, settling down with a sickening jolt, as the loop over the cupola slipped down tight.

“Hooray!” cried Phil, twisting the rope about one leg and waving a hand to those below him.

They drew a long, relieved sigh. The farmers, one after the other, took off their hats and mopped their foreheads.

“Warm, isn’t it?” grinned the owner of the silo.

“Now, pass up your brush and paste on this rope.” Phil had brought a small rope with him for this very purpose.

Billy got busy at once and in a few minutes Phil had the brush and paste in his hands, with which he proceeded to smear as much of the side of the silo as was within reach. It will be remembered that he was hanging on the rope by one leg, around which the rope was twisted as only showmen know how to do.

“Now, the paper,” called Phil.

This was passed up to him in the same way. In a few moments he had pasted on a great sheet, having first pulled himself up to the eaves to secure the top of the sheet just under them.

“Now that you have one sheet on, how are you going to get around to the other side to put others on?” demanded Conley.

“Oh, I’ll show you. Be patient down there. I have got to change a leg; this one is getting numb.”

“I should think it would,” muttered Billy.

Phil changed legs, as he termed it; then, grasping the eaves with both hands, he pulled himself along, the slip-noose over the cupola turning about on its pivot without a hitch.

This done Phil called for more paper, which was put up in short order. Thus he continued with his work until he had put a plaster, as Bill Conley characterized it, all the way around the farmer’s silo. It might have been seen nearly ten miles away in all directions. No such billing had ever before been done in that part of the country, nor perhaps anywhere else.

“There! I’d like to see the Ringlings, or Hagenbecks or Barnum and Bailey or any of the other big ones, beat that. They’re welcome to cover this paper if they can, eh, Billy?” laughed Phil, pushing himself away from the side of the silo and leaning far back to get a better view of it. “I call that pretty fine. How about it?”

“The greatest ever,” agreed Billy. His vocabulary was too limited to express his thoughts fully, but he did fairly well with what he had.

Having satisfied himself that his work was well done, Phil let himself down slowly, not using his hands at all, in doing so, but taking a spiral course downward.

“H-u-m-m, I’m a little stiff,” he said when his feet touched the ground. “Am I a billposter or am I not a billposter, Billy?”

“You are the champeen of ’em all! I take off my hat to you.” Which Conley did, then and there.

“I am afraid I shall not be able to get that rope down, sir,” said Phil politely to the farmer. “I am sorry. I had not figured on that before. If you will be good enough to tell me how much the rope is worth I shall be glad to pay you for it. I can cut it off up near the little door there, so it will not look quite so bad. Shall I do it?”

“No. You needn’t bother. As for paying for the rope I won’t take a cent. I’ve had more fun than the price of a dozen ropes could buy. Why, young man, do you know I never seen anything in a circus that could touch the outside edge of the performance you’ve been giving us this afternoon? You boys had your dinners?”

“No,” confessed the Circus Boy. “I guess we had forgotten all about eating.”

“Then come right in the house. My wife will get you something, and I want to introduce her to a real live circus man—that’s you.”

“Thank you.”

Phil’s eyes were bright. He was happy in the accomplishment of a piece of work that was not done every day. In fact, this one was destined to go down in show history as a remarkable achievement.

They sat down to a fine dinner, and Phil entertained the family for an hour relating his experiences in the show world.

When the hour came for leaving, the farmer urged them to remain, but the men had work to do and a long drive ahead of them.

They drove away, Phil waving his hat and the farmer and his wife waving hat and apron respectively.

As the rig reached a hill, some three miles away, Phil and Billy turned to survey their work.

“Looks like a fire, doesn’t it, Billy?”

“It sure does. It would call out the fire department if there was one here.”

“And the best of it is, that posting will be up there when the show comes this way next season. It is a standing advertisement for the Great Sparling Shows. But I suppose Mr. Snowden would say it wasn’t much of a job.”

CHAPTER IX

Teddy Gets into Trouble

“Get those paste cans outside! Step lively there!”

“Say, you talk to me as if I were one of the hired help,” objected Teddy, his face flushing.

“Well, that is exactly what you are. You’ll soon learn that you are hired help if you remain on this car. I’ll take all the freshness out of you. The flour is in the cellar.”

“In the cellar?”

“That’s what I said. Go down and get it out. You will require about a sack and a half for each can. That will be about right for a can of paste. Henry will show you how much bluestone to put in. But be careful of that boiler. I don’t want the car blown up.”

The manager strode away to his office, while Teddy, red and perspiring, went about his work. He was much more meek than usual, and this very fact, had the manager known him better, would have impressed Mr. Snowden as a suspicious circumstance.

Instead of the usual pink tights with spangled trunks, Teddy Tucker was now clad in a pair of blue jeans, held up by pieces of string reaching up over his shoulders. His was now a far different figure from that presented by him in the ring of the Sparling Shows.

After dumping the flour into the cans, in doing which Teddy took his time, he attached a hose pipe to the boiler, under the direction of Henry. Next he filled the cans with water and was then ready to turn on the steam to boil the paste.

Teddy was about to do this when Mr. Snowden appeared on the scene. He looked over the cans critically, but observing nothing that he could find fault with, he got a stick and began poking in the bottom of one of the cans, thinking he had discovered that more flour had been used than was necessary.

All at once Teddy, who was now inside the car, turned a full head of steam through the hose pipe. There being one hundred and forty pounds of steam on the boiler something happened.

The full force of the steam shot into the bottom of the can over which Mr. Snowden was bending. The contents of that can leaped up into the air, water, flour, bluestone and all, and for the next few seconds Manager Snowden was the central figure in the little drama. It rained uncooked paste for nearly half a minute. Such of it as had not smitten him squarely in the face went up in the air and then came down, showering on his head.

The force of the miniature explosion had bowled the manager over. Choking, sputtering, blinded for the moment by the stuff that had got into his eyes, he wallowed in the dust by the side of the car.

Teddy shut off the steam, went out on the platform and sat down.

“What happened?” he demanded innocently. Perhaps he did not know and perhaps he did.

Mr. Snowden did not answer, for the very good reason that he could not. His clothes were ruined.

“It looks like a storm,” muttered the lad. In this he was not mistaken.

A happy thought came to him. Springing up he hurried into the car, and, drawing a pail of water from the tap, ran out with it. Mr. Snowden had just scrambled to his feet.

“This will do you good,” said Teddy, dashing the pail of water over the manager’s head. “That’s the way you brought me back when I got pasted up last night.”

The Circus Boy ducked back to the platform and sat down to await developments. They were not long in arriving. The instant Snowden got the flour out of his eyes sufficiently to enable him to see he began blinking in all directions.

Finally his eyes rested on Teddy Tucker, who was perched on a brake wheel observing the manager’s discomfiture.

“You!” exploded the manager. Grabbing up the paddle used for the purpose of stirring paste he started for the Circus Boy.

Teddy promptly slid from the brake wheel and quickly got to the other side of the car. Snowden was after him with an angry roar, brandishing the paddle above his head.

“I knew it would blow up a storm pretty soon,” muttered the lad, making a lively sprint as the manager came rushing around the end of the car. The chase was on, but Teddy Tucker was much more fleet of foot than was his pursuer, besides which his years of training in the circus ring had put him in condition for a long race.

Around and around the car they ran, the porter watching them, big-eyed and apprehensive, but Teddy kept his pursuer at a distance without great effort.

After a short time the lad varied his tactics. Increasing his speed, he leaped to the rear platform of the car, and sprang up on the platform railing. Here, grasping the edge, he pulled himself to the roof, where he sat down with his feet dangling over, grinning defiantly.

“Come down from there!” roared the manager. “I’ll teach you to play your miserable pranks on me!” The roof of the car was beyond the ability of Mr. Snowden to reach.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know you had your nose stuck in the paste pot when I turned on the steam,” murmured Teddy.

This served only to increase the anger of the man on the ground.

“You did it on purpose; you know you did!” roared Mr. Snowden. “Come down, I tell you.”

“You come up. It’s fine up here!”

The manager, now angered past all control, uttered a growl. Hastily gathering up a handful of coal he began heaving the pieces at Teddy. But Tucker was prepared for just such an emergency.

From his pockets he drew several chunks of coal, that he had picked up during his sprinting match around the car. He let these drive at Mr. Snowden, one after the other, not, however, throwing with sufficient force to do much damage. He did not wish to harm his superior, but he did want to drive him off.

Mr. Snowden soon got enough of the bombardment, for he was getting the worst of it all the time.

“I’ll turn the hose on you!” he bellowed, making a dash for the interior of the car, where it was his intention to turn on the boiling hot water and steam.

“I guess it’s time to leave,” decided Teddy. Quickly hopping down he ran and hid behind a freight car a short distance from the show car. When Mr. Snowden came out, grasping the hissing hose, his victim was nowhere to be seen.

Uttering angry imprecations and threats the manager returned to his office, changed his clothes, then strode off up town to a hotel to get a bath, of which he was very much in need at the moment.

“I guess he will be cooled off by the time he gets back,” decided Teddy, emerging from his hiding place. “I think I will go back to work. I must earn my money somehow. That man is crazy, but I have an idea he will be sane after I get through with him.”

Teddy returned to his paste-making. Henry, the porter, was so frightened that he hardly dared talk to Teddy, for fear the manager might catch him doing so and vent his wrath on the Englishman.

As the Circus Boy had surmised Mr. Snowden returned after a two hours’ absence, much chastened in spirit. He did not even look at Teddy Tucker, though the latter was watching the manager out of the corners of his eyes. Mr. Snowden went directly to his stateroom where he locked himself in.

“I guess the storm has blown over,” decided young Tucker, grinning to himself. “But won’t Phil raise an awful row when he hears about it!”

The lad quickly learned the paste-making trick, and after dinner he set to work in earnest. He found it hard work stirring the stiff paste, and it seemed as if Teddy got the greater part of it over his clothes and face. He was literally smeared with it, great splashes of it disfiguring his face and matting his hair.

When the men from the country routes drove in there was a howl of merriment. The lad did present a ludicrous sight.

“Hello, Spotted Horse!” shouted one of them.

“Hello yourself,” growled Teddy, in none too enviable a frame of mind.

“That’s the name. That’s the name that fits our friend Tucker!” cried Missing Link. From that moment on, aboard Car Three, Teddy Tucker lost his own name and became Spotted Horse.

The men had no sooner unloaded their paste cans than the porter had told them of the trouble that morning between Teddy and the manager.

The men howled in their delight. Mr. Snowden, off in his little office, heard the sounds of merriment and knew that the laughter was at his expense. His face was black and distorted with rage.

“I’ll show them they can’t trifle with and insult me,” he gritted.

At that moment he roared for Billy.

“The regular evening seance is about to begin,” announced Billy, with a grimace, as he turned toward the office.

“Bring the cub, Forrest, along!” shouted the manager.

“Who?” called Conley.

“Forrest and that fool friend of his.”

“He means Spotted Horse,” suggested Rosie. “Run along, Spotted Horse. Got your war paint on?”

“I always have my war paint on,” grinned Teddy, as he started toward the private office, following Conley and Phil Forrest.

The three ranged up before the car manager, who surveyed them with glowering face.

“What have you done today?” he demanded, fixing his gaze on Billy.

“We got up more than four hundred sheets of paper.”

“Four hundred sheets!” groaned Snowden. “What have you fellows been doing? Sleeping by the roadside?”

“No, sir, we have been working, and Mr. Forrest here pulled off one of the cleverest hits that’s ever been made. He plastered a silo that stands out like a sore thumb on the landscape, and which every farmer within ten or twenty miles about will go to look at.”

“Humph, I don’t believe it! What have the other men done?”

Conley reported as to the number of sheets that the men had posted, whereat the manager rose, pounded his desk and, in a towering rage, expressed his opinion of the tribe of billposters again.

Billy smiled sarcastically, in which he was joined by Teddy, but Phil’s face was solemn. He was becoming rather tired of this constant abuse.

“If you have nothing to say to me, I will go back to my place in the car,” spoke up Phil.

Snowden glared at him.

“Did I tell you to leave this room?”

“I believe you did not.”

“Then stand there until I tell you to go!”

“Very well, sir.”

“Conley, I have called you in here to be a witness to what I am about to say. Do you hear?”

Billy nodded.

“During the past two days I have been insulted and abused by those two young cubs there, until it has come to a point where I appear to be no longer manager of this car. Your men outside have laughed at my discomfiture—yes, sir, actually made sport of me.”

“I think you are mistaken. I—”

“I am not. I am never mistaken. This morning, this fellow Tucker not only defied me, but turned on the steam when I was examining a paste pot, and soaked me from head to foot. Then he ended up by throwing coal at me.”

“Yes, and you started the row,” retorted Teddy. “The idea of a big man like you pitching on to a boy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”

“Stop it! I’ll forget you are a boy if you goad me further. But I have had enough of it. I’ll stand it no longer. Do you understand?”

No one replied to the question.

“This thing has gone far enough. Have you anything to say for yourself or your friend here, Forrest?”

“Yes, sir, I have.”

“Say it.”

“You are the most ill-tempered man it has ever been my experience to know.”

“You’re discharged! Both of you! Get off my car instantly! Do you hear me?”

“I could not very well help hearing you. I am sorry to disobey you, but we were ordered to Number Three by Mr. Sparling. We will try to do our duty, but we shall not leave this car until Mr. Sparling orders us to do so,” answered Phil steadily.

CHAPTER X

A Surprise, Indeed

Phil had triumphed, but he felt little satisfaction in having done so.

The manager had ordered the two boys from his office after the interview and the command to leave the car at once. But the lads had stayed on, and had gone about their duties, Phil working with all the force that was in him. He had even stirred Teddy to a realization of his duty and the latter had done very well, indeed.

A week had passed and the car was now in South Dakota. From there they were to make a detour and drop down into Kansas, whence their course would be laid across the plains and on into the more mountainous country.

Mr. Snowden had studiously avoided the boys; in fact he had not spoken a word to them since the interview in the stateroom, but he had bombarded Mr. James Sparling with messages and demands that the Circus Boys be withdrawn from the car, renewing his threats to leave in case his demand was not complied with.

One bright Sunday morning the car rolled into the station at Aberdeen, South Dakota, and as it came to a stop a messenger boy boarded it with a message for Billy Conley.

Billy looked surprised, and even more so after he had perused the message itself. He quickly left the car, saying he would return after breakfast, but instead of going directly to breakfast, he proceeded to the best hotel in the place, where he called for a certain man, at the desk.

Billy spent some two hours with the man whom he had gone to see, after which he returned to the car. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as he looked at the Circus Boys, who were at that moment getting ready to go to church, a duty that Phil never neglected. He still remembered the time when he used to go to church on Sunday mornings, holding to his mother’s hand. Never a Sunday passed that he did not think of it.

“Will you go with us, Billy?” he asked, noting the gaze of the assistant manager fixed upon him.

“Not this morning. I expect company,” answered Billy with a grin.

Teddy eyed him suspiciously.

“Billy is up to some tricks this morning. I can see it in his eyes,” announced Tucker shrewdly. “I guess I will stay and see what’s going on.”

“No; you will come with me,” replied Phil decisively. So Teddy went.

Shortly after their departure a gentleman boarded the car, at the stateroom end, and walked boldly into the office.

The man was James Sparling, owner of the Sparling Combined Shows.

Mr. Snowden sprang up, surprise written all over his face.

“Why, Mr. Sparling!” he greeted the caller. “I did not expect you.”

“No; my visit is something of a surprise, but it is time I came on. Where are the boys?”

“You mean young Forrest and Tucker?” asked the manager, his smile fading.

“Yes.”

“The young cubs have gone to church. A likely pair they are! What did you mean by turning loose a bunch like that on me?”

There was a slight tightening of Mr. Sparling’s lips.

“What seems to be the trouble with them?”

“Insubordination. They are the worst boys I ever came across in all my experience.”

“Have you done as I requested, and helped them to learn the business?”

“I have not!”

“May I inquire why not?”

“My telegrams should be sufficient answer to that question. Both of them are hopeless. I want nothing to do with either of them. They have thoroughly disorganized this car, and each of them has assaulted me. Had I followed the promptings of my own inclinations I should have smashed their heads before this. But I considered their youth.”

Mr. Sparling leaned back and laughed.

“I am glad you did not try it.”

“Why?” demanded the manager suddenly.

“Because you would have got the thrashing of your life. Mr. Snowden, I am fully informed as to what has been going on in this car.”

“So, that’s it; those cubs have been spying on me and reporting to you, eh? I might have known it.”

“You are mistaken,” answered the owner calmly. “While they had sufficient provocation to do so, not a murmur has come from either of them. They have taken their medicine like men. I make it a rule to keep posted on what is going on in every department of my show. I therefore know, better than perhaps you yourself could tell me, what has been going on on Car Three. And it is going to stop right here and now.”

“What do you mean?”

“In the first place, the work has been unsatisfactory. The men have done as well as could be expected of them, but they have been in such a constant state of rebellion because of your attitude that the work was bound to suffer.”

“You are very frank, sir.”

“That’s my way of doing business. You not only have neglected the work but you have openly defied me and my orders.”

“That’s exactly what these young cubs have done with me,” interposed the manager quickly.

“My information is quite to the contrary. However, be that as it may, I have decided to make a change.”

“Make a change?”

“Yes.”

“I do not understand.”

“Then I will make it more plain. I’m through with you.”

“You mean you discharge me?”

“You have guessed it.”

The manager smiled a superior sort of smile.

“You forget I have a contract with you. You can’t discharge me until the end of the season.”

“And you forget that I have already done so. Here! You see, I come prepared for your objections. Here is a check for your salary to the end of the season. We are quits. I do not have to do even that, but no one can say that James Sparling doesn’t do business on the square.”

The manager turned a shade paler.

“I—I’m sorry. When—when do you wish me to leave?”

“Now—this minute! I want you to get off this car, and if you don’t get off bag and baggage inside of five minutes, I shall make it my personal business to throw you off,” announced the showman with rising color. He had contained himself as long as he could. The indignities to which his Circus Boys had been subjected, ever since they joined the car, had stirred the showman profoundly.

“It is now a quarter to twelve. At noon sharp, your baggage and yourself will be outside of this car. I am in charge here now.”

