Scanned by Charles Keller with Calera WordScan Plus 2.0 donated by: Calera Recognition Systems Sunnyvale, CA 94086 1-408-720-8300 Mike Lynch Memorial Edition The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley IN TEN VOLUMES Including Poems and Prose Sketches, many of which have not heretofore been published; an authentic Biography, an elaborate Index and numerous Illustrations in color from Paintings by Howard Chandler Christy and Ethyl Franklin Betts HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS NEW YORK AND LONDON 1883, 1885, 1887, 1888, 1890, 1891, 189, 1893, 1894, 1896, 1897, 1898, 1899, 1900, 1901, 190, 1903, 1904, 1905, 1906, 1907, 1908, 1909, 1910, 1911, 191, 1913, BY JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY ALL RIGHTS RESERVED COPYRIGHT 1916 JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY THE MEMORY OF James Whitcomb Riley IN PLEASANT RECOLLECTION OF MORE THAN THIRTY-FIVE YEARS OF BUSINESS AND PERSONAL ASSOCIATION THESE FINAL VOLUMES ARE AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED BORN: DIED: October 7, 1849, July 22, 1916 Greenfield, Ind. Indianapolis, Ind. JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY--A SKETCH A BACKWARD LOOK PHILIPER FLASH THE SAME OLD STORY TO A BOY WHISTLING AN OLD FRIEND WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING A POET'S WOOING MAN'S DEVOTION THE OLD TIMES WERE THE BEST A SUMMER AFTERNOON FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET THE SPEEDING OF THE KING'S SPITE PRIVATE THEATRICAL PLAIN SERMONS "TRADIN' JOE" DOT LEEDLE BOY I SMOKE MY PIPE RED RIDING HOOD IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY A COUNTRY PATHWAY THE OLD GUITAR "FRIDAY AFTERNOON" "JOHNSON'S BOY" HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS NATURAL PERVERSITIES THE SILENT VICTORS DEAD IN SIGHT OF FAME THE IRON HORSE OVER THE EYES OF GLADNESS ONLY A DREAM OUR LlTTLE GIRL THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW SONG OF THE NEW YEAR A LETTER TO A FRIEND LINES FOR AN ALBUM AN EMPTY NEST MY FATHER'S HALLS THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB THAT OTHER MAUDE MULLER A MAN OF MANY PARTS A DREAM OF LONG AGO WASH LOWRY'S REMINISCENCE THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN PRIOR TO MISS BELLE'S APPEARANCE WHEN MOTHER COMBED MY HAIR A WRANGDILLION GEORGE MULLEN'S CONFESSION SAY SOMETHING TO ME A TEST OF LOVE FATHER WILLIAM WHAT THE WIND SAID AN AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA THE RAINY MORNING WE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN WE SMILE A SUMMER SUNRISE DAS KRIST KINDEL AN OLD YEAR'S ADDRESS A NEW YEAR S PLAINT LUTHER BENSON WHEN EVENING SHADOWS FALL DREAMER, SAY TOM VAN ARDEN JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY--A SKETCH On Sunday morning, October seventh, 1849, Reuben A. Riley and his wife, Elizabeth Marine Riley, rejoiced over the birth of their second son. They called him James Whitcomb. This was in a shady little street in the shady little town of Greenfield, which is in the county of Hancock and the state of Indiana. The young James found a brother and a sister waiting to greet him--John Andrew and Martha Celestia, and afterward came Elva May--Mrs. Henry Eitel-- Alexander Humbolt and Mary Elizabeth, who, of all, alone lives to see this collection of her brother's poems. James Whitcomb was a slender lad, with corn-silk hair and wide blue eyes. He was shy and timid, not strong physically, dreading the cold of winter, and avoiding the rougher sports of his playmates. And yet he was full of the spirit of youth, a spirit that manifested itself in the performance of many ingenious pranks. His every-day life was that of the average boy in the average country town of that day, but his home influences were exceptional. His father, who became a captain of cavalry in the Civil War, was a lawyer of ability and an orator of more than local distinction. His mother was a woman of rare strength of character combined with deep sympathy and a clear understanding. Together, they made home a place to remember with thankful heart. When James was twenty years old, the death of his mother made a profound impression on him, an impression that has influenced much of his verse and has remained with him always. At an early age he was sent to school and, "then sent back again," to use his own words. He was restive under what he called the "iron discipline." A number of years ago, he spoke of these early educational beginnings in phrases so picturesque and so characteristic that they are quoted in full: "My first teacher was a little old woman, rosy and roly-poly, who looked as though she might have just come tumbling out of a fairy story, so lovable was she and so jolly and so amiable. She kept school in her little Dame-Trot kind of dwelling of three rooms, with a porch in the rear, like a bracket on the wall, which was part of the play-ground of her 'scholars,'--for in those days pupils were called 'scholars' by their affectionate teachers. Among the twelve or fifteen boys and girls who were there I remember particularly a little lame boy, who always got the first ride in the locust-tree swing during recess. "This first teacher of mine was a mother to all her 'scholars,' and in every way looked after their comfort, especially when certain little ones grew drowsy. I was often, with others, carried to the sitting-room and left to slumber on a small made- down pallet on the floor. She would sometimes take three or four of us together; and I recall how a playmate and I, having been admonished into silence, grew deeply interested in watching a spare old man who sat at a window with its shade drawn down. After a while we became accustomed to this odd sight and would laugh, and talk in whispers and give imitations, as we sat in a low sewing-chair, of the little old pendulating blind man at the window. Well, the old man was the gentle teacher's charge, and for this reason, possibly, her life had become an heroic one, caring for her helpless husband who, quietly content, waited always at the window for his sight to come back to him. And doubtless it is to-day, as he sits at another casement and sees not only his earthly friends, but all the friends of the Eternal Home, with the smiling, loyal, loving little woman forever at his "She was the kindliest of souls even when constrained to punish us. After a whipping she invariably took me into the little kitchen and gave me two great white slabs of bread cemented together with layers of butter and jam. As she always whipped me with the same slender switch she used for a pointer, and cried over every lick, you will have an idea how much punishment I could stand. When I was old enough to be lifted by the ears out of my seat that office was performed by a pedagogue whom I promised to 'whip sure, if he'd just wait till I got big enough.' He is still waiting! "There was but one book at school in which I found the slightest interest: McGuffey's old leather-bound Sixth Reader. It was the tallest book known, and to the boys of my size it was a matter of eternal wonder how I could belong to 'the big class in that reader.' When we were to read the death of 'Little Nell,' I would run away, for I knew it would make me cry, that the other boys would laugh at me, and the whole thing would become ridiculous. I couldn't bear that. A later teacher, Captain Lee O. Harris, came to understand me with thorough sympathy, took compassion on my weaknesses and encouraged me to read the best literature. He understood that he couldn't get numbers into my head. You couldn't tamp them in! History I also disliked as a dry thing without juice, and dates melted out of my memory as speedily as tin-foil on a red-hot stove. But I always was ready to declaim and took natively to anything dramatic or theatrical. Captain Harris encouraged me in recitation and reading and had ever the sweet spirit of a companion rather than the manner of an instructor." But if there was "only one book at school in which he found the slightest interest," he had before that time displayed an affection for a book--simply as such and not for any printed word it might contain. And this, after all, is the true book-lover's love. Speaking of this incident--and he liked to refer to it as his "first literary recollection," he said: "Long before I was old enough to read I remember buying a book at an old auctioneer's shop in Greenfield. I can not imagine what prophetic impulse took possession of me and made me forego the ginger cakes and the candy that usually took every cent of my youthful income. The slender little volume must have cost all of twenty-five cents! It was Francis Quarles' Divine Emblems,--a neat little affair about the size of a pocket Testament. I carried it around with me all day long, delighted with the very " 'What have you got there, Bub?' some one would ask. 'A book,' I would reply. 'What kind of a book?' 'Poetry-book.' 'Poetry!' would be the amused exclamation. 'Can you read poetry?' and, embarrassed, I'd shake my head and make my escape, but I held on to the beloved little volume." Every boy has an early determination--a first one--to follow some ennobling profession, once he has come to man's estate, such as being a policeman, or a performer on the high trapeze. The poet would not have been the "Peoples' Laureate," had his fairy god- mother granted his boy-wish, but the Greenfield baker. For to his childish mind it "seemed the acme of delight," using again his own happy expression, "to manufacture those snowy loaves of bread, those delicious tarts, those toothsome bon-bons. And then to own them all, to keep them in store, to watch over and guardedly exhibit. The thought of getting money for them was to me a sacrilege. Sell them? No indeed. Eat 'em--eat 'em, by tray loads and dray loads! It was a great wonder to me why the pale-faced baker in our town did not eat all his good things. This I determined to do when I became owner of such a grand establishment. Yes, sir. I would have a glorious feast. Maybe I'd have Tom and Harry and perhaps little Kate and Florry in to help us once in a while. The thought of these play-mates as 'grown-up folks' didn't appeal to me. I was but a child, with wide-open eyes, a healthy appetite and a wondering mind. That was all. But I have the same sweet tooth to-day, and every time I pass a confectioner's shop, I think of the big baker of our town, and Tom and Harry and the youngsters all." As a child, he often went with his father to the court-house where the lawyers and clerks playfully called him "judge Wick." Here as a privileged character he met and mingled with the country folk who came to sue and be sued, and thus early the dialect, the native speech, the quaint expressions of his "own people" were made familiar to him, and took firm root in the fresh soil of his young memory. At about this time, he made his first poetic attempt in a valentine which he gave to his mother. Not only did he write the verse, but he drew a sketch to accompany it, greatly to his mother's delight, who, according to the best authority, gave the young poet "three big cookies and didn't spank me for two weeks. This was my earliest literary encouragement." Shortly after his sixteenth birthday, young Riley turned his back on the little schoolhouse and for a time wandered through the different fields of art, indulging a slender talent for painting until he thought he was destined for the brush and palette, and then making merry with various musical instruments, the banjo, the guitar, the violin, until finally he appeared as bass drummer in a brass band. "In a few weeks," he said, "I had beat myself into the more enviable position of snare drummer. Then I wanted to travel with a circus, and dangle my legs before admiring thousands over the back seat of a Golden Chariot. In a dearth of comic songs for the banjo and guitar, I had written two or three myself, and the idea took possession of me that I might be a clown, introduced as a character-song-man and the composer of my own ballads. "My father was thinking of something else, however, and one day I found myself with a 'five-ought' paint brush under the eaves of an old frame house that drank paint by the bucketful, learning to be a painter. Finally, I graduated as a house, sign and ornamental painter, and for two summers traveled about with a small company of young fellows calling ourselves 'The Graphics,' who covered all the barns and fences in the state with advertisements." At another time his, young man's fancy saw attractive possibilities in the village print-shop, and later his ambition was diverted to acting, encouraged by the good times he had in the theatricals of the Adelphian Society of Greenfield. "In my dreamy way," he afterward said, "I did a little of a number of things fairly well--sang, played the guitar and violin, acted, painted signs and wrote poetry. My father did not encourage my verse-making for he thought it too visionary, and being a visionary himself, he believed he understood the dangers of following the promptings of the poetic temperament. I doubted if anything would come of the verse-writing myself. At this time it is easy to picture my father, a lawyer of ability, regarding me, nonplused, as the worst case he had ever had. He wanted me to do something practical, besides being ambitious for me to follow in his footsteps, and at last persuaded me to settle down and read law in his office. This I really tried to do conscientiously, but finding that political economy and Blackstone did not rhyme and that the study of law was unbearable, I slipped out of the office one summer afternoon, when all out-doors called imperiously, shook the last dusty premise from my head and was away. "The immediate instigator of my flight was a traveling medicine man who appealed to me for this reason: My health was bad, very bad,--as bad as I was. Our doctor had advised me to travel, but how could I travel without money? The medicine man needed an assistant and I plucked up courage to ask if I could join the party and paint advertisements for him. "I rode out of town with that glittering cavalcade without saying good-by to any one, and though my patron was not a diplomaed doctor, as I found out, he was a man of excellent habits, and the whole company was made up of good straight boys, jolly chirping vagabonds like myself. It was delightful to bowl over the country in that way. I laughed all the time. Miles and miles of somber landscape were made bright with merry song, and when the sun shone and all the golden summer lay spread out before us, it was glorious just to drift on through it like a wisp, of thistle-down, careless of how, or when, or where the wind should anchor us. 'There's a tang of gipsy blood in my veins that pants for the sun and the air.' "My duty proper was the manipulation of two blackboards, swung at the sides of the wagon during our street lecture and concert. These boards were alternately embellished with colored drawings illustrative of the manifold virtues of the nostrum vended. Sometimes I assisted the musical olio with dialect recitations and character sketches from the back step of the wagon. These selections in the main originated from incidents and experiences along the route, and were composed on dull Sundays in lonesome little towns where even the church bells seemed to bark at us." On his return to Greenfield after this delightful but profitless tour he became the local editor of his home paper and in a few months "strangled the little thing into a change of ownership." The new proprietor transferred him to the literary department and the latter, not knowing what else to put in the space allotted him, filled it with verse. But there was not room in his department for all he produced, so he began, timidly, to offer his poetic wares in foreign markets. The editor of The Indianapolis Mirror accepted two or three shorter verses but in doing so suggested that in the future he try prose. Being but an humble beginner, Riley harkened to the advice, whereupon the editor made a further suggestion; this time that he try poetry again. The Danbury (Connecticut) News, then at the height of its humorous reputation, accepted a contribution shortly after The Mirror episode and Mr. McGeechy, its managing editor, wrote the young poet a graceful note of congratulation. Commenting on these parlous times, Riley afterward wrote, "It is strange how little a thing sometimes makes or unmakes a fellow. In these dark days I should have been content with the twinkle of the tiniest star, but even this light was withheld from me. Just then came the letter from McGeechy; and about the same time, arrived my first check, a payment from Hearth and Home for a contribution called A Destiny (now A Dreamer in A Child World). The letter was signed, 'Editor' and unless sent by an assistant it must have come from Ik Marvel himself, God bless him! I thought my fortune made. Almost immediately I sent off another contribution, whereupon to my dismay came this reply: 'The management has decided to discontinue the publication and hopes that you will find a market for your worthy work elsewhere.' Then followed dark days indeed, until finally, inspired by my old teacher and comrade, Captain Lee O. Harris, I sent some of my poems to Longfellow, who replied in his kind and gentle manner with the substantial encouragement for which I had long In the year following, Riley formed a connection with The Anderson (Indiana) Democrat and contributed verse and locals in more than generous quantities. He was happy in this work and had begun to feel that at last he was making progress when evil fortune knocked at his door and, conspiring with circumstances and a friend or two, induced the young poet to devise what afterward seemed to him the gravest of mistakes,--the Poe-poem hoax. He was then writing for an audience of county papers and never dreamed that this whimsical bit of fooling would be carried beyond such boundaries. It was suggested by these circumstances. He was inwardly distressed by the belief that his failure to get the magazines to accept his verse was due to his obscurity, while outwardly he was harassed to desperation by the junior editor of the rival paper who jeered daily at his poetical pretensions. So, to prove that editors would praise from a known source what they did not hesitate to condemn from one unknown, and to silence his nagging contemporary, he wrote Leonainie in the style of Poe, concocting a story, to accompany the poem, setting forth how Poe came to write it and how all these years it had been lost to view. In a few words Mr. Riley related the incident and then dismissed it. "I studied Poe's methods. He seemed to have a theory, rather misty to be sure, about the use of 'm's' and 'n's' and mellifluous vowels and sonorous words. I remember that I was a long time in evolving the name Leonainie, but at length the verses were finished and ready for trial. "A friend, the editor of The Kokomo Dispatch, undertook the launching of the hoax in his paper; he did this with great editorial gusto while, at the same time, I attacked the authenticity of the poem in The Democrat. That diverted all possible suspicion from me. The hoax succeeded far too well, for what had started as a boyish prank became a literary discussion nation-wide, and the necessary expose had to be made. I was appalled at the result. The press assailed me furiously, and even my own paper dismissed me because I had given the 'discovery' to a rival." Two dreary and disheartening years followed this tragic event, years in which the young poet found no present help, nor future hope. But over in Indianapolis, twenty miles away, happier circumstances were shaping themselves. Judge E. B. Martindale, editor and proprietor of The Indianapolis Journal, had been attracted by certain poems in various papers over the state and at the very time that the poet was ready to confess himself beaten, the judge wrote: "Come over to Indianapolis and we'll give you, a place on The Journal." Mr. Riley went. That was the turning point, and though the skies were not always clear, nor the way easy, still from that time it was ever an ascending journey. As soon as he was comfortably settled in his new position, the first of the Benj. F. Johnson poems made its appearance. These dialect verses were introduced with editorial comment as coming from an old Boone county farmer, and their reception was so cordial, so enthusiastic, indeed, that the business manager of The Journal, Mr. George C. Hitt, privately published them in pamphlet form and sold the first edition of one thousand copies in local bookstores and over The Journal office counter. This marked an epoch in the young poet's progress and was the beginning of a friendship between him and Mr. Hitt