The showman leaned back and watched his former car manager hurriedly pack his belongings into a suitcase.

“I’ll get even with you for this,” snarled Snowden as he walked from the car, slamming the door after him.

“And a good riddance!” muttered the showman rising. “This will be a good time for me to look over the books and find out what shape the car is in.”

Mr. Sparling pressed an electric button, and Henry, the porter, responded to the summons.

“Has Mr. Forrest returned yet?”

“No, sir.”

“Is Mr. Conley out there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Send him in.”

Billy entered the stateroom, a broad smile on his face.

“Sit down, Billy. Well, our friend has gone. I suppose you are sorry?”

“On the contrary,” replied Billy promptly, “I am tickled half to death. Now we’ll be able to do some real work! We’ll show you what we can do! By the way, Mr. Sparling, are you intending to carry out the plan you told me about this morning?”

“Yes. You will have a chance next year.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Now, we will go over the books together. I shall have to ask you some questions as we go along. Please first tell the porter to send Phil and Teddy in when they return, but not to tell them who is here.”

Billy went out and gave the showman’s orders to the porter. As it chanced there were none of the other men of the crew on board the car at that time. They knew nothing about the change that was taking place.

Upon Billy’s return he and his chief settled down to a busy few minutes of going over books and reports. The chief found many things that did not please him, and his anger grew apace at some of them.

“I guess I did a good job in getting rid of Snowden. What I should have done was to have got rid of him before I joined him out in the spring.”

“He was a bad one,” agreed Billy. “I can work with most anybody, but I never could work with the likes of him. The boys are all right. He wouldn’t have had any trouble with them if he’d used them like human beings. They both put up with more than I would have stood. But I tell you, that boy, Teddy—Spotted Horse, the boys call him—did hand it out to the Boss. If Snowden had stayed here much longer I’d been willing to lay odds that Teddy would have run him off the car. Did I tell you about how Phil posted the silo?”

“No; what about it?”

Billy began an enthusiastic narration of Phil’s clever piece of work, Mr. Sparling nodding as the story proceeded.

“I am not surprised. He is a natural born showman. You will hear great things from Phil Forrest some of these days, and his friend, Teddy, will not be so far behind, either, when once he gets settled down.”

“I guess they are coming now,” spoke up Conley. “Somebody got on the back platform just now. I’ll go out and see.”

Billy met the Circus Boys coming in.

“You are wanted in the stateroom,” he said.

“More trouble?” laughed Phil.

Billy nodded.

“Maybe, and maybe not, but I reckon the trouble is all over.”

Phil and Teddy started for the stateroom. At the door they halted, scarcely able to believe their eyes. There sat Mr. Sparling, smiling a welcome to them.

“Mr. Sparling!” cried Phil dashing in, with Teddy close at his heels.

“Yes, I wanted to surprise you,” laughed the showman, throwing an arm about each boy.

“I am so glad to see you,” cried Phil, hugging his employer delightedly.

“And it does my heart good to set eyes on you two once more. The Sparling organization has not been quite the same since you left. And, Teddy, we haven’t had any excitement since you left.”

“How’s the donkey?”

“Kicking everything out of sight that comes near him. He has not been in the ring since you left,” laughed the showman.

“I wish I was back there. I don’t like this game for a little bit.”

“You mean you do not like the work?”

“Well, no, not exactly that. The work is all right, but—”

“But what?” persisted Mr. Sparling.

“Never mind, Teddy,” interposed Phil. “No tales, you know.”

“I’m telling no tales. I said I didn’t like it and that’s the truth. May I go back with you, Mr. Sparling?”

“You may if you wish, of course, if you think you want to leave Phil.”

“Is Phil going to stay?”

“Certainly.”

Teddy drew a long sigh.

“Then, I guess I’ll stay, too, but there’s going to be trouble on this car before the season ends, sir.”

“Trouble?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I’m going to thrash a man within an inch of his life one of these fine days.”

“I am astonished, Teddy. Who is the man?”

“Oh, no matter. A certain party on this car,” replied Teddy airily.

“I sincerely hope you will do nothing of the sort, for conditions have changed somewhat on Number Three. Behave yourself, Teddy, and learn all you can. You may be a car manager yourself one of these times, and all this experience will prove useful to you,” advised Mr. Sparling.

“Not the kind of experience I have been having; that won’t be useful to me,” retorted Teddy.

Mr. Sparling and Phil broke out into a hearty laugh, at which Teddy looked very much grieved.

“Have you seen Mr. Snowden?” questioned Phil, glancing keenly at his employer. There was something about the situation that gave the lad a sudden half-formed idea.

“Yes, I have seen him,” answered the showman, his face sobering instantly.

“Where is he?”

“He has gone away. I might as well tell you, boys. Mr. Snowden is no longer manager of this car. He is no longer connected with the Sparling Show in any capacity, nor ever will be again,” announced Mr. Sparling decisively.

The Circus Boys gazed at him, scarcely able to believe what they had heard.

“Not—not on this car any more?” questioned Phil.

“Never again, young man.”

“Hip, hip, hooray!” shouted Teddy Tucker at the top of his voice, hurling his hat up to the roof of the car, and beginning a miniature war dance about the stateroom, until, for the sake of saving the furniture, Phil grabbed his friend, threw him over on the divan and sat down on him.

“Now, Mr. Sparling, having disposed of Teddy, I should like to hear all about it,” laughed Phil.

“He is the same old Teddy. I can imagine what a pleasant time Snowden has had with Tucker on board the same car with him. There is little more to say. I have been disappointed in Snowden for sometime. I had about decided to remove him before you joined the car. I wished, however, to send you boys on, knowing full well that you would soon find out whether there was any mistake in my estimate of the man. Then, too, I had other reasons for sending you in the advance.”

“Well, sir, now that he has gone, I will say I am heartily glad of it, though I am sincerely sorry for Mr. Snowden. He knew the work; I wish I were half as familiar with it as he is; but I wouldn’t have his disposition—no, not for a million dollars.”

“I would,” piped Teddy, whom Phil had permitted to get up. “I’d be willing to be a raging lion for a million dollars.”

“Have you decided what you are going to do with Car Three now?” inquired Phil. “You know I am interested now that I have cast my lot with it.”

“Yes; I certainly have decided. Of course the car will go on just the same.”

“I understand that, but have you made up your mind who you will appoint as the agent—who will be manager of the car?”

“I have.”

“I presume we shall have to get a man before we can go on?”

“Yes.”

“Then we shall have to lie here a day, at least. Well, we can busy ourselves. We are slighting a good many of these bigger towns. They are not half-billed.”

“I am glad to hear you say that. It shows that you are already a good publicity man. But you will not have to lie here any longer than you wish,” added the showman significantly.

“Will you tell me who the new manager is, Mr. Sparling?”

“Yes. You are the manager of Car Three!” was the surprising reply.

CHAPTER XI

Three Cheers and a Tiger

“Man—Manager of Car Three?” stammered Phil.

“Yes.”

Teddy’s eyes grew large.

“That—manager of Car Three?” he said derisively.

Mr. Sparling gave him a stern glance.

“But, Mr. Sparling, I know so little about the work. Of course I am proud and happy to be promoted to so responsible a position, but almost, if not every man on the car, is better equipped for this work than I am.”

“They may be more familiar with some of the details, but as a whole I do not agree with your view. In two weeks’ time you will have grasped the details, and I will wager that there will not be a better agent in the United States.”

The Circus Boy flushed happily.

“You will have to be alive. But I do not need to say that. You always are alive. You will have to fight the railroads constantly, to get your car through on time; you will have to combat innumerable elements that as yet you have not had experience with. However, I have no fear. I know the stuff you are made of. I ought to. I have known you for nearly five years.”

“I will do my best, Mr. Sparling.”

There was no laughter in the eyes of the Circus Boy now.

“Then again, you are going right into territory where you will have the stiffest kind of opposition. At least five shows are booked for our territory almost from now on.”

“Have any of them billed that territory?”

“I think the Wild West Show has. The others are about due there now.”

“It is going to be a hand-to-hand conflict, then?”

“Something of that sort,” smiled the showman. “I shall expect you to beat them all out.”

“You are giving me a big contract.”

“I am well aware of that. We all have to do the impossible in the show business. That is a part of the game, and the man who is not equal to it is not a showman.”

Phil squared his shoulders a little.

“Then I will be a showman,” he said, in a quiet tone.

“That is the talk. That sounds like Phil Forrest. It is usual for shows to have a general agent who has charge of all the advance work, and who directs the cars and the men from some central point. Heretofore I have done all of this myself, but our show is getting so large, and there is so much opposition in the field, that I have been thinking of putting on a general agent next season. However, we will talk that over later.”

“And so you are the car manager, eh,” quizzed Teddy.

“It seems so.”

“Won’t I have a snap now?” chuckled the lad.

“Yes; your work will be done with a snap or back you go to Mr. Sparling, young man,” laughed Phil. “There will be no drones in this hive.”

“What have you been doing?” inquired the owner.

“I’m the dough boy.”

“The dough boy?”

“He has been making paste,” Phil informed him.

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

“I guess we shall have to graduate you from the paste pot and give you a diploma. I cannot afford to pay a man seventy-five dollars a week to mix up flour and water.”

“And steam,” corrected the irrepressible Teddy.

“Should not some press work be done from this car?” asked Phil.

“By all means. It is of vast importance. Hasn’t it been done?”

“No, sir; not since I have been on board. I would suggest that we turn Teddy loose on that; let him call on the newspapers, together with such other work as I may lay out for him. Teddy is a good mixer and he will make friends of the newspaper men easily.”

“A most excellent idea. I leave these matters all in your hands. As to matters of detail, in regard to the outside work, I would suggest that you consult Conley freely. He is a good, honest fellow, and had he a better education he would advance rapidly. I intend to promote him next season. Conley told me, this morning, of your brilliant exploit in billing the silo.”

“Oh, you saw him this morning? Now I understand why he hurried away and came back all smiles. You—you told him I was to be manager?”

“Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“He was as pleased as a child with a new toy. He said you were a winner in the advance game.”

“Will he tell the men?”

“No. That will be left for you to do in your own way.”

Phil nodded reflectively.

“And now let us go into the details. We will first look over the railroad contracts, together with the livery, hotel and other contracts. I am going to leave you five hundred dollars in cash, and each week you will send in your payroll to the treasurer, who will forward the money by express to cover it. The five hundred is for current expenses. Spend money with a lavish hand, where necessary to advance the interests of the show, and pinch every penny like a miser where it is not necessary. That is the way to run a show.”

Phil never forgot the advice.

“And Teddy?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You may, in addition to your other duties, act as a sort of office assistant and secretary to Phil. I shall make only one request of you. Write to me every night, giving a full account of the day’s doings, with any suggestions or questions that Phil may ask you to make, and enclose this with the report sheet. You understand, Phil, that your regular detailed reports go to the car behind you. The one that comes to me is a brief summary.”

“I understand.”

“Have you the route?”

“No, sir.”

“Perhaps it is in the desk. Yes; here it is. Now and then we shall have to make changes in it, of which I shall advise you, in most instances, by telegraph. Wire me every morning as to your whereabouts so I may keep in touch with you.”

“You may depend upon me, sir.”

“I know it.”

For the next half hour Mr. Sparling and Phil were deeply engaged in poring over the books, the contracts and the innumerable details appertaining to the work of an advance car.

“There, I guess we have touched upon most everything. Of course emergencies will arise daily. Were it not for those anyone could run a car. No two days are alike in any department of the circus business. You will meet all emergencies and cope with them nobly. Of that I am confident. And now, Mr. Philip Forrest, I officially turn over to you Advertising Car Number Three of the Sparling Shows. I wish you good luck and no railroad wrecks. Come and have lunch with me; then I’ll be getting back to the show. The rest is up to you.”

“Mr. Sparling,” said Phil with a slight quaver in his voice, “if I succeed it will be because of the training you have given me. I won’t say I thank you, for I do not know whether I do or not. I may make an awful mess of it. In that case I shall suffer a sad fall in your estimation. But it is not my intention to make a mess of it, just the same.”

“You won’t. Come along, Teddy. We will have a meal, and it won’t be at a contract hotel, either,” said the showman, with a twinkle in his eyes.

The three left the car. Several of the men had returned from their lunch, and the word quickly spread through the car that Mr. Sparling was there. Rumors of high words between the showman and Snowden were rife, but none appeared to know anything definite as to what had really occurred.

Conley knew, but he preserved a discreet silence.

“I reckon, if they wanted us to know what was going on they would tell us,” declared Rosie the Pig. “That’s the trouble with these cars. We ain’t human. We ain’t supposed to know anything.”

“Rosie, don’t talk. Someday you might make a mistake and really say something worth listening to,” advised Slivers.

For some reason the men evinced no inclination to leave the car. They hung about, perhaps waiting for something to turn up. Each felt that there was something in the air, nor were they mistaken.

It was nearly three o’clock when Phil and Teddy returned to the car. Mr. Sparling was not with them. The lads went direct to the office, unlocked the door and entered.

The men looked at each other and nodded as if to say, “I told you so,” but none ventured to speak.

After what seemed a long wait Phil stepped from the office, followed by Teddy. They heard the lads coming down the corridor. Phil stopped when he reached the main part of the car. His face was solemn.

“Boys,” he began, “I have some news for you. Mr. Sparling has been here today, as you probably know.”

Some of the men nodded.

“The next piece of news is that Mr. Snowden has closed with the car. He is no longer manager.”

Phil paused, as if to accentuate his words. The men set up a great shout. It was a full minute before they settled down to listen to his further remarks.

“What I am about to say further is the most difficult thing I ever did in my life. I would prefer to turn, or to try to turn, a triple somersault off a springboard. Mr. Sparling has appointed me manager of Car Three. I suppose, instead of Phil Forrest, I shall be referred to as The Boss after this.”

The whole crew sprang to their feet.

“Three cheers for The Boss!” shouted the Missing Link.

“Hip, hip, hooray! Tiger!” howled the crew, while Phil stood blushing like a girl. Teddy was swelling with pride.

“I’m it, too,” he chimed in, tapping his chest significantly.

“Boys,” continued Phil, “I probably know less about the actual work of the advance than any man here. Anyone of you can give me points.”

“No, we can’t,” interrupted several voices at once.

“I am also younger than any of you. I know a great deal about the business back with the show, but not much of what should be done ahead. But I am going to know all about it in a very short time. While I shall be the Boss, I am going to be the friend of every man here. You are not going to be abused. Just so long as you do your work you will be all right. The first man caught shirking his work closes then and there. But I shall have to look to you for my own success. I’ll work with you. I understand that we have strong opposition ahead of us. Let’s you and me take off our coats, tighten our belts, sail in with our feet, our hands and our heads—and beat the enemy to a standstill! Will you do it?”

“We will, you bet!” shouted the crew.

“We will beat them to a frazzle,” added Rosie the Pig.

“That will be about all from you, Rosie,” rebuked the Missing Link.

“This car leaves at eight o’clock this evening. After we get started, come in and I will give you all your assignments for tomorrow. My friend, Teddy, has been promoted to the position of press agent with the car, and a few other things at the same time. Henry, you will attend to the paste-making, beginning tomorrow. This being a billboard town, I am going to skip it and get into the territory where the opposition is stronger. I have arranged with the local billposters to take care of the work here.”

“That is all I have to say just now, boys. When you have anything to ask or to suggest, you know where the office is. Mr. Conley, will you please come to the office now? We have quite a lot to talk over.”

The men gave three rousing cheers.

Phil Forrest had made his debut as a car manager in a most auspicious manner, at the same time winning the loyalty of every man on the car.

CHAPTER XII

Facing an Emergency

“Well, this is what I call pretty soft,” chuckled Teddy Tucker.

Car Three was under motion again, bowling along for the next stand, fifty miles away. The lads were sitting in their cosy office, Teddy lounging back on the divan, Phil in an easy chair at the roll-top desk. The lights shed a soft glow over the room; the bell rope above their heads swayed, tapping its rings with the regularity of the tick of a watch.

“Who sleeps upstairs, you or I?” asked Teddy.

“I will, if you prefer the lower berth.”

“I do. It has springs under it.”

“You will wish it had no springs, one of these nights, when you get bounced out of bed to the floor. Do you know that Pullman cars have no springs?”

“No; is that so?”

“That is the fact.”

“Why?”

“Because, on rough or crooked roads, most of the passengers would be sleeping in the aisle. All hands would be bounced out. You are welcome to the lower berth.”

“Shall we turn in and try them?”

“No; I am going to wait until we get to our destination. I want to see that the car is properly placed, in view of the fact that this is our first night in charge. I want to know how everything is handled by the railroad. You may go to bed if you wish.”

“No; I guess I will sit up. I have a book to read. This is too fine to spoil by going to bed. I could sit up all night looking at the place. Why, this is just like being on a private car, isn’t it?”

“It is a private car.”

There were delays along the route to the next stand, and the car was laid over for more than an hour at a junction point, so that it was well past midnight when they reached their destination.

Phil and Teddy both went outside when the train entered the yards, Tucker hopping off as they swung into the station.

“Where are you going?” called Phil.

“Going to see if I can find anything that looks like food,” answered Teddy, strolling away. “My stomach must have attention. It’s been hours since it had any material to work with. Will you come along?”

“No; I am going to bed as soon as we get placed.”

“Bad habit to go to bed on an empty stomach,” called back the irrepressible Teddy.

The train that had drawn them uncoupled and started away; in a few moments a switching engine backed down, hooked to the show car and tore back and forth through the yards, finally placing the car at the far side of the yard behind a long row of freight cars.

All the men on board were asleep, and now that the car would not be disturbed before morning, Phil entered his stateroom and went to bed.

He had not been asleep long when he felt himself being violently shaken. A hand, an insistent hand, was on his shoulder.

“Phil, wake up! Wake up!”

The boy was out of bed instantly.

“What is it? Oh, that you, Teddy? What did you wake me up for?”

“You’ll be glad I did wake you when you hear what I have to say.”

“Then hurry up and say it. I am so sleepy I can scarcely keep my eyes open. What time is it?”

“Half-past one.”

“Goodness, and we have to get up before five o’clock! What is it you wanted to tell me? Nothing is wrong, I hope.”

“I don’t know. But there is something doing.”

“Well, well, what is it?”

“I think there is another show car in the yards.”

“A show car?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t say!”

“I do say.”

“Who’s car is it?”

“I didn’t wait to look. I saw the engine shift it in.”

“Where is it?”

“Way over the other side of the station, on the last track.”

Phil sprang for his trousers, getting into them in short order, while Teddy looked on inquiringly.

“Anybody would think you were a fireman the way you tear into those pants. What’s your rush?”

“Rush? Teddy Tucker, we have business on hand.”

“Business?”

“Yes, business. It’s mighty lucky for us that your appetite called you out. I shall never go to sleep again without knowing who is in the yard, and where. Come and show me where they are.”

“I’m sorry I told you.”

“And I am mighty thankful. You see, something told me to leave that last town and hurry on.”

“Something tells me to go to bed,” growled Teddy.

“You come along with me, and be quiet. Was the car dark?”

“I guess so.”

The boys hurried from Car Three; that is, Phil did, Teddy lagging behind.

“Over that way,” he directed.

Phil crawled under a freight car to take a short cut, and ran lightly across the railroad yards. The boys passed the station; then, crossing several switches, they beheld a big, yellow car looming up faintly under the lights of the station.

“It is an advertising car,” breathed Phil. “I wonder whose it can be?”

“You can search me,” grumbled Teddy. “Guess I’ll go back to bed now.”

“You wait until I tell you to go back,” commanded Phil. “Keep quiet, now.”

The Circus Boy crept up to the car with great caution. The light was so faint, however, that he was obliged to go close to it before he could read the letters on the side of it. Even then he had to take the letters one by one and follow along until he had read the length of the line.

“Barnum and Bailey’s Greatest Show on Earth,” was what Phil Forrest read, and on the end of the car a big figure “4.”

“Car Four,” he muttered. “Here’s trouble right from the start. I am right in the thick of it from the word go.”

Phil walked back to where Teddy was awaiting him.

“Find out whose car it is?”

“Yes; Barnum & Bailey.”

“Humph! Let’s go back to bed.”

“There will be no bed for us tonight, I fear. Wait; let me think.”

Phil walked over and sat down on a truck on the station platform, where he pondered deeply and rapidly.

“All right; I have it figured out. We have our work cut out for us. You wait here while I run back to the car.”

Teddy curled up on the truck, promptly going to sleep, while Phil hurried to the car to get the address of the liveryman who had the contract for running the country routes for the show.

The lad came running back, and, darting into the station, found a telephone. After some delay he succeeded in reaching the livery stable.

“This is Car Three of the Sparling Shows,” he said. “Yes, Car Three. I want those teams at our car at two o’clock this morning. Not a minute later. Can’t do it? You’ve got to do it! Do you hear what I say? I want those teams there at two o’clock. Very well; see that you do!”

Out to the platform darted Phil in search of Teddy. The latter was snoring industriously.

Phil grabbed him by the collar and slammed him down on the platform.

“Ouch!” howled Teddy.

“Get up, you sleepy-head!”

“I’ll friz you for that!” declared Tucker, squaring off pugnaciously.

“Don’t be silly, Teddy. This is the first emergency we have had to face. Don’t let’s act like a couple of children. We must beat the opposition, and I’m going to beat them out, no matter what the cost or the effort. Listen! I want you to go to the contract livery stable. Here is the address. Go as fast as your legs will carry you.”

“What, at this time of night?”

“Yes.”

“Not I!”

“You go, or you close right here, young man. Come now, Teddy, old chap, remember the responsibility of this car rests on your shoulders almost as much as on mine. Let’s not have any hanging back on your part.”

“I’m not hanging back. What is it you want me to do? I’m ready for anything.”

“That’s the talk. Hustle to the livery stable and camp right on the trail. See that those teams are here at two o’clock, or by a quarter after two, at the latest. Have the men drive up quietly, and you show them the way. Don’t you go to sleep at the stable. Now, foot it!”

Teddy was off at a dogtrot. His pride was aroused.

“I guess we’ll clean ’em up!” he growled as he hurried along.

In the meantime, Phil hastened into the station and ran to the lunch room. It was closed.

“Pshaw!” he muttered.

Phil now turned toward town on a brisk run. After searching about, he found an all-night eating place that looked as if it might be clean.

“Put me up ten breakfasts. I have some men that I want to give an early start. They haven’t time to come here. Wrap up the best breakfasts you can get together. Put in a jug of coffee and a jug of milk. I will call for the food inside of half an hour. Don’t delay a minute longer than that. Hustle it!”

Phil darted out and back to the car. Every nerve in his body was centered on the work in hand. He ran to Conley’s berth and shook him.

“What is it?” mumbled Billy sleepily.

“Get up and come into the stateroom. There is business on hand.”

Billy hopped out of bed, wide awake instantly, and ran to the stateroom.

Phil briefly explained the situation and what he had planned to do. After he had finished Billy eyed him approvingly.

“You’re a wonder,” he said. “What about breakfast?”

“I am having some prepared at a restaurant. But the men will not have time to eat it. They may take it with them and eat it on the road.”

“I’ll rout out the crew,” returned Billy, hurrying back into the car.

There was much grumbling and grunting, but as soon as the men were thoroughly awake they were enthusiastic. Not a man of them but that wanted to see this bright-faced, clean-cut young car manager beat out his adversaries.

By the time the men had washed and dressed the rigs began to arrive. These were quickly loaded with brushes, paste cans and paper, all with scarcely a sound, the men speaking in subdued tones by Phil’s direction.

The darkness before the dawn was over everything.

At last all was in readiness.

Phil handed each man his route.

“Now, boys, it is up to you. I look to you to put the Greatest out of business, for one day at least. You should be out of town and on the first daub inside of thirty minutes. I will go with you and pick up the breakfasts; then you will go it alone. Don’t leave a piece of board as big as a postage stamp uncovered. Wherever you strike a farmer, make him sign a brief agreement not to let anyone cover our paper. Pay him something in addition to the tickets you give him. Here is an agreement that you can copy from. Make your route as quickly as you can and do it well; then hurry back here. I may need you.”

“Hooray!” muttered Rosie the Pig.

“Hold your tongue!” commanded Billy, “Think this is a Fourth of July celebration?”

“Go ahead!”

Phil hopped into one of the wagons, and off they started. It was but the work of a few minutes to load the packages of breakfast into the wagons, after which the men drove quickly away. Phil paid the bill. But he was not yet through with his early morning work. He made his way to the livery stable.

“Send another rig over to the car at once. I want you to bring the day’s work of lithographs and banners here, and my men will work them out from your stables. I do not want the opposition car to know what we are doing until it is nearly all done.”

“Whew, but you’re a whirlwind!” grinned the livery stable man.

The horse and wagon were made ready at once, Phil riding back to the car with it. The banner-men and lithographers who were to work in town had not been awakened. Phil wished them to get all the sleep possible; so, with Teddy’s help, he loaded the paper on the wagon and sent the driver away with it. Then he awakened the rest of the men.

Phil briefly explained what had happened.

“Now, I want all hands to turn out at once. Go to the restaurant on the third street above here and get your breakfasts. Here is the money. By daylight some of the business places will begin to open. I want every man of you to spend the forenoon squaring every place in town. Make an agreement that no other show is to be allowed to place a bill in their windows. While you are eating your breakfasts I will lay out the streets and assign you. I have the principal part of the town in my mind, now, so I can give you the most of your routes. Teddy, you will turn in and help square. I will collect the addresses of the places you have squared, early in the morning, and by that time I shall have a squad of town fellows hired, to place the stuff. Now, get going!”

All hands hurried into their clothes; after locking the car, Phil led them to the restaurant. But the Circus Boy did not take the time to eat. Instead he busied himself laying out the routes for the town men to work.

By the time that they had finished their breakfast faint streaks of dawn were appearing in the east.

“Now, boys, do your prettiest!” urged Phil.

“We will; don’t you worry, Boss.”

The men hurried off, full of enthusiasm for the work before them, while Phil started out to round up a squad of men to distribute the lithographs after his own men had squared the places to put them.

In an hour he had all the men he wanted. This done, Phil took his way slowly back to the railroad yards and stepped up to the platform of his own car. The freight cars had been removed from in front of him and the rival car stood out gaudily in the morning light. All was quiet in the camp of the rival. Not a man of its crew was awake.

“I hope they sleep all day,” muttered Phil, entering his own car and pulling all the shades down, after which he took his position at a window and watched from behind a shade.

CHAPTER XIII

A Baffled Car Manager

It was nearly seven in the morning when Phil’s vigil was rewarded by the sight of a man in his pajamas, emerging from the rival car. The man stood on the rear platform and stretched himself. All at once he caught sight of Car Three.

The fellow instantly became very wide awake. Opening the car door he called to someone within; then three or four men came out and stared at the Sparling car.

“They are pretty good sleepers over there, I guess,” grinned the rival car manager, for such he proved to be.

The men dodged back, and there was a lively scene in the rival car. The men realized that they had been remiss in their duty in sleeping so late, but still they had not the least doubt of their ability to outwit their rivals, for the crew of Car Four was a picked lot who had never yet been beaten in the publicity game.

About this time Phil Forrest strolled out to the rear platform of his car. He was fully dressed save for coat and vest and hat, yet to all appearances he, too, had just risen.

The manager of the rival car came out and hailed him.

“Hello, young fellow!” he called.

“Good morning,” answered Phil sweetly.

“Seems to me you sleep late over there.”

“So do you,” laughed Phil. “There must be something in the air up this way to induce sleep.”

“I guess that’s right. Who are you?” inquired the rival manager.

“I am one of the crowd.”

“You’re the programmer, perhaps?”

“I may be most anything.”

The manager of the rival car strolled toward Car Three, whereupon Phil started, meeting him half-way. For reasons of his own he did not wish his rival to get too close to the Sparling car.

“I never saw you before,” said the rival, eyeing Phil keenly.

“Nor I you.”

“What’s your name?”

“Philip.”

“Glad to know you, Philip. How long have you been with the car?”

“A few weeks only.”

“Who’s your car manager?”

“A fellow named Forrest.”

“Never heard of him. Is he in bed!”

“No; he is out.”

“Humph! What time do you start your men on the country routes?”

“Usually about seven to seven-thirty.”

“Well, you won’t start them this morning at that time.”

“No; I think not.”

“I’ll tell you what you do; you come and take breakfast with me. We won’t go to any contract hotel, either.”

“Thank you; I shall be delighted. Wait till I get my clothes on.”

Phil hastened back to his own car.

“That fellow is playing a sharp trick. He is trying to get me away so he can get his men out ahead of mine. I will walk into his trap. He knows I am the manager. I could see that by the way he acted.”

Phil stepped out and joined his rival.

“I believe you said you were the manager of that car, did you not?” asked the rival.

“I am, though I do not recollect having said so.”

“A kid like you manager of a car? I don’t know what the show business is coming to, with all due respect to you, young man.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” answered the Circus Boy with a frank, innocent smile. “I am just learning the business, you know.”

“I thought so,” nodded the rival. “My name’s Tripp—Bob Tripp.”

“You been in the business long?”

“Fifteen years, my boy. After you have been in it as long as I have, you will know every crook and turn, every trick in the whole show business,” said the fellow proudly. “You are a bright-faced young chap. I should like to have you on my car. Don’t want a job, do you?”

“No, thank you. I am very well satisfied where I am. I can learn on a Sparling car as well as anywhere else, you know.”

“Yes, of course.”

The couple stopped at the leading hotel of the town, where the rival manager ordered a fine breakfast. Phil Forrest was quite ready for it. He already had done a heavy day’s work and he was genuinely hungry.

“Guess they don’t feed you very well with your outfit,” smiled Tripp.

“Contract hotels, you know,” laughed Phil. “I do not get a chance at a meal like this every day.”

“Do the way I do.”

“How is that?”

“Feed at the good places and charge it up in your expense account.”

“Oh, I couldn’t do that. It would not be right.”

“That shows you are new in the business. Get all you can and keep all you get. That’s my way of doing things. I was just like you when I began.”

They tarried unusually long over the meal, Tripp seeming to be in no hurry. Phil was sure that he was in no hurry, either. And he knew why there was no need for hurry. Bob, in the meantime, was relating to the show boy his exploits as a manager. In fact he was giving Phil more information about the work of his own car than he realized at the time.

Now and then the Circus Boy would slip in an innocent question, which Bob would answer promptly. By the time the meal was finished Phil had a pretty clear idea of the workings of his rival’s advance business, as well as their plans for the future, so far as Tripp knew them.

“By the way, how did you happen to get a berth like this, young man?” questioned Tripp. “I thought a fellow by the name of Snowden was running Car Three for old man Sparling.”

“He was.”

“Closed?”

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“I would rather not talk about that. You will have to ask headquarters, or Snowden himself. You see, it is not my business, and I make it a rule never to discuss another fellow’s affairs in public.”

“Nor your own, eh?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I have talked a good deal this morning. But you and I had better get back to our cars and get our men started, had we not? This is a late morning all around.”

“No hurry, no hurry,” urged Bob. “Why the men haven’t got back from their breakfast yet. Wait awhile. Have a smoke.”

“Thank you; I do not smoke.”

Tripp looked at him in amazement.

“And you in the show business?”

“Is that any reason why a man’s habits should not be regular?”

“N-n-n-o,” admitted the rival slowly.

“Well, I must be going, just the same. I have considerable work to do in the car.”

Bob rose reluctantly and followed Phil from the dining room. He had hoped to detain the young car manager longer, or until his own men could get a good start on the work of the day.

He looked for no difficulty, however, in outwitting his young opponent.

As they approached the railroad yards each car stood as they had left it, shades pulled well down and no signs of life aboard.

“Looks as if your crew was still asleep,” smiled Tripp.

“I might say the same of yours, did I not know to the contrary,” answered Phil suggestively.

Bob shot a keen glance at him.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing much. Of course I did not think your men would be asleep all this time. They are surely out to breakfast by this time.”

“You ain’t half as big a fool as you look, are you?” demanded the rival manager. “Well, I will see you later.”

Each went to his little office and began the work of the day, but there was a grim smile of satisfaction on the face of each.

Fully an hour passed, and one of the lithographers from the rival car went aboard with the information that they were unable to get a piece of paper in any window in town thus far.

“Why not?” demanded Tripp.

“They say their windows are already contracted for,” was the answer.

“Contracted for?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

“I don’t know. That’s all the information we can get.”

“Seen any other showmen about town this morning?”

“No; not any that I know, nor any with paper and brush under his arm.”

“H-m-m-m,” mused the showman. “That’s queer. It can’t be that the young man across the way has got the start of us. No; that is not possible. He is too green for that. Have his men gone out on the country routes yet, or are they still asleep?”

“I don’t know. Nobody has seen a living soul around that car this morning, so far as I know.”

“I’ll go over town and do a little squaring on my own hook. I’ll soon find out who has been heading us off, if anyone has.”

The manager hurried off with his assistant, but even he was unable to get any information.

He was baffled and perplexed. He did not understand it. Tactics entirely new had been sprung on him. He was an expert in the old methods of the game, but these were different.

In the meantime, Phil Forrest, the young advance agent, sat calmly in his stateroom, now and then receiving a report from Teddy Tucker who sauntered in under cover of a string of freight cars on the opposite side, then slipped out again.

Teddy was Phil’s blockade runner this day.

At noon the party on the rival car all adjourned for luncheon, and there they were joined by their manager, who discussed the queer situation with them. This was the time for Phil Forrest.

“Now for the surprise,” he said, hurriedly going uptown, where he got his own lithographers together, and the crew that he had hired in town. Every man had been pledged to silence, as had the livery stable man and his helpers.

“Now, shoot the stuff out! Get every window full before those fellows are through their dinner. A five-dollar bill for the man who covers his route first. The banner locations we cannot fill so quickly, but they are all secured, so our friend can’t take them away from us. Now get busy!”

They did. The men of Car Three forgot that they were hungry. Never before had the lithographers and banner men worked as they did that day. With the extra help that Phil had put on he was able to cover the ground with wonderful quickness.

When the men of the rival crew emerged from the contract hotel, and sat down in front to digest the contract meal, they suddenly opened their eyes in amazement.

In every window within sight of them there hung a gaudy Sparling circus bill, some windows being plastered full of them.

They called the manager hastily.

“Look!” said his assistant.

“What! We’re tricked! But they haven’t got far with their work. They haven’t had time. Don’t you see, the lazy fellows have just got to work. After them, men! Beat them out! You’ve got to out bill this town!”

As the men hurried out into the other streets the same unpleasant sight met their eyes. Every available window bore a Sparling bill; every wall obtainable had a Sparling banner tacked to it. One could not look in any direction without his gaze resting on a Sparling advertisement.

Bob Tripp was mad all through.

He had been outwitted.

In his anger he started for Car Three. Reaching it he discovered the young advance agent on the shady side of Car Three, lounging in a rocking chair reading a book.

Phil’s idea of dramatic situations was an excellent one.

“What do you mean, playing such a trick on me?” demanded the irate rival.

The Circus Boy looked up with an innocent expression on his face.

“Why, Mr. Tripp, what is it?”

“Is that the way you repay my hospitality?” he shouted.

“Please explain.”

Phil’s tone was mild and soothing.

“You have grabbed every hit in this town. It’s unprofessional. It’s a crooked piece of business. I’ll get even with you for that.”

“Why, Mr. Tripp, how can that be, I am green; I am only a beginner, you know,” answered the Circus Boy, with his most winning smile.

Bop Tripp gazed at him a moment, then with an angry exclamation turned on his heel and strode back to his own car.

Half an hour later Phil Forrest’s men drove in from their country routes. They had covered them quickly, having got such an early start.

Phil heard their reports. They had left nothing undone. Phil then hurried over town to pay the bills he had contracted, first leaving word that not a man was to leave the car until his return.

He was back in a short time.

“We go out at two o’clock, boys,” he announced upon his return. “I am leaving the banner men here. They will take a late train out tonight, and join us in the morning.”

An express train came thundering in, and before Bob Tripp knew what was in the wind it had coupled on to Car Three. A few moments later Phil Forrest and his crew were bowling away for the next stand. His rivals would not be able to get another train out until very late that night.