that has never known interruption. This first edition of The Old Swimmin' Hole and 'Leven More Poems has since become extremely rare and now commands a high premium. A second edition was promptly issued by a local book dealer, whose successors, The Bowen-Merrill Company--now The Bobbs-Merrill Company--have continued, practically without interruption, to publish Riley's The call to read from the public platform had by this time become so insistent that Riley could no longer resist it, although modesty and shyness fought the battle for privacy. He told briefly and in his own inimitable fashion of these trying experiences. "In boyhood I had been vividly impressed with Dickens' success in reading from his own works and dreamed that some day I might follow his example. At first I read at Sunday- school entertainments and later, on special occasions such as Memorial Days and Fourth of Julys. At last I mustered up sufficient courage to read in a city theater, where, despite the conspiracy of a rainy night and a circus, I got encouragement enough to lead me to extend my efforts. And so, my native state and then the country at large were called upon to bear with me and I think I visited every sequestered spot north or south particularly distinguished for poor railroad connections. At different times, I shared the program with Mark Twain, Robert J. Burdette and George Cable, and for a while my gentlest and cheeriest of friends, Bill Nye, joined with me and made the dusty detested travel almost a delight. We were constantly playing practical jokes on each other or indulging in some mischievous banter before the audience. On one occasion, Mr. Nye, coming before the foot-lights for a word of general introduction, said, 'Ladies and gentlemen, the entertainment to-night is of a dual nature. Mr. Riley and I will speak alternately. First I come out and talk until I get tired, then Mr. Riley comes out and talks until YOU get tired!' And thus the trips went merrily enough at times and besides I learned to know in Bill Nye a man blessed with as noble and heroic a heart as ever beat. But the making of trains, which were all in conspiracy to outwit me, schedule or no schedule, and the rush and tyrannical pressure of inviolable engagements, some hundred to a season and from Boston to San Francisco, were a distress to my soul. I am glad that's over with. Imagine yourself on a crowded day-long excursion; imagine that you had to ride all the way on the platform of the car; then imagine that you had to ride all the way back on the same platform; and lastly, try to imagine how you would feel if you did that every day of your life, and you will then get a glimmer--a faint glimmer--of how one feels after traveling about on a reading or lecturing tour. "All this time I had been writing whenever there was any strength left in me. I could not resist the inclination to write. It was what I most enjoyed doing. And so I wrote, laboriously ever, more often using the rubber end of the pencil than the point. "In my readings I had an opportunity to study and find out for myself what the public wants, and afterward I would endeavor to use the knowledge gained in my writing. The public desires nothing but what is absolutely natural, and so perfectly natural as to be fairly artless. It can not tolerate affectation, and it takes little interest in the classical production. It demands simple sentiments that come direct from the heart. While on the lecture platform I watched the effect that my readings had on the audience very closely and whenever anybody left the hall I knew that my recitation was at fault and tried to find out why. Once a man and his wife made an exit while I was giving The Happy Little Cripple--a recitation I had prepared with particular enthusiasm and satisfaction. It fulfilled, as few poems do, all the requirements of length, climax and those many necessary features for a recitation. The subject was a theme of real pathos, beautified by the cheer and optimism of the little sufferer. Consequently when this couple left the hall I was very anxious to know the reason and asked a friend to find out. He learned that they had a little hunch-back child of their own. After this experience I never used that recitation again. On the other hand, it often required a long time for me to realize that the public would enjoy a poem which, because of some blind impulse, I thought unsuitable. Once a man said to me, 'Why don't you recite When the Frost Is on the Punkin?' The use of it had never occurred to me for I thought it 'wouldn't go.' He persuaded me to try it and it became one of my most favored recitations. Thus, I learned to judge and value my verses by their effect upon the public. Occasionally, at first, I had presumed to write 'over the heads' of the audience, consoling myself for the cool reception by thinking my auditors were not of sufficient intellectual height to appreciate my efforts. But after a time it came home to me that I myself was at fault in these failures, and then I disliked anything that did not appeal to the public and learned to discriminate between that which did not ring true to my hearers and that which won them by virtue of its truthfulness and was simply heart high." As a reader of his own poems, as a teller of humorous stories, as a mimic, indeed as a finished actor, Riley's genius was rare and beyond question. In a lecture on the Humorous Story, Mark Twain, referring to the story of the One Legged Soldier and the different ways of telling it, once said: "It takes only a minute and a half to tell it in its comic form; and it isn't worth telling after all. Put into the humorous-story form, it takes ten minutes, and is about the funniest thing I have ever listened to--as James Whitcomb Riley "The simplicity and innocence and sincerity and unconsciousness of Riley's old farmer are perfectly simulated, and the result is a performance which is thoroughly charming and delicious. This is art--and fine and beautiful, and only a master can compass It was in that The Old Swimmin' Hole and 'Leven More Poems first appeared in volume form. Four years afterward, Riley made his initial appearance before a New York City audience. The entertainment was given in aid of an international copyright law, and the country's most distinguished men of letters took part in the program. It is probably true that no one appearing at that time was less known to the vast audience in Chickering Hall than James Whitcomb Riley, but so great and so spontaneous was the enthusiasm when he left the stage after his contribution to the first day's program, that the management immediately announced a place would be made for Mr. Riley on the second and last day's program. It was then that James Russell Lowell introduced him in the following words: "Ladies and gentlemen: I have very great pleasure in presenting to you the next reader of this afternoon, Mr. James Whitcomb Riley, of Indiana. I confess, with no little chagrin and sense of my own loss, that when yesterday afternoon, from this platform, I presented him to a similar assemblage, I was almost completely a stranger to his poems. But since that time I have been looking into the volumes that have come from his pen, and in them I have discovered so much of high worth and tender quality that I deeply regret I had not long before made acquaintance with his work. To-day, in presenting Mr. Riley to you, I can say to you of my own knowledge, that you are to have the pleasure of listening to the voice of a true poet." Two years later a selection from his poems was published in England under the title Old Fashioned Roses and his international reputation was established. In his own country the people had already conferred their highest degrees on him and now the colleges and universities--seats of conservatism--gave him scholastic recognition. Yale made him an Honorary Master of Arts in 1902; in 1903, Wabash and, a year later, the University of Pennsylvania conferred on him the degree of Doctor of Letters, and in 1907 Indiana University gave him his LL. D. Still more recently the Academy of Arts and Letters elected him to membership, and in 1912 awarded him the gold medal for poetry. About this time a yet dearer, more touching tribute came to him from school children. On October 7, 1911, the schools of Indiana and New York City celebrated his birthday by special exercises, and one year later, the school children of practically every section of the country had programs in his honor. As these distinguished honors came they found him each time surprised anew and, though proud that they who dwell in the high places of learning should come in cap and gown to welcome him, yet gently and sincerely protesting his own unworthiness. And as they found him when they came so they left him. Mr. Riley made his home in Indianapolis from the time judge Martindale invited him to join The Journal's forces, and no one of her citizens was more devoted, nor was any so universally loved and honored. Everywhere he went the tribute of quick recognition and cheery greeting was paid him, and his home was the shrine of every visiting Hoosier. High on a sward of velvet grass stands a dignified middle-aged brick house. A dwarfed stone wall, broken by an iron gate, guards the front lawn, while in the rear an old-fashioned garden revels in hollyhocks and wild roses. Here among his books and his souvenirs the poet spent his happy andncontented days. To reach this restful spot, the pilgrim must journey to Lockerbie Street, a miniature thoroughfare half hidden between two more commanding avenues. It is little more than a lane, shaded, unpaved and from end to end no longer than a five minutes' walk, but its fame is for all "Such a dear little street it is, nestled away From the noise of the city and heat of the day, In cool shady coverts of whispering trees, With their leaves lifted up to shake hands with the breeze Which in all its wide wanderings never may meet With a resting-place fairer than Lockerbie Street!" Riley never married. He lived with devoted, loyal and understanding friends, a part of whose life he became many years ago. Kindly consideration, gentle affection, peace and order,-- all that go to make home home, were found here blooming with the hollyhocks and the wild roses. Every day some visitor knocked for admittance and was not denied; every day saw the poet calling for some companionable friend and driving with him through the city's shaded streets or far out into the country. And so his life drew on to its last and most beautiful year. Since his serious illness in 1910, the public had shown its love for him more and more frequently. On the occasion of his birthday in 1912, Greenfield had welcomed him home through a host of children scattering flowers. Anderson, where he was living when he first gained public recognition, had a Riley Day in 1913. The Indiana State University entertained him the same year, as did also the city of Cincinnati. In 1915 there was a Riley Day at Columbus, Indiana, and during all this time each birthday and Christmas was marked by "poetry-showers," and by thousands of letters of affectionate congratulation and by many tributes in the newspapers and magazines. His last birthday, October 7, 1915, was the most notable of all. Honorable Franklin K. Lane, Secretary of the Interior, suggested to the various school superintendents that one of Riley's poems be read in each schoolhouse, with the result that Riley celebrations were general among the children of the entire country. In a proclamation by Governor Ralston the State of Indiana designated the anniversary as Riley Day in honor of its "most beloved citizen." Thousands of letters and gifts from the poet's friends poured in--letters from schools and organizations and Riley Clubs as well as from individuals--while flowers came from every section of the country. Among them all, perhaps the poet was most pleased with a bunch of violets picked from the banks of the Brandywine by the children of a Riley school. It was on this last birthday that an afternoon festival of Riley poems set to music and danced in pantomime took place at Indianapolis. This was followed at night by a dinner in his honor at which Charles Warren Fairbanks presided, and the speakers were Governor Ralston, Doctor John Finley, Colonel George Harvey, Young E. Allison, William Allen White, George Ade, Ex-Senator Beveridge and Senator Kern. That night Riley smiled his most wonderful smile, his dimpled boyish smile, and when he rose to speak it was with a perceptible quaver in his voice that he said: "Everywhere the faces of friends, a beautiful throng of The winter and spring following, Riley spent quietly at Miami, Florida, where he had gone the two previous seasons to escape the cold and the rain. There was a Riley Day at Miami in February. In April, he returned home, feeling at his best, and, as if by premonition, sought out many of his friends, new and old, and took them for last rides in his automobile. A few days before the end, he visited Greenfield to attend the funeral of a dear boyhood chum, Almon Keefer, of whom he wrote in A Child-World. All Riley's old friends who were still left in Greenfield were gathered there and to them he spoke words of faith and good cheer. Almon Keefer had "just slipped out" quietly and peacefully, he said, and "it was beautiful." And as quietly and peacefully his own end came--as he had desired it, with no dimming of the faculties even to the very close, nor suffering, nor confronting death. This was Saturday night, July 22, 1916. On Monday afternoon and evening his body lay in state under the dome of Indiana's capitol, while the people filed by, thousands upon thousands. Business men were there, and schoolgirls, matrons carrying market baskets, mothers with little children, here and there a swarthy foreigner, old folks, too, and well-dressed youths, here a farmer and his wife, and there a workman in a blue jumper with his hat in his band, silent, inarticulate, yet bidding his good-by, too. On the following day, with only his nearest and dearest about him, all that was mortal of the people's poet was quietly and simply laid to rest. The Complete Works of James Whitcomb Riley A BACKWARD LOOK As I sat smoking, alone, yesterday, And lazily leaning back in my chair, Enjoying myself in a general way-- Allowing my thoughts a holiday From weariness, toil and care,-- My fancies--doubtless, for ventilation-- Left ajar the gates of my mind,-- And Memory, seeing the situation, Slipped out in the street of "Auld Lang Syne."-- Wandering ever with tireless feet Through scenes of silence, and jubilee Of long-hushed voices; and faces sweet Were thronging the shadowy side of the street As far as the eye could see; Dreaming again, in anticipation, The same old dreams of our boyhood's days That never come true, from the vague sensation Of walking asleep in the world's strange ways. Away to the house where I was born! And there was the selfsame clock that ticked From the close of dusk to the burst of morn, When life-warm hands plucked the golden corn And helped when the apples were picked. And the "chany dog" on the mantel-shelf, With the gilded collar and yellow eyes, Looked just as at first, when I hugged myself Sound asleep with the dear surprise. And down to the swing in the locust-tree, Where the grass was worn from the trampled ground, And where "Eck" Skinner, "Old" Carr, and three Or four such other boys used to be "Doin' sky-scrapers," or "whirlin' round": And again Bob climbed for the bluebird's nest, And again "had shows" in the buggy-shed Of Guymon's barn, where still, unguessed, The old ghosts romp through the best days dead! And again I gazed from the old schoolroom With a wistful look, of a long June day, When on my cheek was the hectic bloom Caught of Mischief, as I presume-- He had such a "partial" way, It seemed, toward me.--And again I thought Of a probable likelihood to be Kept in after school--for a girl was caught Catching a note from me. And down through the woods to the swimming-hole-- Where the big, white, hollow old sycamore grows,-- And we never cared when the water was cold, And always "ducked" the boy that told On the fellow that tied the clothes.-- When life went so like a dreamy rhyme, That it seems to me now that then The world was having a jollier time Than it ever will have again. PHILIPER FLASH Young Philiper Flash was a promising lad, His intentions were good--but oh, how sad For a person to think How the veriest pink And bloom of perfection may turn out bad. Old Flash himself was a moral man, And prided himself on a moral plan, Of a maxim as old As the calf of gold, Of making that boy do what he was told. And such a good mother had Philiper Flash; Her voice was as soft as the creamy plash Of the milky wave With its musical lave That gushed through the holes of her patent churn-dash;-- And the excellent woman loved Philiper so, She could cry sometimes when he stumped his toe,-- And she stroked his hair With such motherly care When the dear little angel learned to swear. Old Flash himself would sometimes say That his wife had "such a ridiculous way,-- She'd, humor that child Till he'd soon be sp'iled, And then there'd be the devil to pay!" And the excellent wife, with a martyr's look, Would tell old Flash himself "he took No notice at all Of the bright-eyed doll Unless when he spanked him for getting a fall!" Young Philiper Flash, as time passed by, Grew into "a boy with a roguish eye": He could smoke a cigar, And seemed by far The most promising youth.--"He's powerful sly, Old Flash himself once told a friend, "Every copper he gets he's sure to spend-- And," said he, "don't you know If he keeps on so What a crop of wild oats the boy will grow!" But his dear good mother knew Philiper's ways So--well, she managed the money to raise; And old Flash himself Was "laid on the shelf," (In the manner of speaking we have nowadays). For "gracious knows, her darling child, If he went without money he'd soon grow wild." So Philiper Flash With a regular dash "Swung on to the reins," and went "slingin' the cash." As old Flash himself, in his office one day, Was shaving notes in a barberous way, At the hour of four Death entered the door And shaved the note on his life, they say. And he had for his grave a magnificent tomb, Though the venturous finger that pointed "Gone Home," Looked white and cold From being so bold, As it feared that a popular lie was told. Young Philiper Flash was a man of style When he first began unpacking the pile Of the dollars and dimes Whose jingling chimes Had clinked to the tune of his father's smile; And he strewed his wealth with such lavish hand, His rakish ways were the talk of the land, And gossipers wise Sat winking their eyes (A certain foreboding of fresh surprise). A "fast young man" was Philiper Flash, And wore "loud clothes" and a weak mustache, And "done the Park," For an "afternoon lark," With a very fast horse of "remarkable dash." And Philiper handled a billiard-cue About as well as the best he knew, And used to say "He could make it pay By playing two or three games a day." And Philiper Flash was his mother's joy, He seemed to her the magic alloy That made her glad, When her heart was sad, With the thought that "she lived for her darling boy." His dear good mother wasn't aware How her darling boy relished a "tare."-- She said "one night He gave her a fright By coming home late and ACTING tight." Young Philiper Flash, on a winterish day, Was published a bankrupt, so they say-- And as far as I know I suppose it was so, For matters went on in a singular way; His excellent mother, I think I was told, Died from exposure and want and cold; And Philiper Flash, With a horrible slash, Whacked his jugular open and went to smash. THE SAME OLD STORY The same old story told again-- The maiden droops her head, The ripening glow of her crimson cheek Is answering in her stead. The pleading tone of a trembling voice Is telling her the way He loved her when his heart was young In Youth's sunshiny day: The trembling tongue, the longing tone, Imploringly ask why They can not be as happy now As in the days gone by. And two more hearts, tumultuous With overflowing joy, Are dancing to the music Which that dear, provoking boy Is twanging on his bowstring, As, fluttering his wings, He sends his love-charged arrows While merrily be sings: "Ho! ho! my dainty maiden, It surely can not be You are thinking you are master Of your heart, when it is me." And another gleaming arrow Does the little god's behest, And the dainty little maiden Falls upon her lover's breast. "The same old story told again," And listened o'er and o'er, Will still be new, and pleasing, too, Till "Time shall be no more." TO A BOY WHISTLING The smiling face of a happy boy With its enchanted key Is now unlocking in memory My store of heartiest joy. And my lost life again to-day, In pleasant colors all aglow, From rainbow tints, to pure white snow, Is a panorama sliding away. The whistled air of a simple tune Eddies and whirls my thoughts around, As fairy balloons of thistle-down Sail through the air of June. O happy boy with untaught grace! What is there in the world to give That can buy one hour of the life you live Or the trivial cause of your smiling face! AN OLD FRIEND Hey, Old Midsummer! are you here again, With all your harvest-store of olden joys,-- Vast overhanging meadow-lands of rain, And drowsy dawns, and noons when golden grain Nods in the sun, and lazy truant boys Drift ever listlessly adown the day, Too full of joy to rest, and dreams to play. The same old Summer, with the same old smile Beaming upon us in the same old way We knew in childhood! Though a weary while Since that far time, yet memories reconcile The heart with odorous breaths of clover hay; And again I hear the doves, and the sun streams through The old barn door just as it used to do. And so it seems like welcoming a friend-- An old, OLD friend, upon his coming home From some far country--coming home to spend Long, loitering days with me: And I extend My hand in rapturous glee:--And so you've come!