Late in the afternoon Bob Tripp’s country crew returned, tired, disgusted and glum.

“Well, what is it?” demanded the now thoroughly irritated manager.

“Not a dozen sheets of paper put up by the whole crew,” was the startling announcement. “That Sparling outfit has plastered every spot as big as your hand for forty miles around here.”

“What! Why didn’t you cover them?” shrieked the manager.

“Cover them—nothing! They had every location cinched and nailed down. Every farmer stood over the other fellow’s paper with a shot gun.”

“Sold! And by a kid at that!” groaned Bob Tripp settling down despairingly into his office chair.

CHAPTER XIV

Teddy Writes a Letter

“I’m only a beginner,” mused Phil Forrest, as his car spun along at a sixty-mile gait. “And I’m green, and I have a whole lot to learn, but if Bob Tripp catches up with Car Three, now, he will have to travel some!”

The next town was made quite early in the afternoon. Phil, however, did not settle down to wait for another day. He had wired the liveryman in the next town to meet his car, so, immediately upon arrival, he bundled his billposters off on the country routes.

“Work as far as you can before dark, then find places to sleep at a farmhouse. Do the best you can. We must be out of these yards before noon tomorrow, and as much earlier as possible. If you can post by moonlight do it, even if you have to wake the farmers up along the line to get permission.”

The men were well-nigh exhausted, but they rose manfully to the occasion. They realized that there was a master hand over them, even if it were the hand of a boy inexperienced in their line of work.

No manager had ever reeled off work at such a dizzy pace as Phil Forrest was doing. It challenged their admiration and made them forget their weariness.

The country routes started, Phil set his lithographers at work. The men kept at it until nearly midnight. They had completed their work in the town and in the meantime Phil and Teddy had squared the hits, as they are called—the places where the banners were to be tacked up—all ready for the banner men to get to work when they arrived in town next morning, or late that night.

They arrived about midnight, but the other car did not come on the train with them. They brought the information that the train was a limited one, and would not carry the rival car. Bob Tripp would not be able to get through until sometime the next forenoon.

Phil felt like throwing up his hat and shouting with delight, but his dignity as a car manager would not permit him to do so. No such limitations were imposed upon Teddy Tucker, however, and Teddy whooped it up for all that was in him.

All hands were weary when they turned in that night. At about eleven o’clock the following morning, the country billposters came in, having completed their routes. Phil had made his arrangements to have his car hauled over the road by a special engine, and shortly after noon Car Three was again on its way, every man on board rejoicing over the drubbing they had given their rival.

Phil Forrest was a hero in their eyes. Not a man of that crew, now, but who would go through fire for him, if need be!

That afternoon the same plan was followed, Phil driving his men out to their work.

“I am sorry, boys,” he said. “I don’t like to drive you like this, but we’ve simply got to shake off Tripp and his crew. In a day or so we will be straightened around again so we can settle down to our regular routine, unless, perhaps, we run into more trouble. You have all done nobly. If it hadn’t been for you I should have been whipped to a standstill by that other outfit.”

“Not you,” growled the Missing Link. “They don’t grow the kind that can whip the likes of you,” in which sentiment the entire crew concurred.

No more was seen of Bob Tripp and his men on that run. Tripp heard from his general agent, however, with a call-down that made his head ache. The general agent kept the telegraph wires hot for twenty-four hours, and in the end, sent another car ahead of Tripp into the territory that Phil Forrest and his men were working.

Phil, of course, was not aware of this at the time, but he found it out before long.

His car had slipped over into Kansas, by this time, and the crew were now working their way over the prairies.

“It seems to me that it is time you were attending to your press work, Teddy Tucker,” said Phil on the following day. “You have not called at a newspaper office since we started under the new arrangement.”

“Nope,” admitted Teddy.

“Why not?”

“Why, do you think?”

“I am sure I do not know.”

“Well, you ought to, seeing you have been keeping me running my legs off twenty-four and a half hours out of every day.”

“You have been pretty busy, that is a fact. But you had better start in today. You have plenty of time this afternoon to attend to that work.”

“What shall I tell them?”

“Oh, tell them a funny story. Make them laugh, and they will do the rest.”

“But I don’t know any funny stories.”

“Tell them the story of your life as a circus boy. That will be funny enough to make a hyena laugh.”

“Ho, ho!” exploded Teddy. “It is a joke. He who laughs first laughs last.”

“You mean ‘he who laughs last laughs best,’ ” corrected Phil, smiling broadly.

“Well, maybe. Something of the sort,” grinned the Circus Boy.

“And look here, Teddy!”

“Yes?”

“Have you written to Mr. Sparling yet, as he requested you to do?”

“No.”

“And why not?”

“Same reason.”

“You must write to him every day, no matter how busy you are. Sit up a little later every night; go without a meal if necessary, but follow his directions implicitly.”

“Implicitly,” mocked Teddy.

However, Mr. Sparling was not without news of what had been going on on Car Three. Billy Conley had written fully of Phil Forrest’s brilliant exploits. After one of these letters, Mr. Sparling wrote Conley, as follows:

“Those boys will never tell me when they do anything worthwhile. It isn’t like Phil to talk about his own achievements. So you write me anything of this sort you think I would like to know. I do not mean you are to act as a spy, or anything of the sort. Just write me the things you think they will not write about.”

Bill understood and faithfully followed out his employer’s directions. Mr. Sparling proudly showed Conley’s letters to all of his associates back with the show, where there was much rejoicing, for everyone liked Phil; not only liked but held him in sincere admiration for his many good qualities.

That evening, however, Teddy sat down at the typewriter and laboriously hammered out a letter to his employer.

“Hang the thing!” he growled. “I wish I had only one finger.”

“Why? That’s a funny wish,” laughed Phil. “Why do you wish that?”

“Because all the rest of them get in the way when I try to run a typewriter.”

“I am afraid you never would make a piano player, Teddy.”

“I don’t want to be one. I would rather ride the educated donkey. It’s better exercise.” Teddy then proceeded with his letter. This is what he wrote:

“Dear Mr. Sparling:”

“Nothing has happened since you were here.”

One of the lithographers had a fit in the dining room of the contract hotel this morning (I don’t blame him, do you?) and they hauled him out by the feet. We run amuck with another advance car, the other day, but nobody got into a fight. I thought rival cars always—excuse the typewriter, it doesn’t know any better—got into a fight when they met.

“One of the billposters fell off a barn—it was a hay barn, I think. I am not sure. I’ll ask Phil before I finish this letter. Let me see, what happened to him? Oh, yes, I remember. He broke his arm off and we left him in a hospital back at Aberdeen. Phil let one of the banner men go this morning. The fellow had false teeth and couldn’t hold tacks in his mouth. I tell him it would be a good plan to examine the teeth of all these banner men fellows before he joins them out, just the same as you would when you’re buying a horse. Don’t you think so?”

“By the way, I almost forgot to tell you. We ran over a switchman in the night last night. I don’t think it hurt the car any.”

“Well, good-bye. I’ll write again when there is some news. How’s January? Wish I was back, riding him in the ring. Expect I’ll have an awful time with him when I start in again. Don’t feed him any oats, and keep him off the fresh grass. I don’t want him to get a fat stomach, because I can’t get my legs under him to hold on when he bucks.”

“Well, good-bye again. Love to all the boys.”

“Your friend,”

“Teddy Tucker.”

“P. S. Did I tell you we killed the switchman? Well, we did. He’s dead. He’s switched off for keeps.”

“T. T.”

“P. S. Yes, Phil says it was a hay barn that the billposter fell off from. Wouldn’t it be a good plan to furnish those fellows with nets? Billposters are scarce and we can’t afford to lose any good ones.”

“T. T.”

CHAPTER XV

In an Exciting Race

“More trouble,” announced Teddy, one morning a few days later, when the boys awoke in Lawrence, Kansas.

“What’s the trouble now, Old Calamity?” demanded Phil, who was washing his face and hands.

Contrary to his usual practice, he had not looked from his stateroom window immediately upon getting up. Teddy had, however. His eyes grew a little larger as he did so, but otherwise the sight that met them did not disturb his equanimity in the least.

“The usual.”

“What do you mean? Have we run over another man?”

“Worse than that.”

“You are getting to be a regular calamity howler.”

“I’m a showman, I am. I keep my eyes open and I know what’s going on about me. That’s more than you can say for some people not more than a million miles away.”

“All right; I will take that for granted. But tell me what it is that is disturbing you so early in the morning?” questioned Phil with a short laugh.

“We’re all surrounded,” answered Teddy grimly.

“Surrounded?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t understand.”

“You will, pretty soon.”

“Surrounded by what?”

“Opposition.”

“What!”

“What’s the matter, can’t you hear this morning?”

“I hear very well, but I don’t understand what you mean when you say we are surrounded by opposition. It strikes me we have been surrounded by nothing else since we took charge of Car Three.”

Teddy nodded.

“Yep, that’s right. But this is different. On our left, if you will observe closely, you will notice the canary yellow of Car Three of the so-called Greatest Show on Earth. On your right, if you still keep your eyes open and look hard, you will discover the flaming red of the Wallace advance car. And—”

“What!”

“And, as I was saying, if that fails to make an impression on you, a glance to the rear will discover to your feeble eyesight, one John Robinson’s publicity car.”

Having delivered himself of this monologue, Teddy calmly sat down and began to draw on his trousers, yawning broadly as he did so.

“Methinks, milord, that trouble is brewing in bucketfuls,” he added.

Phil sprang to the car window, threw up the shade and peered out. He stepped to the other side of the car, looking from the window there.

“You’re right.”

“Of course I am right. I’m always right. How does it happen you did not discover all this after we got in last night!”

“They were not here then. They must have come in afterwards.”

Dashing out into the main part of the car Phil called the men.

“Wake up, fellows!”

“What’s up,” called a voice.

“The yards are full of opposition. Three advertising cars are here besides our own.”

No other urging was necessary to get the crew out of bed. They came tumbling from their upper berths like as many firemen upon a sudden alarm. All hands ran to the windows and peered out.

“Sure enough, they are all here,” shouted Conley. “I reckon they have caught us napping this time.”

“No; they are not awake yet. I hope they sleep as well as Bob Tripp’s crew did,” answered Phil. “But we have a big job before us today. You had better hustle through your breakfasts, boys. I will call up the livery and get the country routes off at once. Perhaps we can get ahead of the other fellows.”

Phil did so, but as his teams drove up another set swung over the tracks, pulling up before the canary car.

“Hustle it! Hustle it!” cried Phil. “You drivers, if you get out ahead of the others and keep ahead, you’ll get a bonus when you come in tonight.”

Each side was now striving to get away first. The crew from the canary car made the getaway ahead of Phil’s men, but they had less than a minute’s headway.

The Circus Boys had their coats off and were hustling cans of paste over the side of the car into the wagons. Every move on their part counted. There was not a particle of lost motion.

Phil sprang into the first wagon to leave.

“Come on, fellows! Never mind the horses. I can buy more, if these break their necks.”

With a rattle and a bang both rigs smashed over the tracks, and were on their way down the village street, each team on a runaway gallop. Phil’s team was gaining gradually.

“Hang on to the cans!” shouted the Circus Boy. “We are coming to a bad crosswalk!”

People paused on the street, not understanding what the mad pace meant. A policeman ran out and raised his stick. Teddy, who had hopped on behind at the last minute, not wishing to lose any of the fun, now stood up unsteadily, hanging to the driver’s coat collar and nearly pulling that worthy from his seat.

They overhauled the first wagon from the canary car and passed it.

“Ye—ow!” howled Teddy as their wagon swept by. “This is a Wild West outfit!”

The paste cans in the two wagons were dancing a jig by this time. Teddy suddenly lost his grip on the driver’s collar, sitting down heavily on the nearest can. At that moment they struck the rough crossing, whereat Teddy shot up into the air, landing in a heap by the side of the road.

“Whoa!” commanded Phil, at the same time jumping on the can to keep it from following in the wake of Teddy.

“Go on!” howled Teddy, partially righting himself.

The driver urged his horses on and the team sprang away with loud snorts. But the rival wagon had taken a fresh start, and was drawing up on the Sparling outfit, the rear team, with lowered heads, appearing to be running away.

These horses struck the crosswalk with a mighty crash. The rear wheels slewed. The big can of paste was catapulted over a fence, narrowly missing Teddy Tucker’s head as it shot over him. He flattened himself on the ground, but was up like a flash, sprinting out of harm’s way.

There was reason for his last action. Other things were coming his way. As the wheels of the rival wagon slewed, they struck a gutter.

The wagon turned turtle, and men, paste brushes, paper and all were scattered all over the place.

“Oh, that’s too bad!” muttered Phil. “But we can do nothing for them if we stop. There are plenty back there to lend assistance.”

His tender heart told him to go back, whether he could be of service to his rival or not, but his duty lay plain before him. He must outdistance the enemy.

A second team came plunging down the road from the canary car, close behind the unfortunate wagon. These horses, too, were instantly mixed in the wreck. The wagon did not turn turtle as the one before it had done, but one of the horses went down.

Now came other wagons of the Sparling outfit. They were running two abreast in the road. But the drivers saw the obstruction in time, slowed down and dodged it. They were off at a tremendous speed, and a few moments later branched off on different roads, quickly disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Phil’s wagon crew discovered a farm barn just ahead of them. They drove up to it on a run. All hands piled out. And how they did work! In a few moments the old barn was a blaze of color.

“First blood for the Sparling Combined Shows!” shouted the boy. “Now hit the trail for all you are worth!”

They were off again. A cloud of dust to their rear told them that one of their rival’s wagons was after them. At the next stop the pursuing wagon rolled by them, the men yelling derisively.

“It is the Wallace Show’s crowd!” shouted Phil. “Get after them.”

The Wallace people went on half a mile further. As Phil drew up on them he shouted to his driver to go on to the next stop. When they made it finally, they were passed by the crew from the canary advance car.

It was give and take. Such billing never had been seen along the Kansas highway before. But, up to the present moment, the Sparling crew had much the best of it.

“This won’t do, boys; I have got to get back. I have no business here. Keep this right up. Don’t lag for an instant. Is there a town near here?”

The driver informed Phil that there was one about a mile ahead of them.

Phil rode on until he reached it. Here he jumped out, taking a bundle of paper with him, ordering his men to drive on. With him he carried a bucket of paste and a brush.

Phil went to work like a seasoned billposter, plastering every old stable and tight board fence in the village. By the time the rival crews drove in there was little space left for them, and such spots as were left were all on back or side streets.

“I guess they will know we have been here,” decided Phil. “Now I must find a way to get back to the car.”

Inquiring at the post office he learned where he might be able to hire a rig.

Losing not a minute the boy hunted up the man who owned the horse, and, by offering to pay him about twice what the service was worth, got the fellow to take him back.

The journey back to town was executed in almost as good time as that which Phil had made in driving out. The rig rattled into town at a gallop, and Phil was landed on his car again, safe and sound after his exciting rides.

“Did you beat them,” cried Teddy, as Phil drove up.

“We did and we didn’t. But we have got the start of them on the billing. Were any of the other men hurt?”

“One of the canary bird crowd got a broken arm. The others were pretty well bruised up, but they are still in the ring.”

“What is doing in the town?”

“I sent our men out to square the locations. Told them not to put up any paper, but to hustle the squaring.”

“Good for you, Teddy! You are a winner. Where did you learn that trick?”

“Oh, it’s a little trick I picked up the other day. I’m a professional publicity man, you know.”

“Are our opposition friends doing the same thing?”

“I think not. I got the start of them by fully an hour. Worked the same game on them that we did on Tripp the other day. You remember?”

Phil nodded. Indeed, he did remember.

“The men were so excited over the race that they couldn’t spend time to attend to business. I got a pretty good bump, but I thought it was a good time to get back in the town and hustle our fellows, seeing that you had hit the long trail. I didn’t expect you back before the middle of next week, the rate you were going.”

Phil laughed good-naturedly.

“You remain here and watch the car, Teddy. I am going to run over town. Had your breakfast?”

“Say, I forgot all about that. I haven’t had a thing.”

“Your appetite will keep. I must look around a little. Something may be going on that needs attention from our side.”

Phil had reason, a few minutes later, to be thankful that his instinct had prompted him to hurry over town.

CHAPTER XVI

A Battle of Wits

“The Robinson people, at least, have got to work,” muttered the Circus Boy as he made his way downtown. Here and there, at rare intervals, he came across a window bill of the show mentioned.

There were blocks of windows, however, with no billing in them. Phil interpreted this to mean that his own men had secured the requisite permission to place their own bills there.

He smiled as he thought of the little trick. It was an idea of his own to square locations ahead of the lithographers. Ordinarily, the lithographer made his rounds with a bundle of bills on his arm. Entering a store he would say, “May I place this bill in your window?” Phil had adopted the plan of sending the men around first. After they had obtained the signed permission they would go back over the same ground and place the bills. This took a little more time, but it had the merit of fooling his rivals and getting many more places squared than could have been done in the old way.

Suddenly a great wall loomed ahead of him.

Phil paused and surveyed it critically.

“Wouldn’t I like to fasten Sparling banners all over that place, though. What a hit that would be. Why,” he added looking about him, “it could be seen pretty much all over town.”

Phil started on, intending to find out who owned the building. As he did so he saw a man from the canary-colored car entering the building. The man was going into a store on the ground floor.

“I’ll bet he is after that very wall. Oh, pshaw! Why didn’t I stay in town and attend to my business, as I should have done, instead of racing over the country at that mad pace? I’m going over to see what he is up to.”

The Circus Boy hurried along. Entering the store he saw the man from the rival car, who proved to be the manager of it, engaged in earnest conversation with a man whom Phil supposed to be the proprietor.

After a little the manager of the other car hurried out. Phil stepped forward.

“Are you the proprietor?” he asked politely.

“Yes; what can I do for you?”

“Do you own this building?”

“No, but I am the agent for it.”

“Very good. You are the man I want to talk with. I am from the Sparling Shows. I should like the privilege of fastening some banners on that south wall there.”

“You’re too late, young man. I just gave the other man permission to do that.”

“Did he pay you?” asked Phil sweetly.

“No.”

“Did you sign a contract with him?”

“No.”

“May I ask how much he is to give you for the privilege?”

“Twenty-five dollars.”

“He ought to be ashamed to offer you such a mean figure as that for such a privilege.”

The proprietor grew interested.

“Where has he gone?”

“Said he had to talk with someone back with the show by long distance telephone before he could close the bargain.”

Phil glanced apprehensively at the door.

“I guess you had better sell the privilege to me while you have the chance. He may not come back, you know; then you will be out all around.”

“I couldn’t think of it. I gave him the privilege of buying the wall.”

“Money talks, doesn’t it, sir?”

“It does, young man. It always makes such a loud noise around me that I can’t hear much of anything else.”

Phil grinned.

“Yes; it’s pretty noisy stuff.”

The lad calmly drew a big roll of bills from his pocket, placing it on the counter before the storekeeper. To the pile he added his watch, a jackknife, a bunch of keys and a silver matchbox.

“Help yourself,” he begged calmly.

“Wha—what?” gasped the storekeeper.

“I said help yourself. I want that wall. I leave it to you to say what is a reasonable price for it—a price fair to you and to me. You admit that money talks. This money is addressing its remarks to you direct, at this very moment.”

The proprietor hesitated, glanced at the money and other articles that Phil had arrayed so temptingly before him, and turned reflectively facing the rear of the store.

“I will scribble off a little contract,” said Phil softly. “How much shall we make the consideration?”

“What’ll you give?”

“I’ve got him!” was Phil Forrest’s triumphant thought, but he allowed none of his triumphant feeling to appear in his face.

“Well, were I making the offer I should say the wall was worth about forty dollars, no other bills to appear on it until after my show has left town. But I told you to help yourself. I’ll stick to my word.”

“Count me out forty dollars and take it. I like your style. Your way of doing business makes a hit with me.”

Phil inserted the agreed-upon price in the contract.

“Just sign your name there, please,” he said, still in that soft, persuasive voice.

The storekeeper read the brief contract through, nodded approvingly, then affixed his signature with the fountain pen that Phil had handed to him.

This done, the lad counted out forty dollars, stowed the rest away in his pockets, together with his other belongings, then extended his hand cordially to the proprietor.

“Thank you very much,” murmured Phil, his face all aglow now.

“You’re welcome. When do you put up your bills?”

“At once. We leave town tonight, and we have a lot of work to do first.”

“Let’s see; were you one of the fellows mixed up in that race this morning?”

Phil blushed.

“I am afraid I was very much mixed up in it. Well, good afternoon.”

The lad turned and started for the door. At that moment someone entered. It was the manager of the canary car.

“It’s all right. I’ll take the location,” he announced, smiling broadly, as he walked rapidly to where the proprietor was standing, laying two tens and a five-dollar bill on the counter.

“I—I’m sorry,” stammered the storekeeper, flushing. “I have just sold it to another party.”

“Sold it!”

The manager’s face went several shades paler.

“Yes.”

“To—to whom?”

“To that young gentleman there.”

The manager whirled and faced Phil.

“Who—who are you?”

“My name is Forrest,” answered Phil, smiling easily. He could well afford to smile.

“And you—you have bought this location?”

“I have.”

“Whom do you represent?”

“The Sparling Combined Shows.”

The Circus Boy’s rival flushed angrily.

“I demand that the location be turned over to me instantly! It belongs to me, and I’ll have it if I have to fight for it. Here’s my money, Mr. Storekeeper. I command you to make out a paper giving me the right to bill that wall.”

“I do not think he will do anything of the sort, my dear sir,” spoke up Phil. “I have bought and paid for the location and I propose to hold it. You had no more right to it than any other man. You did not have the nerve to put down your money for it when you had the chance, and you lost your opportunity. You will see the wall covered with Sparling banners in a very short time.”

“I will not!”

“Be on your way, my man. Let me tell you the Sparling banners are going up.”

“There’s my money!” shouted the manager of the canary colored car. “The wall is mine!”

He dashed out of the store and started for his car on the run.

“If you let those other showmen banner the wall I’ll have the law on you!” announced Phil sternly. Then the Circus Boy ran out of the store, starting off at a lively sprint for his own car. He caught up with the rival manager in a moment, passed him and bounded on. His rival already was puffing and perspiring under the unusual effort.

“Turn out every man in town!” he called, dashing into the car. “Teddy, run to the main street and send everyone of our banner men and lithographers to the Ward Building. You and Henry carry over there at once all the banners you can scrape together. Do not lose a minute. But wait! I’ll telephone the liveryman for a wagon to carry the paper, brushes and paste pots over. You remain here, Henry, and go with the wagon. Teddy, you hustle for the men. Run as if the Rhino from the Sparling menagerie were charging you!”

Teddy leaped from the car platform and was off, with Phil sprinting after him in long strides.

They passed the manager of the canary colored car just as they were running across the switches in the railroad yard. He was only then getting to his car.

CHAPTER XVII

The Charge of the Paste Brigade

Phil’s plans were formed instantly.

He ran to a place where he had seen a painter’s sign earlier in the day. Reaching there he ordered the painter to send out to the Ward Building a gang of painters with their swinging platform, tackle and full equipment, telling the man briefly what was wanted of him after the apparatus reached the building in question.

“Now hurry it, and I’ll double the price you ask if you get there and do the work I am asking of you.”

The painter needed no further inducement. Once again money made its announcement in unmistakable tones.

Phil again started off on a run. Reaching the Ward Building he found his banner men and lithographers gathering. A few moments after his arrival the livery wagon with the paste, brushes and paper, came dashing up with Henry, the porter, standing guard over it. Teddy had thoughtfully turned out all the available men in the livery stable and came charging down the street, driving them before him, howling at every jump. That is, Teddy was howling; as he did whenever the occasion presented itself.

By this time quite a crowd had been attracted to the scene, not understanding what all the excitement was about. None of the rival posters had appeared as yet. Phil had got a very good start.

Telling off three of his banner men he sent them to the roof, while the painter was preparing to swing his scaffold.

“I am afraid I shall have to block your store for a short time, Mr. Storekeeper,” said Phil, entering the store. “Our friend is going to try to take the place by storm, I think, and we shall have to stand him off.”

“He had better not try it,” growled the proprietor.

“He will, just the same. But, with your permission, he will not get upstairs to the roof while I am here.”

“Do whatever you like. I’ve got his money, but it’s here for him when he wants it.”

Phil, having arranged with the proprietor, went out and gave his final instructions to his men.

“You are not to let a man through here unless with my permission,” he said. “I am going up to the roof. If anything occurs, call me at once. Teddy, I leave the front of the store in your hands while I am away. There is trouble brewing. I feel it in my bones.”

“Yes; trouble for the other fellow,” grinned Teddy.

In a very short time the painters had succeeded in swinging their scaffold over the roof. An interested crowd was watching the proceeding from the street.

The banner men climbed down on the swinging platform, and, as if by magic, the Sparling banners began appearing on the big wall.

About this time shouting down in the street drew the attention of Phil Forrest. Stepping to the edge of the roof he looked down. A crowd was pressing his men back.

In the lead was the manager of the canary car.

“Drive them off!” roared Phil. “Don’t let them get by you!”

“We will!” shrieked Teddy Tucker, now in his element.

Phil turned and hurried down the ladder to the upper floor, then took the stairs in a series of jumps until he had reached the ground floor.

Teddy Tucker had proved himself a real general. He had armed his forces with paste brushes, which he had first thoroughly soaked in the sticky paste pots.

Teddy was dancing up and down the line.

“Paste them, fellows!” he roared. “Paste them good and proper. We’ll stick them to the walls when we get them properly daubed!”

With a yell the Sparling crowd began wielding the paste brushes. They wielded them effectively, too. Every sweep of the brushes found a human mark.

Shouts of rage followed the onslaught, above which could be heard the voice of the manager of the canary car, urging the crowd on to violence.

Phil came dashing out.

“Drive them back!” he shouted. “But be careful that you do not hurt anybody. Keep your heads, men!”

“Look out—the police are coming!” shouted a voice.

“Never mind the police! Give it to them!” cried the rival.

A squad of bluecoats came charging down the street.

“Steady, fellows! Don’t do anything that will cause the police to take you in,” cautioned Phil.

The crowd in front gave way as the police charged in; and, as they did so, the Circus Boy pushed his way to the front of his own line.

A sergeant made for him with upraised club, but Phil did not flinch.

“Wait a minute, officer!” he cautioned.

“I arrest you for disturbing the peace!” was the stern reply.

“You will do nothing of the sort, sir. We have not broken the peace. We are within our rights, protecting our own property and the property of this gentleman,” pointing to the proprietor of the store.

“Arrest them! They are stealing my property!” came the cry from the rival manager.

“I guess you had better both come over to the police station, and we will let the captain settle this,” decided the sergeant.

“Wait!” commanded the rival. “I have here an injunction commanding this fellow to stop work. I have bought the right to banner this location, and he has stepped in and taken it away from me.”

“Is this right?” demanded the sergeant, appealing to the storekeeper, whom he knew well.

“No, it’s all wrong. That man has bought nothing. He left his money on my counter after I had sold my wall to this young man here.”

“Is this right?” repeated the sergeant turning to Phil.

“I am inclined to think it is. If that man has obtained an injunction, he has done so by false representation. Here is my contract, properly signed, giving us the right to put up our banners, and that is exactly what we are going to do in spite of all the police in the state. You can’t stop us. You had better not try.”

The sergeant glanced over the paper and scratched his head. He was at a loss what to do. At that moment a lieutenant came running up, demanding to know what the trouble was about.

The sergeant explained, handing the contract to his superior. After perusing it, the lieutenant passed the paper back to Phil.

“You can’t stop this man as long as he is not disturbing the peace. That fellow’s injunction is not worth the paper it is written on. This is a contract as plain as the nose on your face.”

“That is the way it strikes me,” answered Phil, with a pleasant smile.

“Disperse the crowd. Keep half a dozen men on duty here, and, if there is any further disturbance, lock them all up.”

“Thank you,” said Phil, edging near the lieutenant. “And, now that the matter is all settled, if you will call at the Sparling advance car this afternoon, at five o’clock, I shall be happy to furnish you with tickets for yourself and family. That is not a bribe, because we have got the matter all straightened out.”

The lieutenant smiled.

“I’ll do it,” he said. “Five o’clock, you say?”

“Yes.”

“Now, get out of here, the whole crowd of you. And you, young fellow,” indicating the manager of the canary rival, “if you create any further disturbance in this town, you’ll go to the cooler, and stay there. Do you understand?”

The rival manager tried to protest, but the lieutenant started for him.

“I want my money!” he shouted.

“Come and get it. I don’t want your money.”

“I told you that before,” called the storekeeper.

“Go, get your money, and get out of here!” commanded the lieutenant.

Crestfallen and now thoroughly subdued, the manager of the canary car made his way through the crowd; his money was thrust into his hands; then, calling upon his men to follow him, he hurried away.

“There, I guess we won’t hear any more from our canary bird friend today,” decided Teddy, strutting about and throwing out his chest.

“Not today, perhaps,” answered Phil Forrest; “but I am thinking we have not heard the last of him yet. We shall have to look pretty sharply, or he will get the best of us yet. This is a game that one person cannot expect to win at every day. Boys, you may go back to your lithographing now. The police will see that we are protected until we have finished bannering this building.”

Phil walked off half a block to survey the work going on high up in the air.

“That location is worth five hundred dollars to any show,” he mused. “And I got it for forty. Good job!”

CHAPTER XVIII

The Missing Show Cars

The work was completed late that afternoon. The Sparling crowd had got the best of their rivals in the window work as well. Sparling show bills were everywhere.

But Phil was thoughtful. He did not like the methods he was obliged to follow, yet he knew that it was a part of the show business. He had the satisfaction, too, of knowing that he had done nothing unfair. He had got the best of his rivals by perfectly fair methods, and he would pursue no others, no matter how badly he was beaten.

After making a round of the town, during which he had twice passed the scowling manager of the canary car, Phil returned to his own car, as there were frequently matters arising there that needed his attention. He found a telegram awaiting him from Mr. Sparling.

“The greatest work ever done by an advance car. I congratulate you all. Keep it up,” was what Phil read.

Phil rubbed his forehead in perplexity.

“Now, how in the world did he find out about this so soon, I wonder?” questioned the boy. As a matter of fact, the manager of the Robinson Show’s car, who was a friend of Mr. Sparling, had wired him of the day’s doings. It was too good to keep, and then again Mr. Sparling’s friend was too delighted at the downfall of Snowden, the man whom he thoroughly disliked, to be at all jealous of Phil’s triumph.

Phil went over to the yardmaster to find out what train he would be able to go out on that night.

“We are going to send the whole bunch of you out on number 42,” was the reply.

“What time does number 42 leave?”

“Half-past eleven.”

“What do you mean by ‘the bunch of us’?”

“All you advance car fellows. I have got to do that. That is the only train through tonight. You will have to go on that or wait until tomorrow morning.”

“Very well; I do not know as I care whether my rivals go on the same train or not. It would do me no good if I did object.”

That night the unusual sight of four advance cars hooked together was presented to those who chanced to be in the railroad yards when number 42 pulled out of the station.

Car Three had been coupled up first, the others being hooked on behind it, with the canary car at the rear.

“I am afraid we shall not cut a very big slice tomorrow, Teddy,” said Phil after they had got under way.

“Why not?”

“What, with all those crews working against us? It will be a case of three to one. Of course we shall do as much as any one of them, and perhaps a little more, but we cannot expect any great results.”

“Maybe I can think of something,” mused Teddy.

“I wish you might.”

“What would you say to ditching the other fellows?” asked Teddy innocently.

“Teddy Tucker, I am ashamed of you!” exclaimed Phil.

“Sometimes I am ashamed of myself, I am so easy. If it wasn’t for my tender heart, Phil, I would have been a great showman by this time.”

“Yes, it really is too bad about your tender heart. I—”

His words were cut short by a jolt that nearly threw the lads from their chairs.

“Collision!” yelled Teddy. “Brace yourself!”

“Don’t get excited,” laughed Phil. “They have forgotten or neglected to couple the airbrake pipes up. Someday one of these crews will wreck us all. I have talked until I am tired. You see there is air on the front end of this train, but these show cars have not been coupled up with the air pipes of the regular train. It is very bad business. I’ll report it when we get in tomorrow.”

“Let me. I know how to do it up brown.”

“No, I will attend to it myself.”

“Say, Phil!”

“Yes?”

“If the air was coupled on and the train broke in two in the middle what would happen?”

“Why it would bring everything up standing. Breaking the air circuit would set the brakes the entire length of the train.”

“And if the air was not coupled up, what then?”

“In that event nothing would happen.”

“The train wouldn’t stop?”

“No.”

“H-m-m.”

“Why do you ask?”

“For information. What do you suppose I am asking for unless I want to know.”

Teddy relapsed into a moody silence.

“Why don’t you go to bed?” Teddy asked after awhile, looking up suddenly.

“I guess it would be a good idea,” replied Phil. “We shall have to get up rather early in the morning. I will set my alarm for three o’clock. I have an idea some of the rival crews will be up and out about that time. They won’t be so easily beaten tomorrow.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” answered Teddy. “Maybe so and maybe not. You can’t most always sometimes tell.”

“Aren’t you going to turn in?” demanded Phil, beginning to undress.

“No, not yet. I am not very sleepy tonight.”

“You will be, in the morning, and you will not want to get up,” cautioned Phil.

“I will take the chance.”

Teddy picked up a book and settled himself to read.

Little conversation passed between them after that, and Phil, tumbling into his berth, was soon asleep.

Teddy eyed him narrowly. He waited until his companion was sleeping soundly; then Teddy got up and strolled out to the rear platform. It was deserted. The trainmen did not come back that far, because the doors of the show cars were kept locked so they could not. Show people do not like strangers about them.

Teddy lay down on the platform, peering down between the cars.

“No, no air is coupled on. They ought to be ashamed of themselves,” he muttered. “I guess they must have fixed it up for me on purpose.”

Teddy opened the door of Car Three softly, listened, then closed it again. Next he leaned out and looked along the tracks, which he could see fairly well, for the moon was now shining brightly.

“I guess there is no grade here.” Stepping across to the platform of the car to the rear of him, the boy partially set the brake until he could feel it grinding on the wheels.

“Now, I think we are all ready,” he muttered, as, stepping back to the platform of his own car, he grasped the coupling lever firmly with both hands, giving it a mighty tug.

At first it would not budge. The drawheads of the couplers of the two cars were straining because of the drag of the brake that he had but just set.

Teddy loosened the brake a little, then tried the coupling lever again.

This time it swung over with a bang. The lad lost his balance for an instant, and nearly went overboard.

“My, that was a close shave,” he exclaimed, hanging desperately to the platform railing, the wind blowing about him in a perfect gale.

“Hello, I wonder what has become of our friends?” laughed the Circus Boy to himself.

Teddy had uncoupled Car Three from the others in their rear, and the cars of his rivals were dropping behind rapidly. He could see the dim lights in the car nearest to him, but even these were rapidly disappearing. A few minutes later as the train swept around a bend, the rival advertising cars disappeared from sight. Teddy knew that they would stop in a few minutes, and lie there stalled.

Teddy Tucker had done a very serious thing, but in his zeal he thought he had accomplished a great feat. Well satisfied with his efforts the lad entered his own car softly, undressed in the corridor and crept quietly to bed. In a very short time he was snoring, sleeping the sleep of peace and innocence.

Teddy hardly moved again that night, until he was roused out by Phil at three o’clock the next morning.

The lad grumbled sleepily and finally tumbled out rubbing his eyes.

Phil stepped out to the rear platform before dressing, for a breath of the fresh morning air.

“Why, Teddy!” he called through the open door.

“What?”

“The opposition cars are not here. The other train must have carried them on. I wonder if those fellows are stealing a march on us?”

“Is that so?”

“Yes; come out and see for yourself.”

Teddy stumbled out to the platform, gazed about sleepily and looked solemn.

“No, not here,” he said, turning back into the car.

Phil was worried. He could not imagine exactly what the plans of his rivals might be.

“I will wire on to the next stand as soon as the telegraph office opens, and find out if they are there,” he decided.