-- Ho, I'm so glad! Come in and take a chair: Well, this is just like OLD times, I declare! WHAT SMITH KNEW ABOUT FARMING There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate;-- Jinin' each other--belongin' to Brown, And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town. Brown was a man, as I understand, That allus had handled a good 'eal o' land, And was sharp as a tack in drivin' a trade-- For that's the way most of his money was made. And all the grounds and the orchards about His two pet farms was all tricked out With poppies and posies And sweet-smellin' rosies; And hundreds o' kinds Of all sorts o' vines, To tickle the most horticultural minds And little dwarf trees not as thick as your wrist With ripe apples on 'em as big as your fist: And peaches,--Siberian crabs and pears, And quinces--Well! ANY fruit ANY tree bears; And th purtiest stream--jest a-swimmin' with fish, And--JEST O'MOST EVERYTHING HEART COULD WISH! The purtiest orch'rds--I wish you could see How purty they was, fer I know it 'ud be A regular treat!--but I'll go ahead with My story! A man by the name o' Smith-- (A bad name to rhyme, But I reckon that I'm Not goin' back on a Smith! nary time!) 'At hadn't a soul of kin nor kith, And more money than he knowed what to do with,-- So he comes a-ridin' along one day, And HE says to Brown, in his offhand way-- Who was trainin' some newfangled vines round a bay- Winder--"Howdy-do--look-a-here--say: What'll you take fer this property here?-- I'm talkin' o' leavin' the city this year, And I want to be Where the air is free, And I'll BUY this place, if it ain't too dear!"-- Well--they grumbled and jawed aroun'-- "I don't like to part with the place," says Brown; "Well," says Smith, a-jerkin' his head, "That house yonder--bricks painted red-- Jest like this'n--a PURTIER VIEW-- Who is it owns it?" "That's mine too," Says Brown, as he winked at a hole in his shoe, "But I'll tell you right here jest what I KIN do:-- If you'll pay the figgers I'll sell IT to you.," Smith went over and looked at the place-- Badgered with Brown, and argied the case-- Thought that Brown's figgers was rather too tall, But, findin' that Brown wasn't goin' to fall, In final agreed, So they drawed up the deed Fer the farm and the fixtures--the live stock an' all. And so Smith moved from the city as soon As he possibly could--But "the man in the moon" Knowed more'n Smith o' farmin' pursuits, And jest to convince you, and have no disputes, How little he knowed, I'll tell you his "mode," As he called it, o' raisin' "the best that growed," In the way o' potatoes-- Cucumbers--tomatoes, And squashes as lengthy as young alligators. 'Twas allus a curious thing to me How big a fool a feller kin be When he gits on a farm after leavin' a town!-- Expectin' to raise himself up to renown, And reap fer himself agricultural fame, By growin' of squashes--WITHOUT ANY SHAME-- As useless and long as a technical name. To make the soil pure, And certainly sure, He plastered the ground with patent manure. He had cultivators, and double-hoss plows, And patent machines fer milkin' his cows; And patent hay-forks--patent measures and weights, And new patent back-action hinges fer gates, And barn locks and latches, and such little dribs, And patents to keep the rats out o' the cribs-- Reapers and mowers, And patent grain sowers; And drillers And cucumber hillers, And horries;--and had patent rollers and scrapers, And took about ten agricultural papers. So you can imagine how matters turned out: But BROWN didn't have not a shadder o' doubt That Smith didn't know what he was about When he said that "the OLD way to farm was played out." But Smith worked ahead, And when any one said That the OLD way o' workin' was better instead O' his "modern idees," he allus turned red, And wanted to know What made people so INFERNALLY anxious to hear theirselves crow? And guessed that he'd manage to hoe his own row. Brown he come onc't and leant over the fence, And told Smith that he couldn't see any sense In goin' to such a tremendous expense Fer the sake o' such no-account experiments "That'll never make corn! As shore's you're born It'll come out the leetlest end of the horn!" Says Brown, as he pulled off a big roastin'-ear From a stalk of his own That had tribble outgrown Smith's poor yaller shoots, and says he, "Looky here! THIS corn was raised in the old-fashioned way, And I rather imagine that THIS corn'll pay Expenses fer RAISIN' it!--What do you say?" Brown got him then to look over his crop.-- HIS luck that season had been tip-top! And you may surmise Smith opened his eyes And let out a look o' the wildest surprise When Brown showed him punkins as big as the lies He was stuffin' him with--about offers he's had Fer his farm: "I don't want to sell very bad," He says, but says he, "Mr. Smith, you kin see Fer yourself how matters is standin' with me, I UNDERSTAND FARMIN' and I'd better stay, You know, on my farm;--I'm a-makin' it pay-- I oughtn't to grumble!--I reckon I'll clear Away over four thousand dollars this year." And that was the reason, he made it appear, Why he didn't care about sellin' his farm, And hinted at his havin' done himself harm In sellin' the other, and wanted to know If Smith wouldn't sell back ag'in to him.--So Smith took the bait, and says he, "Mr. Brown, I wouldn't SELL out but we might swap aroun'-- How'll you trade your place fer mine?" (Purty sharp way o' comin' the shine Over Smith! Wasn't it?) Well, sir, this Brown Played out his hand and brought Smithy down-- Traded with him an', workin' it cute, Raked in two thousand dollars to boot As slick as a whistle, an' that wasn't all,-- He managed to trade back ag'in the next fall,-- And the next--and the next--as long as Smith stayed He reaped with his harvests an annual trade.-- Why, I reckon that Brown must 'a' easily made-- On an AVERAGE--nearly two thousand a year-- Together he made over seven thousand--clear.-- Till Mr. Smith found he was losin' his health In as big a proportion, almost, as his wealth; So at last he concluded to move back to town, And sold back his farm to this same Mr. Brown At very low figgers, by gittin' it down. Further'n this I have nothin' to say Than merely advisin' the Smiths fer to stay In their grocery stores in flourishin' towns And leave agriculture alone--and the Browns. A POET'S WOOING I woo'd a woman once, But she was sharper than an eastern wind. --TENNYSON. "What may I do to make you glad, To make you glad and free, Till your light smiles glance And your bright eyes dance Like sunbeams on the sea? Read some rhyme that is blithe and gay Of a bright May morn and a marriage day?" And she sighed in a listless way she had,-- "Do not read--it will make me sad!" "What shall I do to make you glad-- To make you glad and gay, Till your eyes gleam bright As the stars at night When as light as the light of day Sing some song as I twang the strings Of my sweet guitar through its wanderings?" And she sighed in the weary way she had,-- "Do not sing--it will make me sad!" "What can I do to make you glad-- As glad as glad can be, Till your clear eyes seem Like the rays that gleam And glint through a dew-decked tree?-- Will it please you, dear, that I now begin A grand old air on my violin?" And she spoke again in the following way,-- "Yes, oh yes, it would please me, sir; I would be so glad you'd play Some grand old march--in character,-- And then as you march away I will no longer thus be sad, But oh, so glad--so glad--so glad!" MAN'S DEVOTION A lover said, "O Maiden, love me well, For I must go away: And should ANOTHER ever come to tell Of love--What WILL you say?" And she let fall a royal robe of hair That folded on his arm And made a golden pillow for her there; Her face--as bright a charm As ever setting held in kingly crown-- Made answer with a look, And reading it, the lover bended down, And, trusting, "kissed the book." He took a fond farewell and went away. And slow the time went by-- So weary--dreary was it, day by day To love, and wait, and sigh. She kissed his pictured face sometimes, and said: "O Lips, so cold and dumb, I would that you would tell me, if not dead, Why, why do you not come?" The picture, smiling, stared her in the face Unmoved--e'en with the touch Of tear-drops--HERS--bejeweling the case-- 'Twas plain--she loved him much. And, thus she grew to think of him as gay And joyous all the while, And SHE was sorrowing--"Ah, welladay!" But pictures ALWAYS smile! And years--dull years--in dull monotony As ever went and came, Still weaving changes on unceasingly, And changing, changed her name. Was she untrue?--She oftentimes was glad And happy as a wife; But ONE remembrance oftentimes made sad Her matrimonial life.-- Though its few years were hardly noted, when Again her path was strown With thorns--the roses swept away again, And she again alone! And then--alas! ah THEN!--her lover came: "I come to claim you now-- My Darling, for I know you are the same, And I have kept my vow Through these long, long, long years, and now no more Shall we asundered be!" She staggered back and, sinking to the floor, Cried in her agony: "I have been false!" she moaned, "_I_ am not true-- I am not worthy now, Nor ever can I be a wife to YOU-- For I have broke my vow!" And as she kneeled there, sobbing at his feet, He calmly spoke--no sign Betrayed his inward agony--"I count you meet To be a wife of mine!" And raised her up forgiven, though untrue; As fond he gazed on her, She sighed,--"SO HAPPY!" And she never knew HE was a WIDOWER. WITH A SERIOUS CONCLUSION Crowd about me, little children-- Come and cluster 'round my knee While I tell a little story That happened once with me. My father he had gone away A-sailing on the foam, Leaving me--the merest infant-- And my mother dear at home; For my father was a sailor, And he sailed the ocean o'er For full five years ere yet again He reached his native shore. And I had grown up rugged And healthy day by day, Though I was but a puny babe When father went away. Poor mother she would kiss me And look at me and sigh So strangely, oft I wondered And would ask the reason why. And she would answer sadly, Between her sobs and tears,-- "You look so like your father, Far away so many years!" And then she would caress me And brush my hair away, And tell me not to question, But to run about my play. Thus I went playing thoughtfully-- For that my mother said,-- "YOU LOOK SO LIKE YOUR FATHER!" Kept ringing in my head. So, ranging once the golden sands That looked out on the sea, I called aloud, "My father dear, Come back to ma and me!" Then I saw a glancing shadow On the sand, and heard the shriek Of a sea-gull flying seaward, And I heard a gruff voice speak:-- "Ay, ay, my little shipmate, I thought I heard you hail; Were you trumpeting that sea-gull, Or do you see a sail?" And as rough and gruff a sailor As ever sailed the sea Was standing near grotesquely And leering dreadfully. I replied, though I was frightened, "It was my father dear I was calling for across the sea-- I think he didn't hear." And then the sailor leered again In such a frightful way, And made so many faces I was little loath to stay: But he started fiercely toward me-- Then made a sudden halt And roared, "_I_ think he heard you!" And turned a somersault. Then a wild fear overcame me, And I flew off like the wind, Shrieking "MOTHER!"--and the sailor Just a little way behind! And then my mother heard me, And I saw her shade her eyes, Looking toward me from the doorway, Transfixed with pale surprise For a moment--then her features Glowed with all their wonted charms As the sailor overtook me, And I fainted in her arms. When I awoke to reason I shuddered with affright Till I felt my mother's presence With a thrill of wild delight-- Till, amid a shower of kisses Falling glad as summer rain, A muffled thunder rumbled,-- "Is he coming 'round again?" Then I shrieked and clung unto her, While her features flushed and burned As she told me it was father From a foreign land returned. . . . . . . . I said--when I was calm again, And thoughtfully once more Had dwelt upon my mother's words Of just the day before,-- "I DON'T look like my father, As you told me yesterday-- I know I don't--or father Would have run the other way." THE OLD TIMES WERE THE BEST Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and cheery, And your spirits feather-light, There's a ghostly music haunting Still the heart of every guest And a voiceless chorus chanting That the Old Times were the best. CHORUS All about is bright and pleasant With the sound of song and jest, Yet a feeling's ever present That the Old Times were the best. A SUMMER AFTERNOON A languid atmosphere, a lazy breeze, With labored respiration, moves the wheat From distant reaches, till the golden seas Break in crisp whispers at my feet. My book, neglected of an idle mind, Hides for a moment from the eyes of men; Or lightly opened by a critic wind, Affrightedly reviews itself again. Off through the haze that dances in the shine The warm sun showers in the open glade, The forest lies, a silhouette design Dimmed through and through with shade. A dreamy day; and tranquilly I lie At anchor from all storms of mental strain; With absent vision, gazing at the sky, "Like one that hears it rain." The Katydid, so boisterous last night, Clinging, inverted, in uneasy poise, Beneath a wheat-blade, has forgotten quite If "Katy DID or DIDN'T" make a noise. The twitter, sometimes, of a wayward bird That checks the song abruptly at the sound, And mildly, chiding echoes that have stirred, Sink into silence, all the more profound. And drowsily I hear the plaintive strain Of some poor dove . . . Why, I can scarcely keep My heavy eyelids--there it is again-- "Coo-coo!"--I mustn't--"Coo-coo!"--fall asleep! A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot The firmament; and where the moon has been An hour agone seems like the darkest spot. The weird wind--furious at its demon game-- Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame. A care-worn face peers out into the dark, And childish faces--frightened at the gloom-- Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark The father's as he passes through the room: The gate latch clatters, and wee baby Bess Whispers, "The doctor's tummin' now, I dess!" The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain Flits o'er his face: "Amanda, child! I said A moment since--I see I must AGAIN-- Go take your little sisters off to bed! There, Effie, Rose, and CLARA MUSTN'T CRY!" "I tan't he'p it--I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!" What are his feelings, when this man alone Sits in the silence, glaring in the grate That sobs and sighs on in an undertone As stoical--immovable as Fate, While muffled voices from the sick one's room Come in like heralds of a dreaded doom? The door-latch jingles: in the doorway stands The doctor, while the draft puffs in a breath-- The dead coals leap to life, and clap their hands, The flames flash up. A face as pale as death Turns slowly--teeth tight clenched, and with a look The doctor, through his specs, reads like a book. "Come, brace up, Major!"--"Let me know the worst!" "W'y you're the biggest fool I ever saw-- Here, Major--take a little brandy first-- There! She's a BOY--I mean HE is--hurrah!" "Wake up the other girls--and shout for joy-- Eureka is his name--I've found A BOY!" FARMER WHIPPLE--BACHELOR It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more-- A-lookin' glad and smilin'! And they's none o' you can say That you can guess the reason why I feel so good to-day! I must tell you all about it! But I'll have to deviate A little in beginnin', so's to set the matter straight As to how it comes to happen that I never took a wife-- Kindo' "crawfish" from the Present to the Springtime of my life! I was brought up in the country: Of a family of five-- Three brothers and a sister--I'm the only one alive,-- Fer they all died little babies; and 'twas one o' Mother's ways, You know, to want a daughter; so she took a girl to raise. The sweetest little thing she was, with rosy cheeks, and fat-- We was little chunks o' shavers then about as high as that! But someway we sort a' SUITED-like! and Mother she'd declare She never laid her eyes on a more lovin' pair Than WE was! So we growed up side by side fer thirteen year', And every hour of it she growed to me more dear!-- W'y, even Father's dyin', as he did, I do believe Warn't more affectin' to me than it was to see her grieve! I was then a lad o' twenty; and I felt a flash o' pride In thinkin' all depended on ME now to pervide Fer Mother and fer Mary; and I went about the place With sleeves rolled up--and workin', with a mighty smilin' Fer SOMEPIN' ELSE was workin'! but not a word I said Of a certain sort o' notion that was runnin' through my head,-- "Some day I'd maybe marry, and a BROTHER'S love was one Thing--a LOVER'S was another!" was the way the notion run! I remember onc't in harvest, when the "cradle-in' " was done, (When the harvest of my summers mounted up to twenty-one), I was ridin' home with Mary at the closin' o' the day-- A-chawin' straws and thinkin', in a lover's lazy way! And Mary's cheeks was burnin' like the sunset down the lane: I noticed she was thinkin', too, and ast her to explain. Well--when she turned and KISSED ME, WITH HER ARMS AROUND I'd a bigger load o' Heaven than I had a load o' straw! I don't p'tend to learnin', but I'll tell you what's a fac', They's a mighty truthful sayin' somers in a' almanac-- Er SOMERS--'bout "puore happiness"--perhaps some folks'll laugh At the idy--"only lastin' jest two seconds and a half."-- But it's jest as true as preachin'!--fer that was a SISTER'S And a sister's lovin' confidence a-tellin' to me this:-- "SHE was happy, BEIN' PROMISED TO THE SON O' FARMER BROWN."-- And my feelin's struck a pardnership with sunset and went down! I don't know HOW I acted, and I don't know WHAT I said,-- Fer my heart seemed jest a-turnin' to an ice-cold lump o' lead; And the hosses kind o'glimmered before me in the road, And the lines fell from my fingers--And that was all I knowed-- Fer--well, I don't know HOW long--They's a dim rememberence Of a sound o' snortin' horses, and a stake-and-ridered fence A-whizzin' past, and wheat-sheaves a-dancin' in the air, And Mary screamin' "Murder!" and a-runnin' up to where _I_ was layin' by the roadside, and the wagon upside down A-leanin' on the gate-post, with the wheels a-whirlin' roun'! And I tried to raise and meet her, but I couldn't, with a vague Sort o' notion comin' to me that I had a broken leg. Well, the women nussed me through it; but many a time I'd sigh As I'd keep a-gittin' better instid o' goin' to die, And wonder what was left ME worth livin' fer below, When the girl I loved was married to another, don't you know! And my thoughts was as rebellious as the folks was good and kind When Brown and Mary married--Railly must 'a' been my MIND Was kind o' out o' kilter!--fer I hated Brown, you see, Worse'n PIZEN--and the feller whittled crutches out fer ME-- And done a thousand little ac's o' kindness and respec'-- And me a-wishin' all the time that I could break his neck! My relief was like a mourner's when the funeral is done When they moved to Illinois in the Fall o' Forty-one. Then I went to work in airnest--I had nothin' much in view But to drownd out rickollections--and it kep' me busy, too! But I slowly thrived and prospered, tel Mother used to say She expected yit to see me a wealthy man some day. Then I'd think how little MONEY was, compared to happiness-- And who'd be left to use it when I died I couldn't guess! But I've still kep' speculatin' and a-gainin' year by year, Tel I'm payin' half the taxes in the county, mighty near! Well!