In the meantime Teddy was taking his time about dressing, while the men of the crew were hurrying into their clothes. Phil did the same, then dropped from the car and walked about the yards, rather expecting to find the cars of his rivals hidden behind freight cars.

They were nowhere in sight.

“Well, it cannot be helped, even if we are beaten into the next stand. This is a small place, but an important one. I cannot afford to skip it, no matter if the other fellows have.”

Teddy went about his morning duties as usual, solemn faced and silent, but there was a triumphant gleam in his eyes that Phil Forrest as yet had failed to observe.

Phil was pacing up and down on the platform station, waiting uneasily for the operator to appear. After making ready, the men went off to breakfast, Teddy hanging about the car, busying himself with trifling matters. The car seemed to hold an unusual interest for him that morning.

At six o’clock the livery rigs drove up and the rural route men were soon off for their day’s work. Phil started the lithographers and banner men out soon thereafter.

About that time the operator arrived; Phil wrote a message to the liveryman at the next town, inquiring if his rivals had reached there.

The answer came back that nothing had been seen of them. They had not even passed through. The operator at the other end said they were at Salina, where Phil’s car was at that moment.

This was a puzzler.

“I am afraid it will take a better railroad man than I am to figure this problem out,” mused Phil. “Hey, Teddy!”

“Yep?”

“What do you suppose could have become of those other cars?”

“How should I know?”

“They were on this train last night, when we started, and they have not arrived at the next stand yet. They surely are not here.”

“Maybe they got a hot journal and had to stop,” suggested Teddy.

“Nonsense! Something has happened to them. However, it is not my business to worry about my rivals. As long as I know they are not ahead of me I shall not disturb myself. It is up to me to improve the opportunity and bill this town from one end to the other,” decided Phil, starting off over town.

The work went on at a lively pace, Phil urging his men to greater efforts, momentarily expecting to see the canary and red cars come rolling into town.

But no cars came. The next train from the direction Phil had come was not due until nearly noon, the road being a branch road with little traffic over it.

After a time Phil strolled down to the railroad station.

“Any news?” he asked.

“Yes,” answered the operator. “They have found the cars.”

“Where?”

“It seems they broke away from the train during the night and lay on the main track until morning. One of the crew walked back ten miles to the next station to ask for an engine to pull them out. They will be here on the next train.”

“Funny the train crew did not discover that when they put us on the siding here. I do not quite understand it yet?” Phil walked slowly back to his own car, thinking deeply.

CHAPTER XIX

Phil’s Daring Plan

Teddy was sitting on the platform of Car Three narrowly watching Phil as he approached.

“Anything doing?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What is it—have you heard from the opposition?”

“Yes. It seems their cars broke away from us during the night, and lay all night on the main track miles from anywhere.”

“You don’t say!” exclaimed Teddy, in well feigned surprise.

“That is what happened. We are in luck this morning, Teddy Tucker. I suppose I should be sorry for our rivals. But it is the chance of war. We all have to take them in the show business.”

“We do,” answered Teddy sagely. “At least the other fellow does. When are they coming in?”

“About noon, I understand. I should think someone would lose his job for that piece of carelessness. If it were my car that had been laid out there would be trouble; I can assure you of that.”

“Yes; I wouldn’t stand for a mean trick like that myself.”

Phil stroked his chin and surveyed Teddy thoughtfully. Light was beginning to dawn upon him. All at once he recalled his companion’s questions about the air brake pipes the night before.

He fixed his gaze upon Teddy Tucker’s scowling face.

“Young man, do you know anything about those cars breaking away?” demanded Phil sternly.

“I understand they broke away—don’t you know that the train broke in two?”

“Yes,” answered Phil dryly; “I have heard something to that effect.”

Phil stepped over to examine the coupling of his own car, Teddy watching him furtively.

“What I want to know is how it happened,” continued Phil.

“Why don’t you ask the train crew? They ought to know.”

“I’ll ask you instead. You uncoupled those cars, didn’t you?”

Teddy nodded slowly, his eyes on the ground.

“Is it possible that you did a thing like that?”

Teddy nodded again, demanding sullenly:

“Well, we beat ’em, didn’t we?”

“Yes; but do you know what would happen, were it known what you have done?”

“I’m easy. What would happen?” Teddy was rapidly assuming a belligerent attitude.

“You would be arrested, and nothing could keep you from state’s prison, Teddy Tucker.”

“Oh, fudge!”

“You may scoff all you will. It is the truth, nevertheless. I should not be surprised if there were an investigation over this affair—”

“And you’ll go tell all you know, won’t you?”

“Not unless I am put under oath. If I am, and am asked, I shall have to tell the truth. I ought to sail in and give you a good thrashing here and now.”

“You can’t do it!”

“Perhaps not, but I could try.” A smile struggled to dissipate the clouds on Phil’s face. “Listen to me! Do you know that you might have imperilled a great many lives by that foolish act of yours”

“No. How?”

“In the first place, being cut loose from our train as they were, they might have continued on, provided we were on a down or up grade and—”

“We weren’t. I looked to see,” interjected Teddy.

“Oh, then you admit the charge. I am glad that you have confessed.”

“I haven’t confessed!” shouted Teddy, his face growing very red.

“If you said that on trial it would be jail for you for some years to come. To return to the subject under discussion, all the men were asleep in those cars, or at least they were supposed to be. Had there been another train over the road, last night, the chances are that it would have run into those show cars and killed every man in them, besides wrecking the train itself and killing a lot more people. I am willing to take long chances in the line of duty, but I should hope I never would commit a crime in so doing. Let this be a warning to you, Teddy Tucker. Never do a thing like this again. We will beat our rivals by all fair means and we will stop there.”

Phil paused, eyeing his companion sternly.

Teddy glanced up inquiringly.

“Is the sermon over?” he asked.

“I have no more advice to offer at the present moment. I hope for your sake that the inquiry in this matter will not extend to us. If it does, I feel sorry for you.”

An inquiry did follow. It was stirred up most thoroughly by the manager of the canary colored car. But, fortunately for Teddy Tucker, no suspicion of the truth ever dawned upon the rival manager, and the railroad got out of the scrape by disciplining the train crew that had lost the three cars without knowing it. However, the lesson was a wholesome one for Teddy, even though he would not admit the fact. The lesson lasted him pretty nearly all the rest of the season.

The three rival cars came rolling into the yards early in the afternoon of that day. All hands were angry and ready for trouble. Phil passed the time of day pleasantly with his opponent of the previous day, but the manager of the yellow car did not deign to make any reply to his greeting.

The hour was late before he was able to start his men out, and by that time Phil’s crew had pretty well covered the town and the surrounding country, though the posters of the latter territory had very long drives, and were not expected to return until very long after dark.

Phil chafed under this, fearing that he would be obliged to miss the last train out that night, which would again put him on the same train with his rivals next day.

One of his men would have a thirty-five-mile drive back after he had finished his day’s work. That would bring the man “home,” as the return to the car is called, long after midnight in all probability.

Inquiry at the station and a wire to the division superintendent failed to get a special engine to haul Car Three out that night. But in his talk with the station agent Phil learned something that set him thinking. He pondered over the information he had obtained, for sometime.

“I believe I can do it,” he muttered. “Talk about Teddy taking long chances, I am going to try to take some chances tonight that are far more dangerous. But I must do something.”

Phil had seen a section gang go out in the morning. They had not come in yet, so the Circus Boy strolled over toward the station shortly after six o’clock waiting for the section gang to return.

They did not come in until after seven o’clock.

As the men were going by the station, having put their handcar away, Phil motioned to the foreman of the gang, a bright faced Irishman.

“How are you?” greeted Phil smilingly.

The foreman waved a hand, at which Phil beckoned the man to come to him.

“Are there any more trains over this division tonight?”

“Only number forty-two going west.”

“She is due shortly after midnight, is she not?”

“Yes.”

“Do you like to go to the circus, Pat?”

“I do.”

“Have you a family?”

“I have.”

“Will you do me a favor if I give you tickets to the show for yourself and family?”

“That I will. What show is yours?”

“The Sparling Combined Shows.”

“That your car over there?”

“Yes—Car Three.”

“You run it?”

“I do.”

“Pretty young fellow to handle a car like that, aren’t you?”

“I guess you are right. However, I am running it just the same.”

“What is it you want me to do?”

“In the first place I want you to keep a close mouth. I do not want you to speak to a human being about my plans. There are some fellows that would like to know them. They must not.”

The foreman grinned understandingly.

“I’m your man.”

“I knew you were. You have a switch key of course?”

“Sure.”

“Then I want you to bring your switch key here at half-past two o’clock tomorrow morning. You have crowbars in the tool house, have you not?”

“Yes.”

“Bring two of them with you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“Never mind now. I’ll tell you when you come around in the morning. Do you think you can wake up in time?”

“Sure, I can.”

“You may sleep on my car if you wish.”

“No; I have a bunk in the tool house. I will come back and sleep there after supper.”

“Excellent. Do you want an alarm clock?”

“No; I have one in the shanty. I often sleep there when I expect a call to go out on the road during the night.”

“I am right, am I not, in my understanding that unless I get away on forty-two I shall not be able to leave here before noon tomorrow?”

“That’s right. You are not going on forty-two, then?”

“I think not.”

“The other fellows going on forty-two?”

“No; they will not be through billing here before sometime tomorrow.”

The foreman grinned.

“I smell a rat,” he said.

“Don’t. It might not be healthful for you if you were to be too wise. Be on time and say nothing. How far is it to the next town?”

“Nigh onto twenty-five miles.”

“All right. That’s all. I will have your tickets ready for you when you come on in the morning. Good night, if I don’t see you again until then.”

All hands save Phil and Teddy went to bed early that night and the car was soon dark and silent. The late man from the country route did not get in until half-past one o’clock in the morning. He unloaded as quietly as possible, not knowing what plans of the manager he might disturb were he to make his presence known.

By this time every man of the crew was well aware that their young manager seldom was without some shrewd plan for outwitting his competitors, but these plans he ordinarily kept well to himself until he was ready to carry them out.

Phil busied himself during the night in posting his books, making out the payroll for the car, and writing the report sheet for the owner of the show.

Right on the minute at the appointed hour there came a light tap on the car window. Phil stepped out to the platform.

“I am ready, sir.” It was the section foreman.

“Come inside,” said Phil. “Do not make any noise, for the men are all asleep. I will awaken two of them soon, but I do not want those other car men to get awake, not for any price.”

“Now, what is it you want to do?”

“You are sure there will be no more trains over this road in either direction tonight?” asked Phil.

“Not a train.”

“That’s good. Now I will tell you what I want you to do. I want you to open that switch to let us out on the main track.”

The foreman opened his eyes.

“But how are you going to get out there?”

“I’ll show you after you get the switch open. There is no grade up or down between here and the other side of the station, is there?”

“No; dead flat till you get ten rods beyond the station, then she drops.”

Phil nodded thoughtfully.

“Get the crowbars while I call a couple of the men.”

The Circus Boy went inside and gently awakened Billy Conley and Rosie, telling them to dress and report to the office at once.

The men made no protest. They knew their young manager was planning some new ruse by which to outwit his rivals. When they heard his plan they opened their eyes in wonder.

“Come on, now, and not a word nor a sound out of you, fellows!” commanded Phil.

Once outside, Phil threw off the brakes and then the foreman of the section gang brought his knowledge to bear on the situation. He directed the men to get their crowbars under the rear wheels of the coach. After several attempts they succeeded in prying the car ahead a few inches. After repeated efforts they got the car moving slowly.

Now the foreman took a third crowbar; jumping from one side to the other he relieved the men until the car was making very fair progress under its human power.

Teddy had been standing on the platform, rubbing his palms in high glee.

“Going to push her all the way to Marion like this?” he demanded.

“You keep still up there unless you are looking for trouble,” warned Phil. “Get off the platform. Think we want to drag you along, too?”

Teddy hopped down, thrust his hands in his trousers pockets, and watched the operation of moving the heavy car.

It was slow work, but inch by inch Number Three crept nearer to the station.

“Let me know when we get right on the grade, so I can slap on the brakes,” ordered Phil.

“I’ll let you know. You’ll know without my telling you, I reckon.”

At last the car was at the desired point. Phil sprang to the platform and set the brakes, while the section man ran back and closed the switch.

“Here are your tickets,” said Phil when the man returned. “And thank you very much.”

“You’re welcome, but don’t you let on that I have helped you out. I will sure lose my job if you do.”

“You need not worry. I do not forget a favor so easily as that.”

“You better wait till daylight before you start,” advised the foreman.

“Yes, I am going to. I do not want to take any more chances than I have to. There are enough as it is.”

“Anything more I can do for you, sir?”

“No, thank you.”

“Then, good night.”

“Good night,” answered Phil.

Teddy did not yet fully understand what his companion’s plan might be. Billy, on the contrary, understood it fully.

“You beat anything I ever came across,” Conley remarked in Phil’s car as the two were standing at the side of the track in front of Number Three.

“Wait! Don’t throw any flowers at me too soon. We have not done it yet. I understand there is a short up-grade about seven miles below here. If we get stalled on that we will be in a fine fix and likely to get smashed into ourselves. It looks to me like a storm. What do you think?”

“I think yes—thunderstorm. I saw the lightning a moment ago.”

“Good! I hope it storms. It will be a good cover to get away under.”

“Slippery rails will be bad for our business, though,” warned Billy.

“We shall have to take the chance.”

They had not long to wait after that. Day soon dawned but the skies were dark and forbidding. As soon as it was light enough to see well, Phil began to make preparations for his unique trip.

“Now what are you going to do?” demanded Teddy.

“My dear boy, we are going to try to coast all the way to Marion. We may land in the ditch or we may get stalled, but I am not going to lie here and waste nearly a day. Let the other fellows spend the time here if they wish. I reckon they will be surprised in the morning, when they wake up and find Car Three has dropped off the map.”

Teddy uttered a long whistle of surprise.

“Don’t you ever find fault with me again for doing a trick like I played.”

“What trick was that?” questioned Billy.

“Never mind. That’s my secret. It isn’t any of your affair,” grumbled Teddy.

“Teddy, you get on the back platform. Keep your hand on the brake wheel every second of the time. Keep your ears open. When I jerk once sharply on the bell rope set the brakes tight. If I jerk it twice, just apply them a little to steady the car.”

“Pull the bell rope? Huh! There isn’t any bell.”

“I know that, but you can hear the rope slap the top of the platform roof when I pull it. Now, get back there. Don’t call out to me, but attend to your business. I’ll pull the cord when I am ready for you to release the brake. We must get away from here in a hurry.”

Teddy hopped from the platform and ran to the rear, where he awaited the signal.

Phil’s plan was a daring one. For twenty-five miles the road fell away at a sharp downgrade of sixty feet to the mile and in some places even greater. In one spot, as has already been stated, there was a sharp up-grade for a short distance.

It was Phil’s purpose to coast the twenty-five miles in order to reach the next stand in time for the day’s work. It was a risky undertaking. Besides the danger of a possible collision with an extra sent over the road, there was the added danger of the car getting beyond their control and toppling over into a ditch.

The Circus Boy had weighed all these chances well before starting on his undertaking.

“I guess we will be moving now,” he said, giving the bell cord a pull, then throwing off the brake, Teddy performing the same service at the other end of the car.

Car Number Three did not start at once.

Phil and Billy jumped up and down on the platform in excitement.

“She’s moving,” exulted Phil. “We’re off.”

A faint “yee—ow!” from the rear platform was evidence that Teddy Tucker also had discovered this fact.

“That boy!” grumbled Phil.

At first the show car moved slowly; then little by little it began to gather headway. Rattling over switches, past lines of box cars, on past rows of houses that backed up against the railroad’s right of way, they rumbled. A few moments later Car Three shot out into the open country at a lively rate of speed.

CHAPTER XX

On a Wildcat Run

“This is great!” cried Billy.

Phil Forrest, however, was keeping his eyes steadily on the shining rails ahead. All at once the storm broke. The lightning seemed to rend the heavens before them. Then the rain came down in a deluge.

So heavy was the rainfall that the young pilot could see only a few car lengths ahead of him. Instinctively he tightened the brakes slightly. The car was swaying giddily, not having a train with it to steady it.

“We ought to be near that grade the section man told us about,” said Conley.

“Yes; I was just thinking of that. I guess I had better let her out, so we shall be sure to make it.”

Phil threw off the brake wheel and Car Three shot ahead like a great projectile, rocking from side to side, moving at such high speed that the joints in the rails gave off a steady purring sound under the wheels.

The wildcat car struck the grade with a lurch and a bang, climbing it at a tremendous pace.

The two men on the front platform were compelled to hold on with their full strength, in order to keep from being hurled into the ditch beside the track.

“I hope Teddy is all right,” shouted Phil.

Billy leaned out over the side looking back. Teddy, who was also leaning out, peering ahead regardless of the driving rain, waved a hand at him.

“Yes; you can’t hurt that boy—”

Just then the car plunged over the crest of the hill and went thundering away down the steep grade.

By this time the men in the car had, one by one, been shaken awake by the car’s terrific pace, and one by one they tumbled from their berths, quickly raising the curtains for a look outside.

What they saw was a driving storm and the landscape slipping past them at a higher speed than they ever had known before. Three of the men bolted to the front platform.

“What’s the matter? Are we running away?” shouted a voice in Phil’s car.

“Go back, fellows, and shut the door. Don’t bother me. I’m making the next town.”

The men retired to the car, sat down and looked at each other in blank amazement.

“Well, did you ever?” gasped Rosie.

“Never,” answered the Missing Link, shaking his head helplessly. “He’ll be the death of us yet.”

“At least we’ll be going some if we stay on this car.”

“We are going some. We’ve been going some ever since the new Boss took hold of this car. I hope we don’t hit anything. It’ll be a year of Sundays for us, if we do.”

“A good many years of ’em,” muttered Rosie.

“I hear a train whistle!” shouted Billy, leaning toward Phil.

“I heard it,” answered the boy calmly, beginning to tug at the brake wheel.

“Want any help?” asked Conley anxiously.

“No; you can’t help me any.” Phil had ceased twisting the wheel.

“What’s the matter?”

“The wheels are slipping. The brakes will not hold them. If we are going to meet anything we might as well meet it properly,” answered Phil calmly, whereupon he kicked the ratchet loose and spun the brake wheel about.

The car seemed to take a sudden leap forward.

Just then there came a rift in the clouds.

“Look!” cried Billy.

Phil leaned over the rail, peering into the mist.

The track, just a little way ahead of them, took a sudden bend around a high point of land. And on beyond the hill they saw the smoke of an engine belching up into the air like so many explosions.

“I guess that settles it,” said the boy. His face was, perhaps, a little more pale than usual, but in no other way did he show any emotion.

“Shall we tell the men to jump, then go over ourselves?”

“No; we should all be killed. We will stay and see it through. The men are better off inside the car.”

A yell from Teddy, sounding faint and far away, caused Billy to lean out and look back.

“Turn on your sand! Turn on your sand! She’s slipping!” howled Teddy.

“We haven’t any sand. D’you think this is a trolley car?”

Just then Teddy caught sight of the smoke ahead of them. He pointed. His voice seemed to fail him all at once.

“It looks as if we would get all the publicity we want in about a minute, Billy,” said Phil, smiling easily. “We shall not be likely to know anything about it, though,” he added.

Car Three swept around the bend.

“There they are!” cried Conley.

“Coming head on!” commented Phil. He seemed not in the least disturbed, despite the fact that he believed himself to be facing certain death.

Billy let out a yell of joy.

“They are on another track. They are not on these irons at all!” he shouted.

Phil had observed this at about the same instant. He saw something else, too. The road on which the train was approaching crossed his track at right angles. The other was a double track railroad, and the train was a fast express train, tearing along at high speed.

“We’re safe!” breathed Billy, heaving a great sigh of relief.

“No, we are not. We are going to smash right into them, broadside, unless we can check our car enough to clear them.”

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

Billy groaned. His joy had been short-lived.

“Give Teddy the signal to put on the brakes. We will make another attempt to check her.”

Phil threw himself into the task of turning the wheel, which he did in quick, short, spasmodic jerks, rather than by a steady application of the brakes.

The car slackened somewhat—hardly enough to be noticed.

“Tell Teddy to keep it up. You had better send one of the men back to help him.”

Billy bellowed his command to the men inside.

“They see us. They are whistling to us.”

“Yes.”

Shriek after shriek rang out from the whistle of the approaching express train, the engineer of which jerked his throttle wide open in hopes of clearing the oncoming wildcat car.

Phil was still tugging desperately, but without any apparent nervousness, at the brake wheel. He finally ceased his efforts.

“I can’t do any more,” he said; then calmly leaned his arms on the wheel awaiting results.

Billy did not utter a word. He, too, possessed strong nerves.

The man and the boy stood there calmly watching the train ahead of them. Nearer and nearer to it did they draw. They could see the engineer and fireman leaning from their cab, looking back. Phil waved a hand to them, to which the engine crew responded in kind.

“Now for the smash, Billy, old boy!” muttered Phil with the smile that no peril seemed able to banish from his face.

“Yes; it’s going to be a close shave.”

The last car of the express train was now abreast of them. They seemed to be right upon it. So close were they that Phil thought he could stretch out a hand and touch it.

Suddenly it was whisked from before them as if by magic.

The engineer had given his engine its final burst of speed.

“Hang on tight!” shouted Phil. “We’re going to sideswipe them now!”

“Off brakes!”

Billy gave the bell rope a tug.

Then came a crash, a grinding, jolting sound. It seemed as if the red car were being torn from end to end. Car Three careened, rocked and swayed, threatening every second to plunge from the rails over the embankment at that point.

As suddenly as it had come, the strain seemed to have been removed from it. Once more Number Three was thundering along over the rails.

“Yee—ow!” howled Teddy from the rear platform.

The men inside the car were not saying anything. They were slowly picking themselves up from the floor, where they had been hurled by the sudden shock. The interior of the car looked as if it had been struck by a tornado. The contents were piled in a confused heap at one end of the car, paste pots overturned, bedding stripped clean from the berths, lamps smashed, and great piles of paper scattered all over the place.

“Hooray!” yelled Billy in the excess of his joy. “We’re saved.”

“Yes,” answered Phil with a grin. “It was a close call, though. I hope no one in the car is hurt. You had better go in and find out. I am afraid our car has been damaged.”

Billy leaned over the side, looking back.

“Yes, we got a beauty of a sideswipe,” he said.

The coupling and rear platform of the rear car on the express train had cut a deep gash in the side of Car Three, along half of its length.

“Any windows left?”

“I don’t see anything that looks like glass left in them,” laughed Conley.

“You watch the wheel a minute. I will go inside,” said Phil.

He hurried into the car.

Phil could not repress a laugh at the scene that met his gaze.

“Hello, boys; what’s going on in here?” called Phil.

“Say, Boss,” spoke up Rosie the Pig. “If it’s all the same to you, I think I’ll get out and walk the rest of the way.”

“Are we on time?” howled Teddy, poking his head in at the rear door.

“Better straighten the car out, for we should reach our town in a few minutes now—”

“I should say we would, at this gait,” interrupted a voice.

“Then all hands will have to hustle out to work. I want to be out of the next stand sometime tonight. We go out on another road, so we shall not have to wait, unless something unforeseen occurs. Came pretty near having a smash-up, didn’t we?” suggested Phil.

“Near?” The Missing Link’s emotion was too great to permit him to finish the sentence.

The car bowled merrily along. In a short time the two men on the front platform were able to make out the outlines of the town ahead of them. The skies were clearing now, and shortly afterwards the sun burst through the clouds.

“All is sunshine,” laughed Phil. “For a time it looked as if there would be a total eclipse,” he added, grimly.

Billy gazed at him wonderingly.

“If I had your nerve I’d be a millionaire,” said Billy in a low tone.

“You probably would break your neck the first thing you did,” answered Phil with a short laugh.

They were now moving along on a level stretch of track. Phil set the brakes a little, and the car slowed down. In this way they glided easily into the station, where the Circus Boy brought the car to a stop directly in front of the telegraph office.

The station agent came out to see what it was that had come in so unexpectedly.

His amazement was great.

“Well, we are here,” called Phil, stepping down from the platform. “I guess we are on time.”

“Any orders?” shouted Teddy Tucker, dropping from the rear platform.

“Where—where did you fellows come from?”

“Salina.”

“Where’s your engine?”

“I’m the engine,” spoke up Teddy. “Wasn’t I behind, pushing Car Three all the way over?”

All hands set up a shout of laughter.

CHAPTER XXI

In a Perilous Position

The story of Phil Forrest’s brilliant and perilous dash quickly spread about the town. By six o’clock a great crowd had gathered about the station to get a look at the car and at the Circus Boy who had piloted her.

Phil was hustling about in search of an engine crew from the other road. He wanted his car moved from the main track, before some other train should come along and run into him, thus completing the wrecking that he already had so successfully begun.

In the meantime Teddy placed himself on view, parading up and down, looking wise and pompous. He always was willing to be admired. As soon as the newspaper offices were open he made haste to visit them, and the afternoon papers printed the story of Car Three’s great wildcat dash, displaying the account under big, black headlines. The Sparling Shows got a full measure of publicity that day.

Teddy marked and wrapped copies of the papers containing the notice, mailing them back to the show for Mr. Sparling to read. On the margin of one of the papers so sent, Teddy wrote with a lead pencil, “no news today.”

What the Circus Boy’s idea of news really was it would be difficult to say.

Car Three had a fair field for most of the day. By the time the rivals got in there were few choice locations for billing left in the town.

The manager of the yellow car tried to induce the railroad authorities to proceed against Phil for the boy’s action in taking his car over the division without authority. The road, however, refused to accede to the demand, and nothing ever was done about it. Perhaps Mr. Sparling had something to do with this, for telegrams were exchanged that day between the owner of the show and the division superintendent. In the meantime Phil did not trouble himself over the matter. He had too many other things to think of.

The next stand was to be in Oklahoma. Phil hoped that, by the time they reached there, they would be far enough ahead of the rival cars to shake them off entirely.

That afternoon he and Teddy went over town to look over the work. One of the first things to attract Phil’s attention was a flag pole towering high above everything else in the city.

“Wouldn’t I like to unfurl a Sparling banner from the top of that pole,” exclaimed Phil, gazing up at the top. “How high is that pole?” he asked of a man standing near him.

“One hundred feet.”

Teddy whistled softly.

“I wonder if I could get the consent of the town authorities to run some advertising matter up there?”

“Couldn’t do it, even if you got the permission,” answered the man.

“Why not?”

“There is no rope on the pole. It rotted off a year ago.”

“That is too bad. I had already set my heart on billing the pole. It can be seen from all parts of the city, can it not?”

“Yes, and a long way out of the city at that.”

“Come on, Teddy; let’s not look at it. It makes me feel sad to think I cannot possess that pole.”

“I wonder if you will ever be satisfied?” grumbled Teddy.

“Not as long as there is a spot on earth large enough for a Sparling one-sheet left uncovered.”

“What will you give—what would you give, I mean, to have some banners put on top of the flag pole?”

“I would give fifty dollars and think I had got off very cheaply.”

Teddy waxed thoughtful. Several times, that afternoon, he wandered over to the vicinity of the tall flag pole, and, leaning against a building, surveyed it critically.

After the fifth trip of this sort, the Circus Boy hurried back to the car. No one was on board save the porter. Teddy began rummaging about among the cloth banners, littering the floor with all sorts of rubbish in his feverish efforts to get what he wanted.

After considerable trouble he succeeded in laying out a gaudy assortment of banners. These he carefully stitched together until he had a completed flag or banner about fifty feet long.

“See here, Henry, don’t you tell anybody what I have been doing, for you don’t know.”

“No, sir,” agreed the porter.

Next Teddy provided himself with a light, strong rope. All his preparations completed, he once more strolled over town, where he joined Phil in watching the work. But he confided to his companion nothing of what he had been doing. Teddy Tucker’s face wore its usual innocent expression.

That night, after supper, he called Billy Conley aside and confided to the assistant car manager what he had in mind.

“Forget it!” advised Billy with emphasis.

“I can’t. I want to earn that fifty dollars.”

“But if you break your neck what good will the fifty do you?”

“If I don’t it will do me fifty dollars’ worth of good,” was the quick reply.

“How do you expect to do it?”

“I’ll show you tonight. But we shall have to wait till most of the people are off the streets. You get away about ten o’clock, and don’t let either Phil or any of the crew know where you are going. I will meet you on the other side of the station at ten o’clock sharp, provided I can get away from Phil.”

“I don’t like it, but I guess I am just enough of a good fellow to be willing to help you break your neck. Have you any family that you wish me to notify?”

“No one, unless it is January.”

“Who’s he?”

“My educated donkey.”

“Oh, pshaw!” grumbled Billy.

At the appointed time Teddy made his exit from the car without attracting the attention of any of the crew. Phil was busy over his books, while the men were sitting on piles of paper, relating their experiences on the road.

Earlier in the evening Teddy had secreted his banners in what is known as the cellar, the large boxlike compartment under the car He now hastily gathered up his equipment and hurried to the station platform. Billy was already awaiting him there.

“You better give up this fool idea,” warned Billy. “I don’t want anything to do with it. You can go alone if you want to, but none of it for mine.”

“Billy!”

“Well?”

“If you back down now, do you know what I’ll do?”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll give you the worst walloping you ever had in your life.”

“You can’t do it.”

Teddy whipped off his coat.

“Come on; I’ll show you.”

Conley burst out laughing.

“The Boss says you are a hopeless case. I agree with him. Come on. I’ll help you to break your neck.”

They started off together. When they reached the pole, the pair dodged into a convenient doorway where they waited to make sure that they were not observed.

“I guess it is all right,” said Teddy.

“How you going to get up there?”

“I brought a pair of climbers that I found in the car yesterday—the kind those telephone linemen use to climb telephone poles with. Won’t I go up, I guess yes!”

Teddy first strapped the banners over his shoulders, in such a way that they would not impede his progress; then he put on the climbers, Billy watching disapprovingly.

All was ready. With a final glance up and down the street Teddy strode from his hiding place.

He walked up the pole as if he were used to it. In a few minutes the watcher below could barely make him out in the faint moonlight.

“Look out, when you get up higher. The pole may be rotten,” called Billy softly.

“All right. I’m up to the splice.”

Here Teddy paused to rest, being now about halfway up the pole. Before going higher the Circus Boy prudently wrapped the small rope that he carried twice around the pole, forming a slip-noose. He made the free end fast around his body in case he should lose his footing.

This done, Teddy felt secure from a fall.

He worked his way slowly upward, creeping higher and higher, inch by inch, cautious but not in the least afraid, for Teddy was used to being high in the air.

Now and then he would pause to call down to the anxious Billy.

“Stand under to be ready to catch me if I fall,” directed Tucker.

“Not much. You hit ground if you fall,” jeered Conley.

Teddy’s laugh floated down to him, carefree and happy. The Circus Boy was in his element.

Finally he managed to reach the top, or nearly to the top of the pole without mishap. The slender top of the flag pole swayed back and forth, like the mast of a ship in a rolling sea. It seemed to Teddy as if each roll would be his last.

He felt a slight dizziness, but it passed off quickly. In fact, he was too busy to give much heed to it. With nimble fingers he unpacked his roll of banners; and, in a few minutes, he was securing the long streamer to the pole, which he did by lacing it to the pole with leather thongs, through eyelets that he had sewed in the cloth.

In a few minutes the great banner fluttered to the breeze.

“Hurrah!” cried Teddy exultingly. “We’re off!”

As he called out Teddy suddenly felt his footing give way beneath him. He had thrown too much weight on the climbers, and they had lost their grip.

CHAPTER XXII

A Dash for Liberty

“Help!”

“What is it?” cried Billy in alarm.

“I’m hung up—hung down, I mean!”

“What—what’s the matter, are you in trouble?”

“Yes, I’m hanging head down. I’m fast by the feet. Help me down!”

“Help you down? I can’t help you. You will have to get out the best way you can. Can’t you crawl up and free your feet?”

“No; go get Phil.”

“Can you hold on?”

“I—I’ll try. Go get Phil.”

Conley dashed away as fast as he could run.

“I knew it, I knew it,” he repeated at almost every bound.

Teddy’s climbers had lost their grip in the rotting wood. Before he could recover himself he had tumbled backward. Fortunately the rope had clung to the pole; he was held fast but Teddy was hanging with his back against the pole, being powerless to help himself in the slightest degree. Again, he was afraid that, were he to stir about, the rope, which had slipped down and drawn tight about his ankles, might suddenly slide down the pole and dash him to his death.

Not many minutes had elapsed before Phil and Conley came running back. Phil, at the suggestion of the assistant manager, had brought a pair of climbers with him, Billy explaining, as they ran, the fix that the Circus Boy was in.

For a wonder, all the disturbance had attracted no attention on the street.

“Are you all right?” called Phil as he ran to the spot.

“N—no; I’m all wrong,” came the answer from above. “All the blood in my body is in my head. I’m going to burst in a minute.”

Phil wasted no words. Quickly strapping on his climbers, he began shinning up the pole, which he took much faster than Teddy had done, for the situation was critical.

“Hurry up! Think I want to stay here all night?”

“I’m coming. Hang on a few moments longer,” panted Phil, for the exertion was starting the perspiration all over his body.

At last he reached the spot where Teddy was hanging head down.

“Well, you have got yourself into a nice fix!” growled Phil.

“I got the banners up,” retorted Teddy.

Phil cast his eyes aloft, and there, above his head, floated the gaudy banners of the Sparling Show.

“Great!” he muttered. “But you are lucky if it doesn’t cost you your life and perhaps mine, too. Now, when I place this rope in your hands, you hang on to it for all you are worth. I will make it fast above, and I think I shall have to cut the rope that holds your feet. I see no other way to get you down.”

“What, and let me drop? No, you don’t.”

“I shall not let you drop if I can help it. Can’t you manage to get a grip on the pole with your arms?”

“If I were facing the other way, I might.”

“Twist yourself. Aren’t you enough of a circus man to do a contortion act as simple as that?”

Teddy thought he was. At least, he was willing to try, and he succeeded very well, throwing a firm grip about the pole.

Phil cautiously climbed above his companion. None save a trained aerial worker could have accomplished such a feat, but the Circus Boy managed it without mishap. He then made fast a rope about the pole above the place where Teddy’s rope was secured, drawing it tight above a slight projection on the pole itself, where part of a knot had been left.

Phil had not secured himself as Teddy had done, but he felt no fear of falling as long as he had one arm about the pole. He might slip, but even then the principal danger to be apprehended was that he might carry Teddy down with him.

“Pass the rope about your body,” directed Phil.

“Which rope?”

“My rope—this rope,” answered Phil, raising and lowering the rope that Teddy might make no mistake. “If you get the wrong one you will take a fine tumble. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“All right. When you have secured it about your body let me know.”

“I’ve got it.”

“Have you also got a firm grip on the pole?”

“Yes.”

“Then look out. I am going to cut your feet loose. Are you ready?”

“All ready!”

Phil severed the rope that held Teddy’s feet, and the boy did a half turn in the air, his feet suddenly flopping over until he found himself in an upright position. But the twist of the body had given him a fearful wrench, drawing a loud “ouch!” from Teddy. To add to his troubles Tucker found himself unable to move.

“I’m tied up in a hard knot,” he wailed.

“What’s the trouble?”

“I’m all twisted. I can’t wiggle a toe.”

“Well, you don’t have to wiggle your toes, do you?”

Phil found the work of extricating his companion a more difficult matter than he had expected, and to set Teddy free it was necessary to cut the rope again.

This time the cutting was followed instantly by a wild yell.

Teddy shot down to the splice in the pole, where he struck the crosspiece with a jolt that shook the pole from top to bottom; but, fortunately, his arms were about the pole and the crosspiece had kept him from plunging to the ground many feet below.

“Are you all right?” called Phil.

“No; I’m killed.”

“Lucky you didn’t break the pole, at any rate.”

“Break the pole? Break the pole?” yelled Teddy, half in anger, half in pain. “What do I care about the pole? I’ve broken myself. I won’t be able to sit down again this season. Oh, why did I ever come with this outfit?”

“Hurry and get down. We shall have the whole town awake if you keep up that racket.”

Phil let himself down to where Teddy sat rubbing himself and growling.