--A year ago er better, a letter comes to hand Astin' how I'd like to dicker fer some Illinois land-- "The feller that had owned it," it went ahead to state, "Had jest deceased, insolvent, leavin' chance to speculate,"-- And then it closed by sayin' that I'd "better come and see."-- I'd never been West, anyhow--a'most too wild fer ME, I'd allus had a notion; but a lawyer here in town Said I'd find myself mistakend when I come to look around. So I bids good-by to Mother, and I jumps aboard the train, A-thinkin' what I'd bring her when I come back home again-- And ef she'd had an idy what the present was to be, I think it's more'n likely she'd 'a' went along with me! Cars is awful tejus ridin', fer all they go so fast! But finally they called out my stoppin'-place at last: And that night, at the tavern, I dreamp' I was a train O' cars, and SKEERED at somepin', runnin' down a country lane! Well, in the morning airly--after huntin' up the man-- The lawyer who was wantin' to swap the piece o' land-- We started fer the country; and I ast the history Of the farm--its former owner--and so forth, etcetery! And--well--it was interESTin'--I su'prised him, I suppose, By the loud and frequent manner in which I blowed my nose!-- But his su'prise was greater, and it made him wonder more, When I kissed and hugged the widder when she met us at the IT WAS MARY: . . . They's a feelin' a-hidin' down in here-- Of course I can't explain it, ner ever make it clear.-- It was with us in that meetin', I don't want you to fergit! And it makes me kind o'nervous when I think about it yit! I BOUGHT that farm, and DEEDED it, afore I left the town With "title clear to mansions in the skies," to Mary Brown! And fu'thermore, I took her and the CHILDERN--fer you see, They'd never seed their Grandma--and I fetched 'em home with me. So NOW you've got an idy why a man o' fifty-four, Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more Is a-lookin' glad and smilin'!--And I've jest come into town To git a pair o' license fer to MARRY Mary Brown. MY JOLLY FRIEND'S SECRET Ah, friend of mine, how goes it, Since you've taken you a mate?-- Your smile, though, plainly shows it Is a very happy state! Dan Cupid's necromancy! You must sit you down and dine, And lubricate your fancy With a glass or two of wine. And as you have "deserted," As my other chums have done, While I laugh alone diverted, As you drop off one by one-- And I've remained unwedded, Till--you see--look here--that I'm, In a manner, "snatched bald-headed" By the sportive hand of Time! I'm an "old 'un!" yes, but wrinkles Are not so plenty, quite, As to cover up the twinkles Of the BOY--ain't I right? Yet, there are ghosts of kisses Under this mustache of mine My mem'ry only misses When I drown 'em out with wine. From acknowledgment so ample, You would hardly take me for What I am--a perfect sample Of a "jolly bachelor"; Not a bachelor has being When he laughs at married life But his heart and soul's agreeing That he ought to have a wife! Ah, ha I old chum, this claret, Like Fatima, holds the key Of the old Blue-Beardish garret Of my hidden mystery! Did you say you'd like to listen? Ah, my boy! the "SAD NO MORE!" And the tear-drops that will glisten-- TURN THE CATCH UPON THE DOOR, And sit you down beside me, And put yourself at ease-- I'll trouble you to slide me That wine decanter, please; The path is kind o' mazy Where my fancies have to go, And my heart gets sort o' lazy On the journey--don't you know? Let me see--when I was twenty-- It's a lordly age, my boy, When a fellow's money's plenty, And the leisure to enjoy-- And a girl--with hair as golden As--THAT; and lips--well--quite As red as THIS I'm holdin' Between you and the light. And eyes and a complexion-- Ah, heavens!--le'-me-see-- Well,--just in this connection,-- DID YOU LOCK THAT DOOR FOR ME? Did I start in recitation My past life to recall? Well, THAT'S an indication I am purty tight--that's all! THE SPEEDING OF THE KING'S SPITE A king--estranged from his loving Queen By a foolish royal whim-- Tired and sick of the dull routine Of matters surrounding him-- Issued a mandate in this wise.-- "THE DOWER OF MY DAUGHTER'S HAND I WILL GIVE TO HIM WHO HOLDS THIS PRIZE, THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND." But the King, sad sooth! in this grim decree Had a motive low and mean;-- 'Twas a royal piece of chicanery To harry and spite the Queen; For King though he was, and beyond compare, He had ruled all things save one-- Then blamed the Queen that his only heir Was a daughter--not a son. The girl had grown, in the mother's care, Like a bud in the shine and shower That drinks of the wine of the balmy air Till it blooms into matchless flower; Her waist was the rose's stem that bore The flower--and the flower's perfume-- That ripens on till it bulges o'er With its wealth of bud and bloom. And she had a lover--lowly sprung,-- But a purer, nobler heart Never spake in a courtlier tongue Or wooed with a dearer art: And the fair pair paled at the King's decree; But the smiling Fates contrived To have them wed, in a secrecy That the Queen HERSELF connived-- While the grim King's heralds scoured the land And the countries roundabout, Shouting aloud, at the King's command, A challenge to knave or lout, Prince or peasant,--"The mighty King Would have ye understand That he who shows him the strangest thing Shall have his daughter's hand!" And thousands flocked to the royal throne, Bringing a thousand things Strange and curious;--One, a bone-- The hinge of a fairy's wings; And one, the glass of a mermaid queen, Gemmed with a diamond dew, Where, down in its reflex, dimly seen, Her face smiled out at you. One brought a cluster of some strange date, With a subtle and searching tang That seemed, as you tasted, to penetrate The heart like a serpent's fang; And back you fell for a spell entranced, As cold as a corpse of stone, And heard your brains, as they laughed and danced And talked in an undertone. One brought a bird that could whistle a tune So piercingly pure and sweet, That tears would fall from the eyes of the moon In dewdrops at its feet; And the winds would sigh at the sweet refrain, Till they swooned in an ecstacy, To waken again in a hurricane Of riot and jubilee. One brought a lute that was wrought of a shell Luminous as the shine Of a new-born star in a dewy dell,-- And its strings were strands of wine That sprayed at the Fancy's touch and fused, As your listening spirit leant Drunken through with the airs that oozed From the o'ersweet instrument. One brought a tablet of ivory Whereon no thing was writ,-- But, at night--and the dazzled eyes would see Flickering lines o'er it,-- And each, as you read from the magic tome, Lightened and died in flame, And the memory held but a golden poem Too beautiful to name. Till it seemed all marvels that ever were known Or dreamed of under the sun Were brought and displayed at the royal throne, And put by, one by one Till a graybeard monster came to the King-- Haggard and wrinkled and old-- And spread to his gaze this wondrous thing,-- A gossamer veil of gold.-- Strangely marvelous--mocking the gaze Like a tangle of bright sunshine, Dipping a million glittering rays In a baptism divine: And a maiden, sheened in this gauze attire-- Sifting a glance of her eye-- Dazzled men's souls with a fierce desire To kiss and caress her and--die. And the grim King swore by his royal beard That the veil had won the prize, While the gray old monster blinked and leered With his lashless, red-rimmed eyes, As the fainting form of the princess fell, And the mother's heart went wild, Throbbing and swelling a muffled knell For the dead hopes of her child. But her clouded face with a faint smile shone, As suddenly, through the throng, Pushing his way to the royal throne, A fair youth strode along, While a strange smile hovered about his eyes, As he said to the grim old King:-- "The veil of gold must lose the prize; For _I_ have a stranger thing." He bent and whispered a sentence brief; But the monarch shook his head, With a look expressive of unbelief-- "It can't be so," he said; "Or give me proof; and I, the King, Give you my daughter's hand,-- For certes THAT IS a stranger thing-- THE STRANGEST THING IN THE LAND!" Then the fair youth, turning, caught the Queen In a rapturous caress, While his lithe form towered in lordly mien, As he said in a brief address:-- "My fair bride's mother is this; and, lo, As you stare in your royal awe, By this pure kiss do I proudly show A LOVE FOR A MOTHER-IN-LAW!" Then a thaw set in the old King's mood, And a sweet Spring freshet came Into his eyes, and his heart renewed Its love for the favored dame: But often he has been heard to declare That "he never could clearly see How, in the deuce, such a strange affair Could have ended so happily!" "Write me a rhyme of the present time". And the poet took his pen And wrote such lines as the miser minds Hide in the hearts of men. He grew enthused, as the poets used When their fingers kissed the strings Of some sweet lyre, and caught the fire True inspiration brings, And sang the song of a nation's wrong-- Of the patriot's galling chain, And the glad release that the angel, Peace, Has given him again. He sang the lay of religion's sway, Where a hundred creeds clasp hands And shout in glee such a symphony That the whole world understands. He struck the key of monopoly, And sang of her swift decay, And traveled the track of the railway back With a blithesome roundelay-- Of the tranquil bliss of a true love kiss; And painted the picture, too, Of the wedded life, and the patient wife, And the husband fond and true; And sang the joy that a noble boy Brings to a father's soul, Who lets the wine as a mocker shine Stagnated in the bowl. And he stabbed his pen in the ink again, And wrote with a writhing frown, "This is the end." "And now, my friend, You may print it--upside down!" PRIVATE THEATRICALS A quite convincing axiom Is, "Life is like a play"; For, turning back its pages some Few dog-eared years away, I find where I Committed my Love-tale--with brackets where to sigh. I feel an idle interest To read again the page; I enter, as a lover dressed, At twenty years of age, And play the part With throbbing heart, And all an actor's glowing art. And she who plays my Lady-love Excels!--Her loving glance Has power her audience to move-- I am her audience.-- Her acting tact, To tell the fact, "Brings down the house" in every act. And often we defy the curse Of storms and thunder-showers, To meet together and rehearse This little play of ours-- I think, when she "Makes love" to me, She kisses very naturally! . . . . . . Yes; it's convincing--rather-- That "Life is like a play": I am playing "Heavy Father" In a "Screaming Farce" to-day, That so "brings down The house," I frown, And fain would "ring the curtain down." PLAIN SERMONS I saw a man--and envied him beside-- Because of this world's goods he had great store; But even as I envied him, he died, And left me envious of him no more. I saw another man--and envied still-- Because he was content with frugal lot; But as I envied him, the rich man's will Bequeathed him all, and envy I forgot. Yet still another man I saw, and he I envied for a calm and tranquil mind That nothing fretted in the least degree-- Until, alas! I found that he was blind. What vanity is envy! for I find I have been rich in dross of thought, and poor In that I was a fool, and lastly blind For never having seen myself before! "TRADIN' JOE" I'm one o' these cur'ous kind o' chaps You think you know when you don't, perhaps! I hain't no fool--ner I don't p'tend To be so smart I could rickommend Myself fer a CONGERSSMAN my friend!-- But I'm kind o' betwixt-and-between, you know,-- One o' these fellers 'at folks call "slow." And I'll say jest here I'm kind o' queer Regardin' things 'at I SEE and HEAR,-- Fer I'm THICK o' hearin' SOMETIMES, and It's hard to git me to understand; But other times it hain't, you bet! Fer I don't sleep with both eyes shet! I've swapped a power in stock, and so The neighbers calls me "Tradin' Joe"-- And I'm goin' to tell you 'bout a trade,-- And one o' the best I ever made: Folks has gone so fur's to say 'At I'm well fixed, in a WORLDLY way, And BEIN' so, and a WIDOWER, It's not su'prisin', as you'll infer, I'm purty handy among the sect-- Widders especially, rickollect! And I won't deny that along o' late I've hankered a heap fer the married state-- But some way o' 'nother the longer we wait The harder it is to discover a mate. Marshall Thomas,--a friend o' mine, Doin' some in the tradin' line, But a'most too YOUNG to know it all-- On'y at PICNICS er some BALL!-- Says to me, in a banterin' way, As 'we was a-loadin' stock one day,-- "You're a-huntin' a wife, and I want you to see My girl's mother, at Kankakee!-- She hain't over forty--good-lookin' and spry, And jest the woman to fill your eye! And I'm a-goin' there Sund'y,--and now," says he, "I want to take you along with ME; And you marry HER, and," he says, "by 'shaw I You'll hev me fer yer son-in-law!" I studied a while, and says I, "Well, I'll First have to see ef she suits my style; And ef she does, you kin bet your life Your mother-in-law will be my wife!" Well, Sundy come; and I fixed up some-- Putt on a collar--I did, by gum!-- Got down my "plug," and my satin vest-- (You wouldn't know me to see me dressed!-- But any one knows ef you got the clothes You kin go in the crowd wher' the best of 'em goes!) And I greeced my boots, and combed my hair Keerfully over the bald place there; And Marshall Thomas and me that day Eat our dinners with Widder Gray And her girl Han'! * * * Well, jest a glance O' the widder's smilin' countenance, A-cuttin' up chicken and big pot-pies, Would make a man hungry in Paradise! And passin' p'serves and jelly and cake 'At would make an ANGEL'S appetite ACHE!-- Pourin' out coffee as yaller as gold-- Twic't as much as the cup could hold-- La! it was rich!--And then she'd say, "Take some o' THIS!' in her coaxin' way, Tell ef I'd been a hoss I'd 'a' FOUNDERED, shore, And jest dropped dead on her white-oak floor! Well, the way I talked would 'a' done you good, Ef you'd 'a' been there to 'a' understood; Tel I noticed Hanner and Marshall, they Was a-noticin' me in a cur'ous way; So I says to myse'f, says I, "Now, Joe, The best thing fer you is to jest go slow!" And I simmered down, and let them do The bulk o' the talkin' the evening through. And Marshall was still in a talkative gait When he left, that evening--tolable late. "How do you like her?" he says to me; Says I, "She suits, to a 'T-Y-TEE'! And then I ast how matters stood With him in the OPPOSITE neighberhood? "Bully!" he says; "I ruther guess I'll finally git her to say the 'yes.' I named it to her to-night, and she Kind o' smiled, and said 'SHE'D SEE'-- And that's a purty good sign!" says he: "Yes" says I, "you're ahead o' ME!" And then he laughed, and said, "GO IN! And patted me on the shoulder ag'in. Well, ever sense then I've been ridin' a good Deal through the Kankakee neighberhood; And I make it convenient sometimes to stop And hitch a few minutes, and kind o' drop In at the widder's, and talk o' the crop And one thing o' 'nother. And week afore last The notion struck me, as I drove past, I'd stop at the place and state my case-- Might as well do it at first as last! I felt first-rate; so I hitched at the gate, And went up to the house; and, strange to relate, MARSHALL THOMAS had dropped in, TOO.-- "Glad to see you, sir, how do you do?" He says, says he! Well--it SOUNDED QUEER: And when Han' told me to take a cheer, Marshall got up and putt out o' the room-- And motioned his hand fer the WIDDER to come. I didn't say nothin' fer quite a spell, But thinks I to myse'f, "There's a dog in the well!" And Han' SHE smiled so cur'ous at me-- Says I, "What's up?" And she says, says she, "Marshall's been at me to marry ag'in, And I told him 'no,' jest as you come in." Well, somepin' o' 'nother in that girl's voice Says to me, "Joseph, here's your choice!" And another minute her guileless breast Was lovin'ly throbbin' ag'in my vest!-- And then I kissed her, and heerd a smack Come like a' echo a-flutterin' back, And we looked around, and in full view Marshall was kissin' the widder, too! Well, we all of us laughed, in our glad su'prise, Tel the tears come A-STREAMIN' out of our eyes! And when Marsh said "'Twas the squarest trade That ever me and him had made," We both shuck hands, 'y jucks! and swore We'd stick together ferevermore. And old Squire Chipman tuck us the trip: And Marshall and me's in pardnership! DOT LEEDLE BOY Ot's a leedle Gristmas story Dot I told der leedle folks-- Und I vant you stop dot laughin' Und grackin' funny jokes!-- So help me Peter-Moses! Ot's no time for monkey-shine, Ober I vast told you somedings Of dot leedle boy of mine! Ot vas von cold Vinter vedder, Ven der snow vas all about-- Dot you have to chop der hatchet Eef you got der sauerkraut! Und der cheekens on der hind leg Vas standin' in der shine Der sun shmile out dot morning On dot leedle boy of mine. He vas yoost a leedle baby Not bigger as a doll Dot time I got acquaintet-- Ach! you ought to heard 'im squall!-- I grackys! dot's der moosic Ot make me feel so fine Ven first I vas been marriet-- Oh, dot leedle boy of mine! He look yoost like his fader!-- So, ven der vimmen said, "Vot a purty leedle baby!" Katrina shake der head. . . . I dink she must 'a' notice Dot der baby vas a-gryin', Und she cover up der blankets Of dot leedle boy of mine. Vel, ven he vas got bigger, Dot he grawl und bump his nose, Und make der table over, Und molasses on his glothes-- Dot make 'im all der sveeter,-- So I say to my Katrine, "Better you vas quit a-shpankin' Dot leedle boy of mine!" No more he vas older As about a dozen months He speak der English language Und der German--bote at vonce! Und he dringk his glass of lager Like a Londsman fon der Rhine-- Und I klingk my glass togeder Mit dot leedle boy of mine! I vish you could 'a' seen id-- Ven he glimb up on der chair Und shmash der lookin'-glasses Ven he try to comb his hair Mit a hammer!--Und Katrina Say, "Dot's an ugly sign!" But I laugh und vink my fingers At dot leedle boy of mine. But vonce, dot Vinter morning, He shlip out in der snow Mitout no stockin's on 'im.-- He say he "vant to go Und fly some mit der birdies!" Und ve give 'im medi-cine Ven he catch der "parrygoric"-- Dot leedle boy of mine! Und so I set und nurse 'im, Vile der Gristmas vas come roun', Und I told 'im 'bout "Kriss Kringle," How he come der chimbly down: Und I ask 'im eef he love 'im Eef he bring 'im someding fine? "Nicht besser as mein fader," Say dot leedle boy of mine.-- Und he put his arms aroun' me Und hug so close und tight, I hear der gclock a-tickin' All der balance of der night! . . . Someding make me feel so funny Ven I say to my Katrine, "Let us go und fill der stockin's Of dot leedle boy of mine." Vell.--Ve buyed a leedle horses Dot you pull 'im mit a shtring, Und a leedle fancy jay-bird-- Eef you vant to hear 'im sing You took 'im by der topknot Und yoost blow in behine-- Und dot make much spectakel For dot leedle boy of mine! Und gandies, nuts und raizens-- Und I buy a leedle drum Dot I vant to hear 'im rattle Ven der Gristmas morning come! Und a leedle shmall tin rooster Dot vould crow so loud und fine Ven he sqveeze 'im in der morning, Dot leedle boy of mine! Und--vile ve vas a-fixin'-- Dot leedle boy vake out! I t'ought he been a-dreamin' "Kriss Kringle" vas about,-- For he say--"DOT'S HIM!--I SEE 'IM MIT DER SHTARS DOT MAKE DER SHINE!" Und he yoost keep on a-gryin'-- Dot leedle boy of mine,-- Und gottin' vorse und vorser-- Und tumble on der bed! So--ven der doctor seen id, He kindo' shake his head, Und feel his pulse--und visper, "Der boy is a-dyin'." You dink I could BELIEVE id?-- DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE? I told you, friends--dot's someding, Der last time dot he speak Und say, "GOOT-BY, KRISS KRINGLE!" --Dot make me feel so veak I yoost kneel down und drimble, Und bur-sed out a-gryin', "MEIN GOTT, MEIN GOTT IN HIMMEL!