“Go on down. You are not hurt,” commanded Phil.

“I am, I tell you.”

“Well, are you going to stay up here all night?”

Teddy pulled himself together, preparing for the descent.

“Can you get down alone? If not I will tie a rope to you to protect you.”

“No; you keep away from me. I’ll get down if you let me alone.”

“Teddy Tucker, you are an ungrateful boy.”

“I’m a sore boy; that’s what I am. Don’t speak to me till I get down again. Then I’ll talk with you and I’ll have something to say, too. I want that fifty dollars for putting the banner up, too.”

“Well, wait till you get down, anyhow,” retorted Phil impatiently.

Teddy made his way down, muttering and growling every foot of the way, followed by Phil at a safe distance, the latter chuckling and laughing at Teddy’s rage.

Young Tucker had nearly reached the base of the pole, when once more he missed his footing.

Billy Conley was just below him, ready to assist, when Teddy landed on him, both going down together.

Teddy uttered a yell that could have been heard more than a block away.

As the two struggled to get up, both Teddy and Billy threatening each other, rapid footsteps were heard approaching them down the street. In a moment they saw the flash of a policeman’s shield.

“We’re caught!” cried Conley. “Run for it!”

“Halt!” commanded the officer. He was almost upon them now. Phil was still up the pole, where he clung, awaiting the result of the surprise below.

“What does this mean?” demanded the bluecoat.

“It means you are it!” howled Teddy, bolting between the officer’s legs, causing the bluecoat to fall flat upon the ground.

“Run! Run!” howled Teddy.

Phil sprang from the pole and all hands made a lively sprint for the car.

CHAPTER XXIII

The Deserted Village

But Teddy had distinguished himself. When the town awakened next morning there were loud clamorings for the arrest of the showman who had dared to unfurl a circus advertisement from the top of the city’s flag pole. The showmen guilty of the deed were many, many miles away by that time, engaged in other similar occupations.

At McAlister, a booming western town, the opposition were still hard on the heels of Car Three. Try as he would Phil Forrest was able to shake them off no longer than a few hours at a time.

A new plan occurred to him, and immediately upon his arrival at McAlister he wired Mr. Sparling to send a brigade into the next town ahead, to bill the place, in order that Car Three might make a jump and get away from its rivals.

A brigade, it should be known, is a crew of men that does not travel on a special car. They go by regular train, traveling as other passengers do, dropping off and billing a town here and there, as directed by wire.

The answer came back that the brigade would relieve him at the next stand.

While this had been going on young Tucker had been listening to a most interesting tale of a deserted town some twenty miles beyond where they were then working. The deserted town was known as Owls’ Valley. It had been a prosperous little city up to within two months previous, when, for reasons that Teddy did not learn, the inhabitants had taken a sudden leave.

This information set Teddy Tucker to thinking. A deserted village? He wished that he might see it. He had heard of deserted villages, and this one was of more than ordinary interest, because, the moment he heard of it, a plan presented itself to his fertile mind.

“I’ll bet they will not only nibble at the bait, but will swallow it whole,” he decided exultingly after he had thoroughly gone over the plan, sitting off by himself on a pile of railroad iron. “I’ll take Billy into my confidence. Billy will spread the word, and then we shall see what will happen.”

When Billy came in Teddy called him aside and outlined his plan.

Billy returned from the conference grinning broadly, but Teddy was serious and thoughtful.

However, he decided not to tell Phil what he had done. Perhaps Phil might not approve of it. Phil was so peculiar that he might visit the rival cars and tell them that certain information they had obtained was not correct.

Be that as it may, a few hours later three car managers visited the station, leaving orders that their cars were to be switched off at Owls’ Valley.

“That fellow, Forrest, thought he would play a smart trick on us and slip into a town not down on his route, where he was going to have all the billing to himself,” said the manager of the yellow car, late that evening.

“Where is Owls’ Valley?” asked one of his men.

“About twenty miles west of here. It will be a short run. He will be a very much surprised young man when he wakes up in the morning and finds us lying on the siding with him.”

The train to which the cars were to be attached was not to leave until sometime after midnight. When it finally came in all the advertising car crews were in bed and asleep. Teddy Tucker, however, was not only wide awake, but outside at that.

“Couple us up next to your rear car, and put the other fellows on the rear if you will,” he said to the conductor. “They are going to Owls’ Valley, but we are going through. Please say nothing to them about what I have told you. Here’s a pass for the circus.”

The rest was easy. Soon the train was rumbling away, with Teddy the happiest mortal on it. But he did not go to bed. Not Teddy! He sat up to make sure that his plans did not miscarry. Owls’ Valley was reached in due time, and the Circus Boy was outside to make sure that no mistake was made. He did not propose that Car Three should, by any slip, be sidetracked at the deserted village.

Very shortly afterwards they were again on their way, and Teddy went to bed well satisfied with his night’s work. When the men woke up early next morning a new train crew was in charge, for the advertising car was making a long run.

Phil was the first to awaken. As was customary with him he stepped to the window and peered out.

“Why, we seem to be the last car on the train. There were three opposition cars behind us when we started out last night. I wonder what that means?”

Quickly dressing, he went out on the platform. Leaning over he looked ahead. Car Three was the only show car on the train.

“That is queer. I do not understand it at all.”

Hurrying in to the main part of the car Phil called to the men.

“Do any of you know what has become of the opposition?” he asked.

“Why, aren’t they on behind?”

“No one is on behind. We are the last car. Those fellows have stolen a march on us somewhere. I can’t imagine where they dropped off, though; can you?”

“Maybe they have switched off on another road,” suggested a voice.

“No other road they could switch off on. There is something more to this than appears on the surface. I’ll go forward and ask the conductor.”

Phil did so, but the conductor could give him no information. Car Three was the only show car on the train when the present conductor had taken charge.

Phil was more puzzled than ever. He consulted his route list, to make sure that he himself had not made a mistake and skipped a town that he should have billed. No; there was only one town he had missed, and that was the one the brigade was to work.

About this time Teddy sat up, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“What’s up?” he inquired, noting that his companion was troubled.

“That is what I should like to know,” answered Phil absently.

“Tell me about it. Anything gone wrong?”

“I don’t know. The opposition has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes; they disappeared during the night, and I cannot imagine where they have gone. They must have dropped in on some town that we should have made, and I am worried.”

Teddy pulled up a window shade and studied the landscape for several minutes.

“Curious, isn’t it?” he mumbled.

“Yes.”

“I might make a guess where they went, Phil.”

“You might guess?”

“That’s what I said.”

“Where do you think they have gone?”

“If I were to make a long-range guess, I should say that perhaps the cars of the opposition were sidetracked at Owls’ Valley.”

“Where is that? I never heard of the place.”

“That, my dear sir, is the deserted village. Lonesome Town, they ought to call it.”

“Where is it?”

“About twenty miles from the last stand; and, if they are there, they will be likely to stay there for sometime to come.”

Phil had wheeled about, studying his companion keenly.

“You seem to know a great deal about the movements of the enemy. How does it happen that you are so well posted, Teddy Tucker?”

“I was hanging around the station when they gave the order to have their cars dropped off there,” answered Teddy, avoiding the keen gaze of his companion and superior.

“Did you know the place was deserted?”

Teddy nodded.

“Did they?”

Teddy shook his head.

“How did they happen to order their cars dropped off there?”

“I—I guess somebody must have told them that—I guess maybe they thought we were going there.”

“Thought we were going there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Oh, because.”

A light was beginning to dawn upon the young car manager. He surveyed Teddy from beneath half closed eyelids. Tucker grew restless under the critical examination.

“Say, stop your looking at me that way.”

“Why?”

“You make me nervous. Stop it, I say!”

“Tell me all about it, Teddy,” urged Phil, trying hard to make his tone stern.

“Tell you about what?”

“Why the opposition happened to think we were going to Owls’ Valley.”

“Maybe they just imagined it.”

“And maybe they did not. You are mixed up in this, in some way, and I want to know all about it, Teddy Tucker. I hope you have done nothing dishonorable. Of course I am glad the other fellows are out of our way, but I want to know how. Come, be frank with me. You are avoiding the question. Remember I am the manager of this car; I am responsible for all that is done on it. Out with it!”

Teddy fidgeted.

“Well, it was this way. Somebody told them—”

“Well, told them what?” urged Phil.

“Told them they heard we were going to bill Owls’ Valley.”

“So, that’s it, eh?”

Teddy nodded again.

“Did you give out any such information as that?”

Teddy shook his head.

“Who did?”

“I won’t tell. You can’t make me tell,” retorted the Circus Boy belligerently.

“But you were responsible for the rumor getting out?”

Teddy did not answer.

“And those poor fellows are lying there on the siding, twenty miles from the nearest telegraph office?”

“I guess so.” Tucker grinned broadly.

“And how are they going to get out?”

“Walk!”

Phil broke out into a roar of laughter.

“Oh, Teddy, what am I going to do with you? Do you know you have done very wrong?”

“No, I don’t. The trouble with you is that you don’t appreciate a good thing when you get it. You were wishing you could get rid of the opposition cars, weren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“Well, you’re rid of them, aren’t you?”

“Yes, but—”

“And I got rid of them for you.”

“Yes, but as I was saying—”

“Then what have you got to raise such a row about? You got your wish.”

Teddy curled up and began studying the landscape again.

“I admire your zeal young man, but your methods are open to severe criticism. First you imperil the lives of three carloads of men by cutting them loose from the train; then you climb a flag pole, nearly losing your own life in the attempt, and now you have lured three carloads of men to a deserted village, where you have lost them. Oh, I’ve got to laugh—I can’t help it!” And Phil did laugh, disturbed as he was over Teddy Tucker’s repeated violation of what Phil believed to be the right and honorable way of doing business.

“Billy!” called Phil.

Mr. Conley responded promptly.

“I am not asking any questions. I do not want to know any more than I do about this business. I already know more than I wish I knew. I want to say, however, that when any more plans are made, any schemes hatched for outwitting our rivals, I shall appreciate being made acquainted with such plans before they are put into practice.”

Teddy looked up in amazement. He had not the remotest idea that Phil even suspected who had been his accomplice. But the car manager had no need to be told. He was too shrewd not to suspect at once who it was that had carried out Teddy’s suggestions and sidetracked the opposition where they would not get out for at least a whole day.

“Yes, sir,” answered Billy meekly.

“I understand that the opposition are where they are likely to stay for sometime to come?”

“Yes, sir; so I understand.”

“Oh, you do, eh?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You know all about it? Well, I thought as much. But I am sorry you have admitted it. That necessitates my reading you a severe lecture.”

This Phil did, laying down the law as Conley never had supposed the Circus Boy could do. Billy repeated the lecture to the rest of the crew, later on, and all agreed that Phil Forrest, the young advance agent, had left nothing unsaid. Phil’s stock rose correspondingly. A man who could “call down” his crew properly was a real car manager.

While the Sparling Show profited by Teddy’s ruse, Phil felt unhappy that his advantage had come by reason of the falsehood that Teddy had told; and that night Phil read his young friend a severe lecture.

“If I find you doing a trick like that again,” concluded Phil, “you close there and then.”

CHAPTER XXIV

Conclusion

“Who is the man in charge of Sparling Advance Car Number Three?” demanded Mr. Starr, manager of “The Greatest Show on Earth.”

“A young fellow named Forrest. That is all I know about him,” answered the treasurer of the show.

“He used to be a performer and a good one, too,” spoke up the assistant manager.

This conversation took place in the office tent of the show that Phil Forrest had been fighting almost ever since he took charge of Car Three.

“He is one of the best bareback riders who ever entered the forty-two foot ring,” continued the assistant manager.

“What has he ever done before? I never heard of him.”

“He has been with Sparling, I think, about five years. I understand he never did any circus work before that.”

“I want that young man,” announced the general manager decisively.

“Probably money will get him,” smiled the treasurer.

“I do not wish to do anything to offend Sparling, for he is an old friend, and one of the best showmen in the country. I’ll write him today, and see what he has to say. That young man, Forrest, or whatever his name may be, is giving us more trouble than we ever had before. He is practically putting our men all out of business. We shall have to change our route, or close, if he keeps on heading off our advance cars.”

“It has come to a pretty pass, if a green boy with no previous experience is to defeat us. What is the matter with our advance men?” demanded the assistant manager.

“That is what I should like to know,” answered Mr. Starr. “I will write Sparling today about this matter.”

Weeks had passed and Car Three had worked its way across the plains, on into the mountainous country. Car managers had again been changed on the yellow car; another car had been sent in ahead of Phil, but to no better purpose than before.

Car Three moved on, making one brilliant dash after another, sometimes winning out by the narrowest margin and apparently by pure luck. Still, Phil Forrest and his loyal crew were never caught napping and were never headed off for more than a day at a time.

The season was drawing to a close. One day Phil received a wire from Mr. Sparling reading:

“Close at Deming, New Mexico, September fifteen.”

“Boys, the end is in sight; and I, for one, shall be glad when we are through,” announced Phil, appearing in the men’s part of the car, where he read the telegram from the owner of the show.

The men set up a cheer.

“Now let’s drive the other fellows off the map during these remaining two weeks.”

How those men did work! No man on that car overslept during the rest of the trip. Phil seemed not to know the meaning of the word “tired.” All hours of the night found him on duty, either watching the movements of his car or laying out work ahead, planning and scheming to outwit his rivals.

At last Car Three rolled into the station at Deming. It was a warm, balmy Fall day.

“Now burn the town up with your paper, boys,” commanded Phil, after they had finished their breakfast. “Come in early tonight. I want all hands to drop paste pots and brushes tonight, and take dinner with me. It will not be at a contract hotel, either. Dinner at eight o’clock.”

“Hooray!” exclaimed Teddy. “A real feed for once, fellows! No more meals at The Sign of the Tin Spoon this season!”

The crew of Car Three were not slow about getting in that night. Every man was on time. They dodged out of the car with bundles under their arms, got a refreshing bath, and spick and span in tailor-made clothes and clean linen, they presented themselves at the car just before eight o’clock.

“Hello! You boys do not look natural,” hailed Phil, with a laugh. “But come along; I know you are hungry, and so am I.”

The Circus Boy had arranged for a fine dinner at the leading hotel of the city, where he had engaged a private dining room for the evening.

It was a jolly meal. Everyone was happy in the consciousness of work well done, in the knowledge that they had outrivaled every opposition car that had been sent into their field.

The dinner was nearing its close when Phil rose and rapped for order.

“Boys,” he said, “you have done great work. You have been loyal, and without your help I should have made a miserable failure of this work. You know how green I was, how little I really know about the advance work yet—”

Someone laughed.

“You need not laugh. I know it, whether you boys do or not. I asked you to dine with Teddy and myself here tonight, that I might tell you these things and thank you. If ever I am sent in advance again I hope you boys will be with me, every one of you.”

“You bet we will!” shouted the men in chorus.

“And let me add that Mr. Sparling is not ungrateful for the work you have done this season. He has asked me to present you with a small expression of his appreciation. Teddy, will you please pass these envelopes to the boys? You will find their names written on the envelopes.”

Tucker quickly distributed the little brown envelopes.

The men shouted. Each envelope held a crisp, new fifty-dollar bill.

“Three cheers for Boss Sparling!” cried Rosie the Pig, springing to his feet, waving the bill above his head.

The cheers were given with a will.

“I will bid you good-bye tonight,” continued Phil. “Teddy and myself will take a late train for the East, after we get through. We are going back to join the show until it closes—”

“Wait a minute, Boss,” interrupted Billy Conley, rising. “This show isn’t over yet.”

“The Band Concert in the main tent is about to begin.”

Phil glanced at him inquiringly.

“All the natural curiosities, including the Missing Link and the Human Pig, will be on view. Take your seats in the center ring, immediately after the performance closes!”

Billy drew a package from his pocket and placed it on the table before him.

“Boss, the fellows have asked me to present to you a little expression of their good will—to the greatest advance agent that ever hit the iron trail. You’ve made us work like all possessed, but we love you almost to death, just the same. I present this gift to you with our compliments, Boss, and here also is a little remembrance for our friend, Spotted Horse, otherwise known as Teddy Tucker.”

Billy sat down, and Phil, rising, accepted the gift. Opening the package he found a handsome gold watch and chain, his initials set in the back of the watch case in diamonds.

“Oh, boys, why did you do it?” gasped Phil, in an unsteady voice.

“I’ve got a diamond stick pin!” shouted Teddy triumphantly.

Phil’s eyes were moist.

“Why—why did you—”

“ ’Cause—’cause you’re the best fellow that ever lived! Say, quit lookin’ at me like that, or I’ll blubber right out,” stammered Billy, hastily pushing back his chair and walking over to the window.

“For he’s a jolly good fellow!” struck up Rosie the Pig. All joined in the chorus, while Phil sat down helplessly, unable to say a word.

On the second morning thereafter the Circus Boys rejoined the Great Sparling Shows, where they were welcomed right royally. Teddy insisted in going on with his mule act that same day.

Even the donkey was glad to see Teddy. January evinced his pleasure at having his young master with him again by promptly kicking young Tucker through the side wall of the pad room, nearly breaking the Circus Boy’s neck.

That day a letter came to Phil from The Greatest Show on Earth. After reading it, Phil hastened to his employer.

“I have a letter offering us both a contract with The Greatest for next season. What do you think of that, Mr. Sparling?” asked Phil with sparkling eyes.

Mr. Sparling did not appear to be surprised.

“Well, what are you going to do about it?”

“Refuse it, of course. I prefer to stay with you.”

“And I prefer to have you.”

“I thought you would.”

“But I shall ask you to accept; in fact, I wish you to do so. You will find the experience valuable. When you finish your season with the big show I shall have something of great importance to communicate to you, if you wish to return to us.”

“Wish to?”

“Yes; so wire on your acceptance right away, my boy, then you and I will have a long talk.”

So it was left. Phil went on with the show during the remaining four weeks, then the boys turned their faces homeward, where they planned to put in a busy winter practicing and studying.

Despite their reluctance to leave Mr. Sparling for a season, they were looking forward to the coming Spring when they were to join the other show. Their experiences there will be related in a following volume, entitled, “THE CIRCUS BOYS AT THE TOP; Or, Bossing the Greatest Show of All.”

THE END