-- DOT LEEDLE BOY OF MINE!" . . . . . . . . . . Der sun don't shine DOT Gristmas! . . . Eef dot leedle boy vould LIFF'D-- No deefer-en'! for HEAVEN vas His leedle Gristmas gift! Und der ROOSTER, und der GANDY, Und me--und my Katrine-- Und der jay-bird--is awaiting For dot leedle boy of mine. I SMOKE MY PIPE I can't extend to every friend In need a helping hand-- No matter though I wish it so, 'Tis not as Fortune planned; But haply may I fancy they Are men of different stripe Than others think who hint and wink,-- And so--I smoke my pipe! A golden coal to crown the bowl-- My pipe and I alone,-- I sit and muse with idler views Perchance than I should own:-- It might be worse to own the purse Whose glutted bowels gripe In little qualms of stinted alms; And so I smoke my pipe. And if inclined to moor my mind And cast the anchor Hope, A puff of breath will put to death The morbid misanthrope That lurks inside--as errors hide In standing forms of type To mar at birth some line of worth; And so I smoke my pipe. The subtle stings misfortune flings Can give me little pain When my narcotic spell has wrought This quiet in my brain: When I can waste the past in taste So luscious and so ripe That like an elf I hug myself; And so I smoke my pipe. And wrapped in shrouds of drifting clouds, I watch the phantom's flight, Till alien eyes from Paradise Smile on me as I write: And I forgive the wrongs that live, As lightly as I wipe Away the tear that rises here; And so I smoke my pipe. RED RIDING-HOOD Sweet little myth of the nursery story-- Earliest love of mine infantile breast, Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory Into existence, as thou art addressed! Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good-- Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood! Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder, Over the dawn of a blush breaking out; Sensitive nose, with a little smile under Trying to hide in a blossoming pout-- Couldn't be serious, try as you would, Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood! Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely, Out in this gloomy old forest of Life!-- Here are not pansies and buttercups only-- Brambles and briers as keen as a knife; And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood For the meal have he must,--Red Riding-Hood! IF I KNEW WHAT POETS KNOW If I knew what poets know, Would I write a rhyme Of the buds that never blow In the summer-time? Would I sing of golden seeds Springing up in ironweeds? And of rain-drops turned to snow, If I knew what poets know? Did I know what poets do, Would I sing a song Sadder than the pigeon's coo When the days are long? Where I found a heart in pain, I would make it glad again; And the false should be the true, Did I know what poets do. If I knew what poets know, I would find a theme Sweeter than the placid flow Of the fairest dream: I would sing of love that lives On the errors it forgives; And the world would better grow If I knew what poets know. AN OLD SWEETHEART OF MINE An old sweetheart of mine!--Is this her presence here with me, Or but a vain creation of a lover's memory? A fair, illusive vision that would vanish into air Dared I even touch the silence with the whisper of a prayer? Nay, let me then believe in all the blended false and true-- The semblance of the OLD love and the substance of the NEW,-- The THEN of changeless sunny days--the NOW of shower and shine-- But Love forever smiling--as that old sweetheart of mine. This ever-restful sense of HOME, though shouts ring in the The easy chair--the old book-shelves and prints along the wall; The rare HABANAS in their box, or gaunt church-warden-stem That often wags, above the jar, derisively at them. As one who cons at evening o'er an album, all alone, And muses on the faces of the friends that he has known, So I turn the leaves of Fancy, till, in shadowy design, I find the smiling features of an old sweetheart of mine. The lamplight seems to glimmer with a flicker of surprise, As I turn it low--to rest me of the dazzle in my eyes, And light my pipe in silence, save a sigh that seems to yoke Its fate with my tobacco and to vanish with the smoke. 'Tis a FRAGRANT retrospection,--for the loving thoughts that Into being are like perfume from the blossom of the heart; And to dream the old dreams over is a luxury divine-- When my truant fancies wander with that old sweetheart of mine. Though I hear beneath my study, like a fluttering of wings, The voices of my children and the mother as she sings-- I feel no twinge of conscience to deny me any theme When Care has cast her anchor in the harbor of a dream-- In fact, to speak in earnest, I believe it adds a charm To spice the good a trifle with a little dust of harm,-- For I find an extra flavor in Memory's mellow wine That makes me drink the deeper to that old sweetheart of mine. O Childhood-days enchanted! O the magic of the Spring!-- With all green boughs to blossom white, and all bluebirds to When all the air, to toss and quaff, made life a jubilee And changed the children's song and laugh to shrieks of ecstasy. With eyes half closed in clouds that ooze from lips that taste, The peppermint and cinnamon, I hear the old School bell, And from "Recess" romp in again from "Black-man's" broken line, To smile, behind my "lesson," at that old sweetheart of mine. A face of lily-beauty, with a form of airy grace, Floats out of my tobacco as the Genii from the vase; And I thrill beneath the glances of a pair of azure eyes As glowing as the summer and as tender as the skies. I can see the pink sunbonnet and the little checkered dress She wore when first I kissed her and she answered the caress With the written declaration that, "as surely as the vine Grew 'round the stump," she loved me--that old sweetheart of Again I made her presents, in a really helpless way,-- The big "Rhode Island Greening"--I was hungry, too, that day!-- But I follow her from Spelling, with her hand behind her--so-- And I slip the apple in it--and the Teacher doesn't know! I give my TREASURES to her--all,--my pencil--blue-and-red;-- And, if little girls played marbles, MINE should all be HERS, But SHE gave me her PHOTOGRAPH, and printed "Ever Thine" Across the back--in blue-and-red--that old sweet-heart of mine! And again I feel the pressure of her slender little hand, As we used to talk together of the future we had planned,-- When I should be a poet, and with nothing else to do But write the tender verses that she set the music to . . . When we should live together in a cozy little cot Hid in a nest of roses, with a fairy garden-spot, Where the vines were ever fruited, and the weather ever fine, And the birds were ever singing for that old sweetheart of mine. When I should be her lover forever and a day, And she my faithful sweetheart till the golden hair was gray; And we should be so happy that when either's lips were dumb They would not smile in Heaven till the other's kiss had come. But, ah! my dream is broken by a step upon the stair, And the door is softly opened, and--my wife is standing there: Yet with eagerness and rapture all my visions I resign,-- To greet the LIVING presence of that old sweetheart of mine. SQUIRE HAWKINS'S STORY I hain't no hand at tellin' tales, Er spinnin' yarns, as the sailors say; Someway o' 'nother, language fails To slide fer me in the oily way That LAWYERS has; and I wisht it would, Fer I've got somepin' that I call good; But bein' only a country squire, I've learned to listen and admire, Ruther preferrin' to be addressed Than talk myse'f--but I'll do my best:-- Old Jeff Thompson--well, I'll say, Was the clos'test man I ever saw!-- Rich as cream, but the porest pay, And the meanest man to work fer--La! I've knowed that man to work one "hand"-- Fer little er nothin', you understand-- From four o'clock in the morning light Tel eight and nine o'clock at night, And then find fault with his appetite! He'd drive all over the neighberhood To miss the place where a toll-gate stood, And slip in town, by some old road That no two men in the county knowed, With a jag o' wood, and a sack o' wheat, That wouldn't burn and you couldn't eat! And the trades he'd make, 'll I jest de-clare, Was enough to make a preacher swear! And then he'd hitch, and hang about Tel the lights in the toll-gate was blowed out, And then the turnpike he'd turn in And sneak his way back home ag'in! Some folks hint, and I make no doubt, That that's what wore his old wife out-- Toilin' away from day to day And year to year, through heat and cold, Uncomplainin'--the same old way The martyrs died in the days of old; And a-clingin', too, as the martyrs done, To one fixed faith, and her ONLY one,-- Little Patience, the sweetest child That ever wept unrickonciled, Er felt the pain and the ache and sting That only a mother's death can bring. Patience Thompson!--I think that name Must 'a' come from a power above, Fer it seemed to fit her jest the same As a GAITER would, er a fine kid glove! And to see that girl, with all the care Of the household on her--I de-clare It was OUDACIOUS, the work she'd do, And the thousand plans that she'd putt through; And sing like a medder-lark all day long, And drowned her cares in the joys o' song; And LAUGH sometimes tel the farmer's "hand," Away fur off in the fields, would stand A-listenin', with the plow half drawn, Tel the coaxin' echoes called him on; And the furries seemed, in his dreamy eyes, Like foot-paths a-leadin' to Paradise, As off through the hazy atmosphere The call fer dinner reached his ear. Now LOVE'S as cunnin'a little thing As a hummin'-bird upon the wing, And as liable to poke his nose Jest where folks would least suppose,-- And more'n likely build his nest Right in the heart you'd leave unguessed, And live and thrive at your expense-- At least, that's MY experience. And old Jeff Thompson often thought, In his se'fish way, that the quiet John Was a stiddy chap, as a farm-hand OUGHT To always be,--fer the airliest dawn Found John busy--and "EASY," too, Whenever his wages would fall due!-- To sum him up with a final touch, He EAT so little and WORKED so much, That old Jeff laughed to hisse'f and said, "He makes ME money and airns his bread!-- But John, fer all of his quietude, Would sometimes drap a word er so That none but PATIENCE understood, And none but her was MEANT to know!-- Maybe at meal-times John would say, As the sugar-bowl come down his way, "Thanky, no; MY coffee's sweet Enough fer ME!" with sich conceit, SHE'D know at once, without no doubt, HE meant because she poured it out; And smile and blush, and all sich stuff, And ast ef it was "STRONG enough?" And git the answer, neat and trim, "It COULDN'T be too 'strong' fer HIM!" And so things went fer 'bout a year, Tel John, at last, found pluck to go And pour his tale in the old man's ear-- And ef it had been HOT LEAD, I know It couldn't 'a' raised a louder fuss, Ner 'a' riled the old man's temper wuss! He jest LIT in, and cussed and swore, And lunged and rared, and ripped and tore, And told John jest to leave his door, And not to darken it no more! But Patience cried, with eyes all wet, "Remember, John, and don't ferget, WHATEVER comes, I love you yet!" But the old man thought, in his se'fish way, "I'll see her married rich some day; And THAT," thinks he, "is money fer ME-- And my will's LAW, as it ought to be!" So when, in the course of a month er so, A WIDOWER, with a farm er two, Comes to Jeff's, w'y, the folks, you know, Had to TALK--as the folks'll do: It was the talk of the neighberhood-- PATIENCE and JOHN, and THEIR affairs;-- And this old chap with a few gray hairs Had "cut John out," it was understood. And some folks reckoned "Patience, too, Knowed what SHE was a-goin' to do-- It was LIKE her--la! indeed!-- All she loved was DOLLARS and CENTS-- Like old JEFF--and they saw no need Fer JOHN to pine at HER negligence!" But others said, in a KINDER way, They missed the songs she used to sing-- They missed the smiles that used to play Over her face, and the laughin' ring Of her glad voice--that EVERYthing Of her OLD se'f seemed dead and gone, And this was the ghost that they gazed on! Tel finally it was noised about There was a WEDDIN' soon to be Down at Jeff's; and the "cat was out" Shore enough!--'Ll the JEE-MUN-NEE! It RILED me when John told me so,-- Fer _I_ WAS A FRIEND O' JOHN'S, you know; And his trimblin' voice jest broke in two-- As a feller's voice'll sometimes do.-- And I says, says I, "Ef I know my biz-- And I think I know what JESTICE is,-- I've read SOME law--and I'd advise A man like you to wipe his eyes And square his jaws and start AGIN, FER JESTICE IS A-GOIN' TO WIN!" And it wasn't long tel his eyes had cleared As blue as the skies, and the sun appeared In the shape of a good old-fashioned smile That I hadn't seen fer a long, long while. So we talked on fer a' hour er more, And sunned ourselves in the open door,-- Tel a hoss-and-buggy down the road Come a-drivin' up, that I guess John KNOWED,-- Fer he winked and says, "I'll dessappear-- THEY'D smell a mice ef they saw ME here!" And he thumbed his nose at the old gray mare, And hid hisse'f in the house somewhere. Well.--The rig drove up: and I raised my head As old Jeff hollered to me and said That "him and his old friend there had come To see ef the squire was at home." . . . I told 'em "I was; and I AIMED to be At every chance of a weddin'-fee!" And then I laughed--and they laughed, too,-- Fer that was the object they had in view. "Would I be on hands at eight that night?" They ast; and 's-I, "You're mighty right, I'LL be on hand!" And then I BU'ST Out a-laughin' my very wu'st,-- And so did they, as they wheeled away And drove to'rds town in a cloud o' dust. Then I shet the door, and me and John Laughed and LAUGHED, and jest LAUGHED on, Tel Mother drapped her specs, and BY JEEWHILLIKERS! I thought she'd DIE!-- And she couldn't 'a' told, I'll bet my hat, What on earth she was laughin' at! But all o' the fun o' the tale hain't done!-- Fer a drizzlin' rain had jest begun, And a-havin' 'bout four mile' to ride, I jest concluded I'd better light Out fer Jeff's and save my hide,-- Fer IT WAS A-GOIN' TO STORM, THAT NIGHT! So we went down to the barn, and John Saddled my beast, and I got on; And he told me somepin' to not ferget, And when I left, he was LAUGHIN' yet. And, 'proachin' on to my journey's end, The great big draps o' the rain come down, And the thunder growled in a way to lend An awful look to the lowerin' frown The dull sky wore; and the lightnin' glanced Tel my old mare jest MORE'N pranced, And tossed her head, and bugged her eyes To about four times their natchurl size, As the big black lips of the clouds 'ud drap Out some oath of a thunderclap, And threaten on in an undertone That chilled a feller clean to the bone! But I struck shelter soon enough To save myse'f. And the house was jammed With the women-folks, and the weddin'stuff:-- A great, long table, fairly CRAMMED With big pound-cakes--and chops and steaks-- And roasts and stews--and stumick-aches Of every fashion, form, and size, From twisters up to punkin-pies! And candies, oranges, and figs, And reezins,--all the "whilligigs" And "jim-cracks" that the law allows On sich occasions!--Bobs and bows Of gigglin' girls, with corkscrew curls, And fancy ribbons, reds and blues, And "beau-ketchers" and "curliques" To beat the world! And seven o'clock Brought old Jeff;-and brought--THE GROOM,-- With a sideboard-collar on, and stock That choked him so, he hadn't room To SWALLER in, er even sneeze, Er clear his th'oat with any case Er comfort--and a good square cough Would saw his Adam's apple off! But as fer PATIENCE--MY! Oomh-OOMH!-- I never saw her look so sweet!-- Her face was cream and roses, too; And then them eyes o' heavenly blue Jest made an angel all complete! And when she split 'em up in smiles And splintered 'em around the room, And danced acrost and met the groom, And LAUGHED OUT LOUD--It kind o' spiles My language when I come to that-- Fer, as she laid away his hat, Thinks I, "THE PAPERS HID INSIDE OF THAT SAID HAT MUST MAKE A BRIDE A HAPPY ONE FER ALL HER LIFE, Er else a WRECKED AND WRETCHED WIFE!" And, someway, then, I thought of JOHN,-- Then looked towards PATIENCE. . . . She was GONE!-- The door stood open, and the rain Was dashin' in; and sharp and plain Above the storm we heerd a cry-- A ringin', laughin', loud "Good-by!" That died away, as fleet and fast A hoss's hoofs went splashin' past! And that was all. 'Twas done that quick! . . . You've heerd o' fellers "lookin' sick"? I wisht you'd seen THE GROOM jest then-- I wisht you'd seen them two old men, With starin' eyes that fairly GLARED At one another, and the scared And empty faces of the crowd,-- I wisht you could 'a' been allowed To jest look on and see it all,-- And heerd the girls and women bawl And wring their hands; and heerd old Jeff A-cussin' as he swung hisse'f Upon his hoss, who champed his bit As though old Nick had holt of it: And cheek by jowl the two old wrecks Rode off as though they'd break their necks. And as we all stood starin' out Into the night, I felt the brush Of some one's hand, and turned about, And heerd a voice that whispered, "HUSH!-- THEY'RE WAITIN' IN THE KITCHEN, AND YOU'RE WANTED. DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?" Well, ef my MEMORY serves me now, I think I winked.--Well, anyhow, I left the crowd a-gawkin' there, And jest slipped off around to where The back door opened, and went in, And turned and shet the door ag'in, And maybe LOCKED it--couldn't swear,-- A woman's arms around me makes Me liable to make mistakes.-- I read a marriage license nex', But as I didn't have my specs I jest INFERRED it was all right, And tied the knot so mortal-tight That Patience and my old friend John Was safe enough from that time on! Well, now, I might go on and tell How all the joke at last leaked out, And how the youngsters raised the yell And rode the happy groom about Upon their shoulders; how the bride Was kissed a hunderd times beside The one _I_ give her,--tel she cried And laughed untel she like to died! I might go on and tell you all About the supper--and the BALL.-- You'd ought to see me twist my heel Through jest one old Furginny reel Afore you die! er tromp the strings Of some old fiddle tel she sings Some old cowtillion, don't you know, That putts the devil in yer toe! We kep' the dancin' up tel FOUR O'clock, I reckon--maybe more.-- We hardly heerd the thunders roar, ER THOUGHT about the STORM that blowed-- AND THEM TWO FELLERS ON THE ROAD! Tel all at onc't we heerd the door Bu'st open, and a voice that SWORE,-- And old Jeff Thompson tuck the floor. He shuck hisse'f and looked around Like some old dog about half-drowned-- HIS HAT, I reckon, WEIGHED TEN POUND To say the least, and I'll say, SHORE, HIS OVERCOAT WEIGHED FIFTY more-- THE WETTEST MAN YOU EVER SAW, TO HAVE SO DRY A SON-IN-LAW! He sized it all; and Patience laid Her hand in John's, and looked afraid, And waited. And a stiller set O' folks, I KNOW, you never met In any court room, where with dread They wait to hear a verdick read. The old man turned his eyes on me: "And have you married 'em?" says he. I nodded "Yes." "Well, that'll do," He says, "and now we're th'ough with YOU,-- YOU jest clear out, and I decide And promise to be satisfied!" He hadn't nothin' more to say. I saw, of course, how matters lay, And left. But as I rode away I heerd the roosters crow fer day. A COUNTRY PATHWAY I come upon it suddenly, alone-- A little pathway winding in the weeds That fringe the roadside; and with dreams my own, I wander as it leads. Full wistfully along the slender way, Through summer tan of freckled shade and shine, I take the path that leads me as it may-- Its every choice is mine. A chipmunk, or a sudden-whirring quail, Is startled by my step as on I fare-- A garter-snake across the dusty trail Glances and--is not there. Above the arching jimson-weeds flare twos And twos of sallow-yellow butterflies, Like blooms of lorn primroses blowing loose When autumn winds arise. The trail dips--dwindles--broadens then, and lifts Itself astride a cross-road dubiously, And, from the fennel marge beyond it, drifts Still onward, beckoning me. And though it needs must lure me mile on mile Out of the public highway, still I go, My thoughts, far in advance in Indian file, Allure me even so. Why, I am as a long-lost boy that went At dusk to bring the cattle to the bars, And was not found again, though Heaven lent His mother all the stars With which to seek him through that awful night O years of nights as vain!--Stars never rise But well might miss their glitter in the light Of tears in mother-eyes! So--on, with quickened breaths, I follow still-- My avant-courier must be obeyed! Thus am I led, and thus the path, at will, Invites me to invade A meadow's precincts, where my daring guide Clambers the steps of an old-fashioned stile, And stumbles down again, the other side, To gambol there a while. In pranks of hide-and-seek, as on ahead I see it running, while the clover-stalks Shake rosy fists at me, as though they said-- "You dog our country walks "And mutilate us with your walking-stick!-- We will not suffer tamely what you do, And warn you at your peril,--for we'll sick Our bumblebees on you!" But I smile back, in airy nonchalance,-- The more determined on my wayward quest, As some bright memory a moment dawns A morning in my breast-- Sending a thrill that hurries me along In faulty similes of childish skips, Enthused with lithe contortions of a song Performing on my lips. In wild meanderings o'er pasture wealth-- Erratic wanderings through dead'ning lands, Where sly old brambles, plucking me by stealth, Put berries in my hands: Or the path climbs a boulder--wades a slough-- Or, rollicking through buttercups and flags, Goes gaily dancing o'er a deep bayou On old tree-trunks and snags: Or, at the creek, leads o'er a limpid pool Upon a bridge the stream itself has made, With some Spring-freshet for the mighty tool That its foundation laid. I pause a moment here to bend and muse, With dreamy eyes, on my reflection, where A boat-backed bug drifts on a helpless cruise, Or wildly oars the air, As, dimly seen, the pirate of the brook-- The pike, whose jaunty hulk denotes his speed-- Swings pivoting about, with wary look Of low and cunning greed. Till, filled with other thought, I turn again To where the pathway enters in a realm Of lordly woodland, under sovereign reign Of towering oak and elm. A puritanic quiet here reviles The almost whispered warble from the hedge, And takes a locust's rasping voice and files The silence to an edge. In such a solitude my somber way Strays like a misanthrope within a gloom Of his own shadows--till the perfect day Bursts into sudden bloom, And crowns a long, declining stretch of space, Where King Corn's armies lie with flags unfurled, And where the valley's dint in Nature's face Dimples a smiling world. And lo! through mists that may not be dispelled, I see an old farm homestead, as in dreams, Where, like a gem in costly setting held, The old log cabin gleams. . . . . . . . O darling Pathway! lead me bravely on Adown your valley-way, and run before Among the roses crowding up the lawn And thronging at the door,-- And carry up the echo there that shall Arouse the drowsy dog, that he may bay The household out to greet the prodigal That wanders home to-day. THE OLD GUITAR Neglected now is the old guitar And moldering into decay; Fretted with many a rift and scar That the dull dust hides away, While the spider spins a silver star In its silent lips to-day. The keys hold only nerveless strings-- The sinews of brave old airs Are pulseless now; and the scarf that clings So closely here declares A sad regret in its ravelings And the faded hue it wears. But the old guitar, with a lenient grace, Has cherished a smile for me; And its features hint of a fairer face That comes with a memory Of a flower-and-perfume-haunted place And a moonlit balcony. Music sweeter than words confess, Or the minstrel's powers invent, Thrilled here once at the light caress Of the fairy hands that lent This excuse for the kiss I press On the dear old instrument. The rose of pearl with the jeweled stem Still blooms; and the tiny sets In the circle all are here; the gem In the keys, and the silver frets; But the dainty fingers that danced o'er them-- Alas for the heart's regrets!-- Alas for the loosened strings to-day, And the wounds of rift and scar On a worn old heart, with its roundelay Enthralled with a stronger bar That Fate weaves on, through a dull decay Like that of the old guitar! "FRIDAY AFTERNOON" TO WILLIAM MORRIS PIERSON Of the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, The old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!--. When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune That opened "Exercises" On "Friday Afternoon." We seem to hear the clicking Of the pencil and the pen, And the solemn, ceaseless ticking Of the timepiece ticking then; And we note the watchful master, As he waves the warning rod, With our own heart beating faster Than the boy's who threw the wad. Some little hand uplifted, And the creaking of a shoe:-- A problem left unsifted For the teacher's hand to do: The murmured hum of learning-- And the flutter of a book; The smell of something burning, And the school's inquiring look. The bashful boy in blushes; And the girl, with glancing eyes, Who hides her smiles, and hushes The laugh about to rise,-- Then, with a quick invention, Assumes a serious face, To meet the words, "Attention! Every scholar in his place!" The opening song, page 20.-- Ah! dear old "Golden Wreath," You willed your sweets in plenty; And some who look beneath The leaves of Time will linger, And loving tears will start, As Fancy trails her finger O'er the index of the heart. "Good News from Home"--We hear it Welling tremulous, yet clear And holy as the spirit Of the song we used to hear-- "Good news for me" (A throbbing And an aching melody)-- "Has come across the"--(sobbing, Yea, and salty) "dark blue sea!" Or the paean "Scotland's burning!" With its mighty surge and swell Of chorus, still returning To its universal yell-- Till we're almost glad to drop to Something sad and full of pain-- And "Skip verse three," and stop, too, Ere our hearts are broke again. Then "the big girls'" compositions, With their doubt, and hope, and glow Of heart and face,--conditions Of "the big boys"--even so,-- When themes of "Spring," and "Summer" And of "Fall," and "Winter-time" Droop our heads and hold us dumber Than the sleigh-bell's fancied chime. Elocutionary science-- (Still in changeless infancy!)-- With its "Cataline's Defiance," And "The Banner of the Free": Or, lured from Grandma's attic, A ramshackle "rocker" there, Adds a skreek of the dramatic To the poet's "Old Arm-Chair." Or the "Speech of Logan" shifts us From the pathos, to the fire; And Tell (with Gessler) lifts us Many noble notches higher.-- Till a youngster, far from sunny, With sad eyes of watery blue, Winds up with something "funny," Like "Cock-a-doodle-do!" Then a dialogue--selected For its realistic worth:-- The Cruel Boy detected With a turtle turned to earth Back downward; and, in pleading, The Good Boy--strangely gay At such a sad proceeding-- Says, "Turn him over, pray!" So the exercises taper Through gradations of delight To the reading of "The Paper," Which is entertaining--quite! For it goes ahead and mentions "If a certain Mr. O. Has serious intentions That he ought to tell her so." It also "Asks permission To intimate to 'John' The dubious condition Of the ground he's standing on"; And, dropping the suggestion To "mind what he's about," It stuns him with the question: "Does his mother know he's out?" And among the contributions To this "Academic Press" Are "Versified Effusions" By--"Our lady editress"-- Which fact is proudly stated By the CHIEF of the concern,-- "Though the verse communicated Bears the pen-name 'Fanny Fern.' " . . . . . . When all has been recited, And the teacher's bell is heard, And visitors, invited, Have dropped a kindly word, A hush of holy feeling Falls down upon us there, As though the day were kneeling, With the twilight for the prayer. . . . . . . Midst the wealth of facts and fancies That our memories may recall, Thus the old school-day romances Are the dearest, after all!-- When some sweet thought revises The half-forgotten tune That opened "Exercises," On "Friday Afternoon." "JOHNSON'S BOY" The world is turned ag'in' me, And people says, "They guess That nothin' else is in me But pure maliciousness!" I git the blame for doin' What other chaps destroy, And I'm a-goin' to ruin Because I'm "Johnson's boy." THAT ain't my name--I'd ruther They'd call me IKE or PAT-- But they've forgot the other-- And so have _I_, for that! I reckon it's as handy, When Nibsy breaks his toy, Or some one steals his candy, To say 'twas "JOHNSON'S BOY!" You can't git any water At the pump, and find the spout So durn chuck-full o' mortar That you have to bore it out; You tackle any scholar In Wisdom's wise employ, And I'll bet you half a dollar He'll say it's "Johnson's boy!" Folks don't know how I suffer In my uncomplainin' way-- They think I'm gittin' tougher And tougher every day. Last Sunday night, when Flinder Was a-shoutin' out for joy, And some one shook the winder, He prayed for "Johnson's boy." I'm tired of bein' follered By farmers every day, And then o' bein' collared For coaxin' hounds away; Hounds always plays me double-- It's a trick they all enjoy-- To git me into trouble, Because I'm "Johnson's boy." But if I git to Heaven, I hope the Lord'll see SOME boy has been perfect, And lay it on to me; I'll swell the song sonorous, And clap my wings for joy, And sail off on the chorus-- "Hurrah for 'Johnson's boy!'" HER BEAUTIFUL HANDS Your hands--they are strangely fair! O Fair--for the jewels that sparkle there,-- Fair--for the witchery of the spell That ivory keys alone can tell; But when their delicate touches rest Here in my own do I love them best, As I clasp with eager, acquisitive spans My glorious treasure of beautiful hands! Marvelous--wonderful--beautiful hands! They can coax roses to bloom in the strands Of your brown tresses; and ribbons will twine, Under mysterious touches of thine, Into such knots as entangle the soul And fetter the heart under such a control As only the strength of my love understands-- My passionate love for your beautiful hands. As I remember the first fair touch Of those beautiful hands that I love so much, I seem to thrill as I then was thrilled, Kissing the glove that I found unfilled-- When I met your gaze, and the queenly bow, As you said to me, laughingly, "Keep it now!" . . . And dazed and alone in a dream I stand, Kissing this ghost of your beautiful hand. When first I loved, in the long ago, And held your hand as I told you so-- Pressed and caressed it and gave it a kiss And said "I could die for a hand like this!" Little I dreamed love's fullness yet Had to ripen when eyes were wet And prayers were vain in their wild demands For one warm touch of your beautiful hands. . . . . . . . . . Beautiful Hands!--O Beautiful Hands! Could you reach out of the alien lands Where you are lingering, and give me, to-night, Only a touch--were it ever so light-- My heart were soothed, and my weary brain Would lull itself into rest again; For there is no solace the world commands Like the caress of your beautiful hands. NATURAL PERVERSITIES I am not prone to moralize In scientific doubt On certain facts that Nature tries To puzzle us about,-- For I am no philosopher Of wise elucidation, But speak of things as they occur, From simple observation. I notice LITTLE things--to wit:-- I never missed a train Because I didn't RUN for it; I never knew it rain That my umbrella wasn't lent,-- Or, when in my possession, The sun but wore, to all intent, A jocular expression. I never knew a creditor To dun me for a debt But I was "cramped" or "bu'sted"; or I never knew one yet, When I had plenty in my purse, To make the least invasion,-- As I, accordingly perverse, Have courted no occasion. Nor do I claim to comprehend What Nature has in view In giving us the very friend To trust we oughtn't to.-- But so it is: The trusty gun Disastrously exploded Is always sure to be the one We didn't think was loaded. Our moaning is another's mirth,-- And what is worse by half, We say the funniest thing on earth And never raise a laugh: 'Mid friends that love us over well, And sparkling jests and liquor, Our hearts somehow are liable To melt in tears the quicker. We reach the wrong when most we seek The right; in like effect, We stay the strong and not the weak-- Do most when we neglect.-- Neglected genius--truth be said-- As wild and quick as tinder, The more you seek to help ahead The more you seem to hinder. I've known the least the greatest, too-- And, on the selfsame plan, The biggest fool I ever knew Was quite a little man: We find we ought, and then we won't-- We prove a thing, then doubt it,-- Know EVERYTHING but when we don't Know ANYTHING about it. THE SILENT VICTORS MAY 30, 1878, Dying for victory, cheer on cheer Thundered on his eager ear. --CHARLES L. HOLSTEIN. Deep, tender, firm and true, the Nation's heart Throbs for her gallant heroes passed away, Who in grim Battle's drama played their part, And slumber here to-day.-- Warm hearts that beat their lives out at the shrine Of Freedom, while our country held its breath As brave battalions wheeled themselves in line And marched upon their death: When Freedom's Flag, its natal wounds scarce healed, Was torn from peaceful winds and flung again To shudder in the storm of battle-field-- The elements of men,-- When every star that glittered was a mark For Treason's ball, and every rippling bar Of red and white was sullied with the dark And purple stain of war: When angry guns, like famished beasts of prey, Were howling o'er their gory feast of lives, And sending dismal echoes far away To mothers, maids, and wives:-- The mother, kneeling in the empty night, With pleading hands uplifted for the son Who, even as she prayed, had fought the fight-- The victory had won: The wife, with trembling hand that wrote to say The babe was waiting for the sire's caress-- The letter meeting that upon the way,-- The babe was fatherless: The maiden, with her lips, in fancy, pressed Against the brow once dewy with her breath, Now lying numb, unknown, and uncaressed Save by the dews of death. What meed of tribute can the poet pay The Soldier, but to trail the ivy-vine Of idle rhyme above his grave to-day In epitaph design?-- Or wreathe with laurel-words the icy brows That ache no longer with a dream of fame, But, pillowed lowly in the narrow house, Renowned beyond the name. The dewy tear-drops of the night may fall, And tender morning with her shining hand May brush them from the grasses green and tall That undulate the land.-- Yet song of Peace nor din of toil and thrift, Nor chanted honors, with the flowers we heap, Can yield us hope the Hero's head to lift Out of its dreamless sleep: The dear old Flag, whose faintest flutter flies A stirring echo through each patriot breast, Can never coax to life the folded eyes That saw its wrongs redressed-- That watched it waver when the fight was hot, And blazed with newer courage to its aid, Regardless of the shower of shell and shot Through which the charge was made;-- And when, at last, they saw it plume its wings, Like some proud bird in stormy element, And soar untrammeled on its wanderings, They closed in death, content. O Mother, you who miss the smiling face Of that dear boy who vanished from your sight, And left you weeping o'er the vacant place He used to fill at night,-- Who left you dazed, bewildered, on a day That echoed wild huzzas, and roar of guns That drowned the farewell words you tried to say To incoherent ones;-- Be glad and proud you had the life to give-- Be comforted through all the years to come,-- Your country has a longer life to live, Your son a better home. O Widow, weeping o'er the orphaned child, Who only lifts his questioning eyes to send A keener pang to grief unreconciled,-- Teach him to comprehend He had a father brave enough to stand Before the fire of Treason's blazing gun, That, dying, he might will the rich old land Of Freedom to his son. And, Maiden, living on through lonely years In fealty to love's enduring ties,-- With strong faith gleaming through the tender tears That gather in your eyes, Look up! and own, in gratefulness of prayer, Submission to the will of Heaven's High Host:-- I see your Angel-soldier pacing there, Expectant at his post.-- I see the rank and file of armies vast, That muster under one supreme control; I hear the trumpet sound the signal-blast-- The calling of the roll-- The grand divisions falling into line And forming, under voice of One alone Who gives command, and joins with tongue divine The hymn that shakes the Throne. And thus, in tribute to the forms that rest In their last camping-ground, we strew the bloom And fragrance of the flowers they loved the best, In silence o'er the tomb. With reverent hands we twine the Hero's wreath And clasp it tenderly on stake or stone That stands the sentinel for each beneath Whose glory is our own. While in the violet that greets the sun, We see the azure eye of some lost boy; And in the rose the ruddy cheek of one We kissed in childish joy,-- Recalling, haply, when he marched away, He laughed his loudest though his eyes were wet.-- The kiss he gave his mother's brow that day Is there and burning yet: And through the storm of grief around her tossed, One ray of saddest comfort she may see,-- Four hundred thousand sons like hers were lost To weeping Liberty. . . . . . . . . But draw aside the drapery of gloom, And let the sunshine chase the clouds away And gild with brighter glory every tomb We decorate to-day: And in the holy silence reigning round, While prayers of perfume bless the atmosphere, Where loyal souls of love and faith are found, Thank God that Peace is here! And let each angry impulse that may start, Be smothered out of every loyal breast; And, rocked within the cradle of the heart, Let every sorrow rest. There's a habit I have nurtured, From the sentimental time When my life was like a story, And my heart a happy rhyme,-- Of clipping from the paper, Or magazine, perhaps, The idle songs of dreamers, Which I treasure as my scraps. They hide among my letters, And they find a cozy nest In the bosom of my wrapper, And the pockets of my vest; They clamber in my fingers Till my dreams of wealth relapse In fairer dreams than Fortune's Though I find them only scraps. Sometimes I find, in tatters Like a beggar, form as fair As ever gave to Heaven The treasure of a prayer; And words all dim and faded, And obliterate in part, Grow into fadeless meanings That are printed on the heart. Sometimes a childish jingle Flings an echo, sweet and clear, And thrills me as I listen To the laughs I used to hear; And I catch the gleam of faces, And the glimmer of glad eyes That peep at me expectant O'er the walls of Paradise. O syllables of measure! Though you wheel yourselves in line, And await the further order Of this eager voice of mine; You are powerless to follow O'er the field my fancy maps, So I lead you back to silence Feeling you are only scraps. A day of torpor in the sullen heat Of Summer's passion: In the sluggish stream The panting cattle lave their lazy feet, With drowsy eyes, and dream. Long since the winds have died, and in the sky There lives no cloud to hint of Nature's grief; The sun glares ever like an evil eye, And withers flower and leaf. Upon the gleaming harvest-field remote The thresher lies deserted, like some old Dismantled galleon that hangs afloat Upon a sea of gold. The yearning cry of some bewildered bird Above an empty nest, and truant boys Along the river's shady margin heard-- A harmony of noise-- A melody of wrangling voices blent With liquid laughter, and with rippling calls Of piping lips and thrilling echoes sent To mimic waterfalls. And through the hazy veil the atmosphere Has draped about the gleaming face of Day, The sifted glances of the sun appear In splinterings of spray. The dusty highway, like a cloud of dawn, Trails o'er the hillside, and the passer-by, A tired ghost in misty shroud, toils on His journey to the sky. And down across the valley's drooping sweep, Withdrawn to farthest limit of the glade, The forest stands in silence, drinking deep Its purple wine of shade. The gossamer floats up on phantom wing; The sailor-vision voyages the skies And carries into chaos everything That freights the weary eyes: Till, throbbing on and on, the pulse of heat Increases--reaches--passes fever's height, And Day sinks into slumber, cool and sweet, Within the arms of Night. DEAD IN SIGHT OF FAME DIED--Early morning of September 5, 1876, and in the gleaming dawn of "name and fame," Hamilton J. Dunbar. Dead! Dead! Dead! We thought him ours alone; And were so proud to see him tread The rounds of fame, and lift his head Where sunlight ever shone; But now our aching eyes are dim, And look through tears in vain for him. Name! Name! Name! It was his diadem; Nor ever tarnish-taint of shame Could dim its luster--like a flame Reflected in a gem, He wears it blazing on his brow Within the courts of Heaven now. Tears! Tears! Tears! Like dews upon the leaf That bursts at last--from out the years The blossom of a trust appears That blooms above the grief; And mother, brother, wife and child Will see it and be reconciled. O In the depths of midnight What fancies haunt the brain! When even the sigh of the sleeper Sounds like a sob of pain. A sense of awe and of wonder I may never well define,-- For the thoughts that come in the shadows Never come in the shine. The old clock down in the parlor Like a sleepless mourner grieves, And the seconds drip in the silence As the rain drips from the eaves. And I think of the hands that signal The hours there in the gloom, And wonder what angel watchers Wait in the darkened room. And I think of the smiling faces That used to watch and wait, Till the click of the clock was answered By the click of the opening gate.-- They are not there now in the evening-- Morning or noon--not there; Yet I know that they keep their vigil, And wait for me Somewhere. THE IRON HORSE No song is mine of Arab steed-- My courser is of nobler blood, And cleaner limb and fleeter speed, And greater strength and hardihood Than ever cantered wild and free Across the plains of Araby. Go search the level desert land From Sana on to Samarcand-- Wherever Persian prince has been, Or Dervish, Sheik, or Bedouin, And I defy you there to point Me out a steed the half so fine-- From tip of ear to pastern-joint-- As this old iron horse of mine. You do not know what beauty is-- You do not know what gentleness His answer is to my caress!-- Why, look upon this gait of his,-- A touch upon his iron rein-- He moves with such a stately grace The sunlight on his burnished mane Is barely shaken in its place; And at a touch he changes pace, And, gliding backward, stops again. And talk of mettle--Ah! my friend, Such passion smolders in his breast That when awakened it will send A thrill of rapture wilder than E'er palpitated heart of man When flaming at its mightiest. And there's a fierceness in his ire-- A maddened majesty that leaps Along his veins in blood of fire, Until the path his vision sweeps Spins out behind him like a thread Unraveled from the reel of time, As, wheeling on his course sublime, The earth revolves beneath his tread. Then stretch away, my gallant steed! Thy mission is a noble one: Thou bear'st the father to the son, And sweet relief to bitter need; Thou bear'st the stranger to his friends; Thou bear'st the pilgrim to the shrine, And back again the prayer he sends That God will prosper me and mine,-- The star that on thy forehead gleams Has blossomed in our brightest dreams. Then speed thee on thy glorious race! The mother waits thy ringing pace; The father leans an anxious ear The thunder of thy hooves to hear; The lover listens, far away, To catch thy keen exultant neigh; And, where thy breathings roll and rise, The husband strains his eager eyes, And laugh of wife and baby-glee Ring out to greet and welcome thee. Then stretch away! and when at last The master's hand shall gently check Thy mighty speed, and hold thee fast, The world will pat thee on the neck. As though a gipsy maiden with dim look, Sat crooning by the roadside of the year, So, Autumn, in thy strangeness, thou art here To read dark fortunes for us from the book Of fate; thou flingest in the crinkled brook The trembling maple's gold, and frosty-clear Thy mocking laughter thrills the atmosphere, And drifting on its current calls the rook To other lands. As one who wades, alone, Deep in the dusk, and hears the minor talk Of distant melody, and finds the tone, In some wierd way compelling him to stalk The paths of childhood over,--so I moan, And like a troubled sleeper, groping, walk. The frightened herds of clouds across the sky Trample the sunshine down, and chase the day Into the dusky forest-lands of gray And somber twilight. Far, and faint, and high The wild goose trails his harrow, with a cry Sad as the wail of some poor castaway Who sees a vessel drifting far astray Of his last hope, and lays him down to die. The children, riotous from school, grow bold And quarrel with the wind, whose angry gust Plucks off the summer hat, and flaps the fold Of many a crimson cloak, and twirls the dust In spiral shapes grotesque, and dims the gold Of gleaming tresses with the blur of rust. Funereal Darkness, drear and desolate, Muffles the world. The moaning of the wind Is piteous with sobs of saddest kind; And laughter is a phantom at the gate Of memory. The long-neglected grate Within sprouts into flame and lights the mind With hopes and wishes long ago refined To ashes,--long departed friends await Our words of welcome: and our lips are dumb And powerless to greet the ones that press Old kisses there. The baby beats its drum, And fancy marches to the dear caress Of mother-arms, and all the gleeful hum Of home intrudes upon our loneliness. OVER THE EYES OF GLADNESS "The voice of One hath spoken, And the bended reed is bruised-- The golden bowl is broken, And the silver cord is loosed." Over the eyes of gladness The lids of sorrow fall, And the light of mirth is darkened Under the funeral pall. The hearts that throbbed with rapture In dreams of the future years, Are wakened from their slumbers, And their visions drowned in tears. . . . . . . . Two buds on the bough in the morning-- Twin buds in the smiling sun, But the frost of death has fallen And blighted the bloom of one. One leaf of life still folded Has fallen from the stem, Leaving the symbol teaching There still are two of them,-- For though--through Time's gradations, The LIVING bud may burst,-- The WITHERED one is gathered, And blooms in Heaven first. ONLY A DREAM Only a dream! Her head is bent Over the keys of the instrument, While her trembling fingers go astray In the foolish tune she tries to play. He smiles in his heart, though his deep, sad eyes Never change to a glad surprise As he finds the answer he seeks confessed In glowing features, and heaving breast. Only a dream! Though the fete is grand, And a hundred hearts at her command, She takes no part, for her soul is sick Of the Coquette's art and the Serpent's trick,-- She someway feels she would like to fling Her sins away as a robe, and spring Up like a lily pure and white, And bloom alone for HIM to-night. Only a dream That the fancy weaves. The lids unfold like the rose's leaves, And the upraised eyes are moist and mild As the prayerful eyes of a drowsy child. Does she remember the spell they once Wrought in the past a few short months? Haply not--yet her lover's eyes Never change to the glad surprise. Only a dream! He winds her form Close in the coil of his curving arm, And whirls her away in a gust of sound As wild and sweet as the poets found In the paradise where the silken tent Of the Persian blooms in the Orient,-- While ever the chords of the music seem Whispering sadly,--"Only a dream!" OUR LITTLE GIRL Her heart knew naught of sorrow, Nor the vaguest taint of sin-- 'Twas an ever-blooming blossom Of the purity within: And her hands knew only touches Of the mother's gentle care, And the kisses and caresses Through the interludes of prayer. Her baby-feet had journeyed Such a little distance here, They could have found no briers In the path to interfere; The little cross she carried Could not weary her, we know, For it lay as lightly on her As a shadow on the snow. And yet the way before us-- O how empty now and drear!-- How ev'n the dews of roses Seem as dripping tears for her! And the song-birds all seem crying, As the winds cry and the rain, All sobbingly,--"We want--we want Our little girl again!" THE FUNNY LITTLE FELLOW 'Twas a Funny Little Fellow Of the very purest type, For he had a heart as mellow As an apple over ripe; And the brightest little twinkle When a funny thing occurred, And the lightest little tinkle Of a laugh you ever heard! His smile was like the glitter Of the sun in tropic lands, And his talk a sweeter twitter Than the swallow understands; Hear him sing--and tell a story-- Snap a joke--ignite a pun,-- 'Twas a capture--rapture--glory, An explosion--all in one! Though he hadn't any money-- That condiment which tends To make a fellow "honey" For the palate of his friends;-- Sweet simples he compounded-- Sovereign antidotes for sin Or taint,--a faith unbounded That his friends were genuine. He wasn't honored, maybe-- For his songs of praise were slim,-- Yet I never knew a baby That wouldn't crow for him; I never knew a mother But urged a kindly claim Upon him as a brother, At the mention of his name. The sick have ceased their sighing, And have even found the grace Of a smile when they were dying As they looked upon his face; And I've seen his eyes of laughter Melt in tears that only ran As though, swift-dancing after, Came the Funny Little Man. He laughed away the sorrow And he laughed away the gloom We are all so prone to borrow From the darkness of the tomb; And he laughed across the ocean Of a happy life, and passed, With a laugh of glad emotion, Into Paradise at last. And I think the Angels knew him, And had gathered to await His coming, and run to him Through the widely opened Gate, With their faces gleaming sunny For his laughter-loving sake, And thinking, "What a funny Little Angel he will make!" SONG OF THE NEW YEAR I heard the bells at midnight Ring in the dawning year; And above the clanging chorus Of the song, I seemed to hear A choir of mystic voices Flinging echoes, ringing clear, From a band of angels winging Through the haunted atmosphere: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in." And I thought of all the trials The departed years had cost, And the blooming hopes and pleasures That are withered now and lost; And with joy I drank the music Stealing o'er the feeling there As the spirit song came pealing On the silence everywhere: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in." And I listened as a lover To an utterance that flows In syllables like dewdrops From the red lips of a rose, Till the anthem, fainter growing, Climbing higher, chiming on Up the rounds of happy rhyming, Slowly vanished in the dawn: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, That the dawning of the morrow May in peace be ushered in." Then I raised my eyes to Heaven, And with trembling lips I pled For a blessing for the living And a pardon for the dead; And like a ghost of music Slowly whispered--lowly sung-- Came the echo pure and holy In the happy angel tongue: "Ring out the shame and sorrow, And the misery and sin, And the dawn of every morrow Will in peace be ushered in." A LETTER TO A FRIEND The past is like a story I have listened to in dreams That vanished in the glory Of the Morning's early gleams; And--at my shadow glancing-- I feel a loss of strength, As the Day of Life advancing Leaves it shorn of half its length. But it's all in vain to worry At the rapid race of Time-- And he flies in such a flurry When I trip him with a rhyme, I'll bother him no longer Than to thank you for the thought That "my fame is growing stronger As you really think it ought." And though I fall below it, I might know as much of mirth To live and die a poet Of unacknowledged worth; For Fame is but a vagrant-- Though a loyal one and brave, And his laurels ne'er so fragrant As when scattered o'er the grave. LINES FOR AN ALBUM I would not trace the hackneyed phrase Of shallow words and empty praise, And prate of "peace" till one might think My foolish pen was drunk with ink. Nor will I here the wish express Of "lasting love and happiness," And "cloudless skies"--for after all "Into each life some rain must fall." --No. Keep the empty page below, In my remembrance, white as snow-- Nor sigh to know the secret prayer My spirit hand has written there. When the lids of dusk are falling O'er the dreamy eyes of day, And the whippoorwills are calling, And the lesson laid away,-- May Mem'ry soft and tender As the prelude of the night, Bend over you and render As tranquil a delight. Once, in a dream, I saw a man With haggard face and tangled hair, And eyes that nursed as wild a care As gaunt Starvation ever can; And in his hand he held a wand Whose magic touch gave life and thought Unto a form his fancy wrought And robed with coloring so grand, It seemed the reflex of some child Of Heaven, fair and undefiled-- A face of purity and love-- To woo him into worlds above: And as I gazed with dazzled eyes, A gleaming smile lit up his lips As his bright soul from its eclipse Went flashing into Paradise. Then tardy Fame came through the door And found a picture--nothing more. And once I saw a man, alone, In abject poverty, with hand Uplifted o'er a block of stone That took a shape at his command And smiled upon him, fair and good-- A perfect work of womanhood, Save that the eyes might never weep, Nor weary hands be crossed in sleep, Nor hair that fell from crown to wrist, Be brushed away, caressed and kissed. And as in awe I gazed on her, I saw the sculptor's chisel fall-- I saw him sink, without a moan, Sink lifeless at the feet of stone, And lie there like a worshiper. Fame crossed the threshold of the hall, And found a statue--that was all. And once I saw a man who drew A gloom about him like a cloak, And wandered aimlessly. The few Who spoke of him at all, but spoke Disparagingly of a mind The Fates had faultily designed: Too indolent for modern times-- Too fanciful, and full of whims-- For, talking to himself in rhymes, And scrawling never-heard-of hymns, The idle life to which he clung Was worthless as the songs he sung! I saw him, in my vision, filled With rapture o'er a spray of bloom The wind threw in his lonely room; And of the sweet perfume it spilled He drank to drunkenness, and flung His long hair back, and laughed and sung And clapped his hands as children do At fairy tales they listen to, While from his flying quill there dripped Such music on his manuscript That he who listens to the words May close his eyes and dream the birds Are twittering on every hand A language he can understand. He journeyed on through life, unknown, Without one friend to call his own; He tired. No kindly hand to press The cooling touch of tenderness Upon his burning brow, nor lift To his parched lips God's freest gift-- No sympathetic sob or sigh Of trembling lips--no sorrowing eye Looked out through tears to see him die. And Fame her greenest laurels brought To crown a head that heeded not. And this is Fame! A thing, indeed, That only comes when least the need: The wisest minds of every age The book of life from page to page Have searched in vain; each lesson conned Will promise it the page beyond-- Until the last, when dusk of night Falls over it, and reason's light Is smothered by that unknown friend Who signs his nom de plume, The End AN EMPTY NEST I find an old deserted nest, Half-hidden in the underbrush: A withered leaf, in phantom jest, Has nestled in it like a thrush With weary, palpitating breast. I muse as one in sad surprise Who seeks his childhood's home once more, And finds it in a strange disguise Of vacant rooms and naked floor, With sudden tear-drops in his eyes. An empty nest! It used to bear A happy burden, when the breeze Of summer rocked it, and a pair Of merry tattlers told the trees What treasures they had hidden there. But Fancy, flitting through the gleams Of youth's sunshiny atmosphere, Has fallen in the past, and seems, Like this poor leaflet nestled here,-- A phantom guest of empty dreams. MY FATHER'S HALLS My father's halls, so rich and rare, Are desolate and bleak and bare; My father's heart and halls are one, Since I, their life and light, am gone. O, valiant knight, with hand of steel And heart of gold, hear my appeal: Release me from the spoiler's charms, And bear me to my father's arms. THE HARP OF THE MINSTREL The harp of the minstrel has never a tone As sad as the song in his bosom to-night, For the magical touch of his fingers alone Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright; But oh! as the smile of the moon may impart A sorrow to one in an alien clime, Let the light of the melody fall on the heart, And cadence his grief into musical rhyme. The faces have faded, the eyes have grown dim That once were his passionate love and his pride; And alas! all the smiles that once blossomed for him Have fallen away as the flowers have died. The hands that entwined him the laureate's wreath And crowned him with fame in the long, long ago, Like the laurels are withered and folded beneath The grass and the stubble--the frost and the snow. Then sigh, if thou wilt, as the whispering strings Strive ever in vain for the utterance clear, And think of the sorrowful spirit that sings, And jewel the song with the gem of a tear. For the harp of the minstrel has never a tone As sad as the song in his bosom tonight, And the magical touch of his fingers alone Can not waken the echoes that breathe it aright. HONEY DRIPPING FROM THE COMB How slight a thing may set one's fancy drifting Upon the dead sea of the Past!--A view-- Sometimes an odor--or a rooster lifting A far-off "OOH! OOH-OOH!" And suddenly we find ourselves astray In some wood's-pasture of the Long Ago-- Or idly dream again upon a day Of rest we used to know. I bit an apple but a moment since-- A wilted apple that the worm had spurned,-- Yet hidden in the taste were happy hints Of good old days returned.-- And so my heart, like some enraptured lute, Tinkles a tune so tender and complete, God's blessing must be resting on the fruit-- So bitter, yet so sweet! A strange life--strangely passed! We may not read the soul When God has folded up the scroll In death at last. We may not--dare not say of one Whose task of life as well was done As he could do it,--"This is lost, And prayers may never pay the cost." Who listens to the song That sings within the breast, Should ever hear the good expressed Above the wrong. And he who leans an eager ear To catch the discord, he will hear The echoes of his own weak heart Beat out the most discordant part. Whose tender heart could build Affection's bower above A heart where baby nests of love Were ever filled,-- With upward growth may reach and twine About the children, grown divine, That once were his a time so brief His very joy was more than grief. O Sorrow--"Peace, be still!" God reads the riddle right; And we who grope in constant night But serve His will; And when sometime the doubt is gone, And darkness blossoms into dawn,-- "God keeps the good," we then will say: " 'Tis but the dross He throws away." A goddess, with a siren's grace,-- A sun-haired girl on a craggy place Above a bay where fish-boats lay Drifting about like birds of prey. Wrought was she of a painter's dream,-- Wise only as are artists wise, My artist-friend, Rolf Herschkelhiem, With deep sad eyes of oversize, And face of melancholy guise. I pressed him that he tell to me This masterpiece's history. He turned--REturned--and thus beguiled Me with the tale of Orlie Wilde:-- "We artists live ideally: We breed our firmest facts of air; We make our own reality-- We dream a thing and it is so. The fairest scenes we ever see Are mirages of memory; The sweetest thoughts we ever know We plagiarize from Long Ago: And as the girl on canvas there Is marvelously rare and fair, 'Tis only inasmuch as she Is dumb and may not speak to me!" He tapped me with his mahlstick--then The picture,--and went on again: "Orlie Wilde, the fisher's child-- I see her yet, as fair and mild As ever nursling summer day Dreamed on the bosom of the bay: For I was twenty then, and went Alone and long-haired--all content With promises of sounding name And fantasies of future fame, And thoughts that now my mind discards As editor a fledgling bard's. "At evening once I chanced to go, With pencil and portfolio, Adown the street of silver sand That winds beneath this craggy land, To make a sketch of some old scurf Of driftage, nosing through the surf A splintered mast, with knarl and strand Of rigging-rope and tattered threads Of flag and streamer and of sail That fluttered idly in the gale Or whipped themselves to sadder shreds. The while I wrought, half listlessly, On my dismantled subject, came A sea-bird, settling on the same With plaintive moan, as though that he Had lost his mate upon the sea; And--with my melancholy trend-- It brought dim dreams half understood-- It wrought upon my morbid mood,-- I thought of my own voyagings That had no end--that have no end.-- And, like the sea-bird, I made moan That I was loveless and alone. And when at last with weary wings It went upon its wanderings, With upturned face I watched its flight Until this picture met my sight: A goddess, with a siren's grace,-- A sun-haired girl on a craggy place Above a bay where fish-boats lay Drifting about like birds of prey. "In airy poise she, gazing, stood A machless form of womanhood, That brought a thought that if for me Such eyes had sought across the sea, I could have swum the widest tide That ever mariner defied, And, at the shore, could on have gone To that high crag she stood upon, To there entreat and say, 'My Sweet, Behold thy servant at thy feet.' And to my soul I said: 'Above, There stands the idol of thy love!' "In this rapt, awed, ecstatic state I gazed--till lo! I was aware A fisherman had joined her there-- A weary man, with halting gait, Who toiled beneath a basket's weight: Her father, as I guessed, for she Had run to meet him gleefully And ta'en his burden to herself, That perched upon her shoulder's shelf So lightly that she, tripping, neared A jutting crag and disappeared; But she left the echo of a song That thrills me yet, and will as long As I have being! . . . . . . "Evenings came And went,--but each the same--the same: She watched above, and even so I stood there watching from below; Till, grown so bold at last, I sung,-- (What matter now the theme thereof!)-- It brought an answer from her tongue-- Faint as the murmur of a dove, Yet all the more the song of love. . . . "I turned and looked upon the bay, With palm to forehead--eyes a-blur In the sea's smile--meant but for her!-- I saw the fish-boats far away In misty distance, lightly drawn In chalk-dots on the horizon-- Looked back at her, long, wistfully;-- And, pushing off an empty skiff, I beckoned her to quit the cliff And yield me her rare company Upon a little pleasure-cruise.-- She stood, as loathful to refuse, To muse for full a moment's time,-- Then answered back in pantomime 'She feared some danger from the sea Were she discovered thus with me.' I motioned then to ask her if I might not join her on the cliff And back again, with graceful wave Of lifted arm, she anwer gave 'She feared some danger from the sea.' "Impatient, piqued, impetuous, I Sprang in the boat, and flung 'Good-by' From pouted mouth with angry hand, And madly pulled away from land With lusty stroke, despite that she Held out her hands entreatingly: And when far out, with covert eye I shoreward glanced, I saw her fly In reckless haste adown the crag, Her hair a-flutter like a flag Of gold that danced across the strand In little mists of silver sand. All curious I, pausing, tried To fancy what it all implied,-- When suddenly I found my feet Were wet; and, underneath the seat On which I sat, I heard the sound Of gurgling waters, and I found The boat aleak alarmingly. . . . I turned and looked upon the sea, Whose every wave seemed mocking me; I saw the fishers' sails once more-- In dimmer distance than before; I saw the sea-bird wheeling by, With foolish wish that _I_ could fly: I thought of firm earth, home and friends-- I thought of everything that tends To drive a man to frenzy and To wholly lose his own command; I thought of all my waywardness-- Thought of a mother's deep distress; Of youthful follies yet unpurged-- Sins, as the seas, about me surged-- Thought of the printer's ready pen To-morrow drowning me again;-- A million things without a name-- I thought of everything but--Fame. . . . "A memory yet is in my mind, So keenly clear and sharp-defined, I picture every phase and line Of life and death, and neither mine,-- While some fair seraph, golden-haired, Bends over me,--with white arms bared, That strongly plait themselves about My drowning weight and lift me out-- With joy too great for words to state Or tongue to dare articulate! "And this seraphic ocean-child And heroine was Orlie Wilde: And thus it was I came to hear Her voice's music in my ear-- Ay, thus it was Fate paved the way That I walk desolate to-day!" . . . The artist paused and bowed his face Within his palms a little space, While reverently on his form I bent my gaze and marked a storm That shook his frame as wrathfully As some typhoon of agony, And fraught with sobs--the more profound For that peculiar laughing sound We hear when strong men weep. . . . I leant With warmest sympathy--I bent To stroke with soothing hand his brow, He murmuring--"Tis over now!-- And shall I tie the silken thread Of my frail romance?" "Yes," I said.-- He faintly smiled; and then, with brow In kneading palm, as one in dread-- His tasseled cap pushed from his head " 'Her voice's music,' I repeat," He said,--" 'twas sweet--O passing sweet!-- Though she herself, in uttering Its melody, proved not the thing Of loveliness my dreams made meet For me--there, yearning, at her feet-- Prone at her feet--a worshiper,-- For lo! she spake a tongue," moaned he, "Unknown to me;--unknown to me As mine to her--as mine to her." THAT OTHER MAUD MULLER Maud Muller worked at making hay, And cleared her forty cents a day. Her clothes were coarse, but her health was fine, And so she worked in the sweet sunshine Singing as glad as a bird in May "Barbara Allen" the livelong day. She often glanced at the far-off town, And wondered if eggs were up or down. And the sweet song died of a strange disease, Leaving a phantom taste of cheese, And an appetite and a nameless ache For soda-water and ginger cake. The judge rode slowly into view-- Stopped his horse in the shade and threw His fine-cut out, while the blushing Maud Marveled much at the kind he "chawed." "He was dry as a fish," he said with a wink, "And kind o' thought that a good square drink Would brace him up." So the cup was filled With the crystal wine that old spring spilled; And she gave it him with a sun-browned hand. "Thanks," said the judge in accents bland; "A thousand thanks! for a sweeter draught, From a fairer hand"--but there he laughed. And the sweet girl stood in the sun that day, And raked the judge instead of the hay. A MAN OF MANY PARTS It was a man of many parts, Who in his coffer mind Had stored the Classics and the Arts And Sciences combined; The purest gems of poesy Came flashing from his pen-- The wholesome truths of History He gave his fellow men. He knew the stars from "Dog" to Mars; And he could tell you, too, Their distances--as though the cars Had often checked him through-- And time 'twould take to reach the sun, Or by the "Milky Way," Drop in upon the moon, or run The homeward trip, or stay. With Logic at his fingers' ends, Theology in mind, He often entertained his friends Until they died resigned; And with inquiring mind intent Upon Alchemic arts A dynamite experiment-- . . . . . . . A man of many parts! Who am I but the Frog--the Frog! My realm is the dark bayou, And my throne is the muddy and moss-grown log That the poison-vine clings to-- And the blacksnakes slide in the slimy tide Where the ghost of the moon looks blue. What am I but a King--a King!-- For the royal robes I wear-- A scepter, too, and a signet-ring, As vassals and serfs declare: And a voice, god wot, that is equaled not In the wide world anywhere! I can talk to the Night--the Night!-- Under her big black wing She tells me the tale of the world outright, And the secret of everything; For she knows you all, from the time you crawl, To the doom that death will bring. The Storm swoops down, and he blows--and blows,-- While I drum on his swollen cheek, And croak in his angered eye that glows With the lurid lightning's streak; While the rushes drown in the watery frown That his bursting passions leak. And I can see through the sky--the sky-- As clear as a piece of glass; And I can tell you the how and why Of the things that come to pass-- And whether the dead are there instead, Or under the graveyard grass. To your Sovereign lord all hail--all hail!-- To your Prince on his throne so grim! Let the moon swing low, and the high stars trail Their heads in the dust to him; And the wide world sing: Long live the King, And grace to his royal whim! How many of my selves are dead? The ghosts of many haunt me: Lo, The baby in the tiny bed With rockers on, is blanketed And sleeping in the long ago; And so I ask, with shaking head, How many of my selves are dead? A little face with drowsy eyes And lisping lips comes mistily From out the faded past, and tries The prayers a mother breathed with sighs Of anxious care in teaching me; But face and form and prayers have fled-- How many of my selves are dead? The little naked feet that slipped In truant paths, and led the way Through dead'ning pasture-lands, and tripped O'er tangled poison-vines, and dipped In streams forbidden--where are they? In vain I listen for their tread-- How many of my selves are dead? The awkward boy the teacher caught Inditing letters filled with love, Who was compelled, for all he fought, To read aloud each tender thought Of "Sugar Lump" and "Turtle Dove." I wonder where he hides his head-- How many of my selves are dead? The earnest features of a youth With manly fringe on lip and chin, With eager tongue to tell the truth, To offer love and life, forsooth, So brave was he to woo and win; A prouder man was never wed-- How many of my selves are dead? The great, strong hands so all-inclined To welcome toil, or smooth the care From mother-brows, or quick to find A leisure-scrap of any kind, To toss the baby in the air, Or clap at babbling things it said-- How many of my selves are dead? The pact of brawn and scheming brain-- Conspiring in the plots of wealth, Still delving, till the lengthened chain, Unwindlassed in the mines of gain, Recoils with dregs of ruined health And pain and poverty instead-- How many of my selves are dead? The faltering step, the faded hair-- Head, heart and soul, all echoing With maundering fancies that declare That life and love were never there, Nor ever joy in anything, Nor wounded heart that ever bled-- How many of my selves are dead? So many of my selves are dead, That, bending here above the brink Of my last grave, with dizzy head, I find my spirit comforted, For all the idle things I think: It can but be a peaceful bed, Since all my other selves are dead. A DREAM OF LONG AGO Lying listless in the mosses Underneath a tree that tosses Flakes of sunshine, and embosses Its green shadow with the snow-- Drowsy-eyed, I sink in slumber Born of fancies without number-- Tangled fancies that encumber Me with dreams of long ago. Ripples of the river singing; And the water-lilies swinging Bells of Parian, and ringing Peals of perfume faint and fine, While old forms and fairy faces Leap from out their hiding-places In the past, with glad embraces Fraught with kisses sweet as wine. Willows dip their slender fingers O'er the little fisher's stringers, While he baits his hook and lingers Till the shadows gather dim; And afar off comes a calling Like the sounds of water falling, With the lazy echoes drawling Messages of haste to him. Little naked feet that tinkle Through the stubble-fields, and twinkle Down the winding road, and sprinkle Little mists of dusty rain, While in pasture-lands the cattle Cease their grazing with a rattle Of the bells whose clappers tattle To their masters down the lane. Trees that hold their tempting treasures O'er the orchard's hedge embrasures, Furnish their forbidden pleasures As in Eden lands of old; And the coming of the master Indicates a like disaster To the frightened heart that faster Beats pulsations manifold. Puckered lips whose pipings tingle In staccato notes that mingle Musically with the jingle- Haunted winds that lightly fan Mellow twilights, crimson-tinted By the sun, and picture-printed Like a book that sweetly hinted Of the Nights Arabian. Porticoes with columns plaited And entwined with vines and freighted With a bloom all radiated With the light of moon and star; Where some tender voice is winging In sad flights of song, and singing To the dancing fingers flinging Dripping from the sweet guitar. Would my dreams were never taken From me: that with faith unshaken I might sleep and never waken On a weary world of woe! Links of love would never sever As I dreamed them, never, never! I would glide along forever Through the dreams of long ago. The Crankadox leaned o'er the edge of the moon And wistfully gazed on the sea Where the Gryxabodill madly whistled a tune To the air of "Ti-fol-de-ding-dee." The quavering shriek of the Fly-up-the-creek Was fitfully wafted afar To the Queen of the Wunks as she powdered her cheek With the pulverized rays of a star. The Gool closed his ear on the voice of the Grig, And his heart it grew heavy as lead As he marked the Baldekin adjusting his wing On the opposite side of his head, And the air it grew chill as the Gryxabodill Raised his dank, dripping fins to the skies, And plead with the Plunk for the use of her bill To pick the tears out of his eyes. The ghost of the Zhack flitted by in a trance, And the Squidjum hid under a tub As he heard the loud hooves of the Hooken advance With a rub-a-dub--dub-a-dub--dub! And the Crankadox cried, as he lay down and died, "My fate there is none to bewail," While the Queen of the Wunks drifted over the tide With a long piece of crape to her tail. Queenly month of indolent repose! I drink thy breath in sips of rare perfume, As in thy downy lap of clover-bloom I nestle like a drowsy child and doze The lazy hours away. The zephyr throws The shifting shuttle of the Summer's loom And weaves a damask-work of gleam and gloom Before thy listless feet. The lily blows A bugle-call of fragrance o'er the glade; And, wheeling into ranks, with plume and spear, Thy harvest-armies gather on parade; While, faint and far away, yet pure and clear, A voice calls out of alien lands of shade:-- All hail the Peerless Goddess of the Year! WASH LOWRY'S REMINISCENCE And you're the poet of this concern? I've seed your name in print A dozen times, but I'll be dern I'd 'a' never 'a' took the hint O' the size you are--fer I'd pictured you A kind of a tallish man-- Dark-complected and sallor too, And on the consumpted plan. 'Stid o' that you're little and small, With a milk-and-water face-- 'Thout no snap in your eyes at all, Er nothin' to suit the case! Kind o'look like a--I don't know-- One o' these fair-ground chaps That runs a thingamajig to blow, Er a candy-stand perhaps. 'Ll I've allus thought that poetry Was a sort of a--some disease-- Fer I knowed a poet once, and he Was techy and hard to please, And moody-like, and kindo' sad And didn't seem to mix With other folks--like his health was bad, Er his liver out o' fix. Used to teach fer a livelihood-- There's folks in Pipe Crick yit Remembers him--and he was good At cipherin' I'll admit-- And posted up in G'ography But when it comes to tact, And gittin' along with the school, you see, He fizzled, and that's a fact! Boarded with us fer fourteen months And in all that time I'll say We never catched him a-sleepin' once Er idle a single day. But shucks! It made him worse and worse A-writin' rhymes and stuff, And the school committee used to furse 'At the school warn't good enough. He warn't as strict as he ought to been, And never was known to whip, Or even to keep a scholard in At work at his penmanship; 'Stid o' that he'd learn 'em notes, And have 'em every day, Spilin' hymns and a-splittin' th'oats With his "Do-sol-fa-me-ra!" Tel finally it was jest agreed We'd have to let him go, And we all felt bad--we did indeed, When we come to tell him so; Fer I remember, he turned so white, And smiled so sad, somehow, I someway felt it wasn't right, And I'm shore it wasn't now! He hadn't no complaints at all-- He bid the school adieu, And all o' the scholards great and small Was mighty sorry too! And when he closed that afternoon They sung some lines that he Had writ a purpose, to some old tune That suited the case, you see. And then he lingered and delayed And wouldn't go away-- And shet himself in his room and stayed A-writin' from day to day; And kep' a-gittin' stranger still, And thinner all the time, You know, as any feller will On nothin' else but rhyme. He didn't seem adzactly right, Er like he was crossed in love, He'd work away night after night, And walk the floor above; We'd hear him read and talk, and sing So lonesome-like and low, My woman's cried like ever'thing-- 'Way in the night, you know. And when at last he tuck to bed He'd have his ink and pen; "So's he could coat the muse" he said, "He'd die contented then"; And jest before he past away He read with dyin' gaze The epitaph that stands to-day To show you where he lays. And ever sence then I've allus thought That poetry's some disease, And them like you that's got it ought To watch their q's and p's ; And leave the sweets of rhyme, to sup On the wholesome draughts of toil, And git your health recruited up By plowin' in rougher soil. THE ANCIENT PRINTERMAN "O Printerman of sallow face, And look of absent guile, Is it the 'copy' on your 'case' That causes you to smile? Or is it some old treasure scrap You cull from Memory's file? "I fain would guess its mystery-- For often I can trace A fellow dreamer's history Whene'er it haunts the face; Your fancy's running riot In a retrospective race! "Ah, Printerman, you're straying Afar from 'stick' and type-- Your heart has 'gone a-maying,' And you taste old kisses, ripe Again on lips that pucker At your old asthmatic pipe! "You are dreaming of old pleasures That have faded from your view; And the music-burdened measures Of the laughs you listen to Are now but angel-echoes-- O, have I spoken true?" The ancient Printer hinted With a motion full of grace To where the words were printed On a card above his "case,"-- "I am deaf and dumb!" I left him With a smile upon his face. PRIOR TO MISS BELLE'S APPEARANCE What makes you come HERE fer, Mister, So much to our house?--SAY? Come to see our big sister!-- An' Charley he says 'at you kissed her An' he ketched you, th'uther day!-- Didn' you, Charley?--But we p'omised Belle An' crossed our heart to never to tell-- 'Cause SHE gived us some o' them-er Chawk'lut-drops 'at you bringed to her! Charley he's my little b'uther-- An' we has a-mostest fun, Don't we, Charley?--Our Muther, Whenever we whips one anuther, Tries to whip US--an' we RUN-- Don't we, Charley?--An' nen, bime-by, Nen she gives us cake--an' pie-- Don't she, Charley?--when we come in An' pomise never to do it ag'in! HE'S named Charley.--I'm WILLIE-- An' I'm got the purtiest name! But Uncle Bob HE calls me "Billy"-- Don't he, Charley?--'N' our filly We named "Billy," the same Ist like me! An' our Ma said 'At "Bob puts foolishnuss into our head!"-- Didn' she, Charley?--An' SHE don't know Much about BOYS!--'Cause Bob said so! Baby's a funniest feller! Nain't no hair on his head-- IS they, Charley?--It's meller Wite up there! An' ef Belle er Us ask wuz WE that way, Ma said,-- "Yes; an' yer PA'S head wuz soft as that, An' it's that way yet!"--An' Pa grabs his hat An' says, "Yes, childern, she's right about Pa-- 'Cause that's the reason he married yer Ma!" An' our Ma says 'at "Belle couldn' Ketch nothin' at all but ist 'BOWS!"-- An' PA says 'at "you're soft as puddun!"-- An' UNCLE BOB says "you're a good-un-- 'Cause he can tell by yer nose!"- Didn' he, Charley?--An' when Belle'll play In the poller on th' pianer, some day, Bob makes up funny songs about you, Till she gits mad-like he wants her to! Our sister FANNY she's 'LEVEN Years old! 'At's mucher 'an _I_-- Ain't it, Charley? . . . I'm seven!-- But our sister Fanny's in HEAVEN! Nere's where you go ef you die!-- Don't you, Charley?--Nen you has WINGS-- IST LIKE FANNY!--an' PURTIEST THINGS!-- Don't you, Charley?--An' nen you can FLY-- Ist fly-an' EVER'thing! . . . I Wisht I'D die! WHEN MOTHER COMBED MY HAIR When Memory, with gentle hand, Has led me to that foreign land Of childhood days, I long to be Again the boy on bended knee, With head a-bow, and drowsy smile Hid in a mother's lap the while, With tender touch and kindly care, She bends above and combs my hair. Ere threats of Time, or ghosts of cares Had paled it to the hue it wears, Its tangled threads of amber light Fell o'er a forehead, fair and white, That only knew the light caress Of loving hands, or sudden press Of kisses that were sifted there The times when mother combed my hair. But its last gleams of gold have slipped Away; and Sorrow's manuscript Is fashioned of the snowy brow-- So lined and underscored now That you, to see it, scarce would guess It e'er had felt the fond caress Of loving lips, or known the care Of those dear hands that combed my hair. . . . . . . . . I am so tired! Let me be A moment at my mother's knee; One moment--that I may forget The trials waiting for me yet: One moment free from every pain-- O! Mother! Comb my hair again! And I will, oh, so humbly bow, For I've a wife that combs it now. A WRANGDILLION Dexery-tethery! down in the dike, Under the ooze and the slime, Nestles the wraith of a reticent Gryke, Blubbering bubbles of rhyme: Though the reeds touch him and tickle his teeth-- Though the Graigroll and the Cheest Pluck at the leaves of his laureate-wreath, Nothing affects him the least. He sinks to the dregs in the dead o' the night, And he shuffles the shadows about As he gathers the stars in a nest of delight And sets there and hatches them out: The Zhederrill peers from his watery mine In scorn with the Will-o'-the-wisp, As he twinkles his eyes in a whisper of shine That ends in a luminous lisp. The Morning is born like a baby of gold, And it lies in a spasm of pink, And rallies the Cheest for the horrible cold He has dragged to the willowy brink, The Gryke blots his tears with a scrap of his grief, And growls at the wary Graigroll As he twunkers a tune on a Tiljicum leaf And hums like a telegraph pole. GEORGE MULLEN'S CONFESSION For the sake of guilty conscience, and the heart that ticks the Of the clockworks of my nature, I desire to say that I'm A weak and sinful creature, as regards my daily walk The last five years and better. It ain't worth while to talk-- I've been too mean to tell it! I've been so hard, you see, And full of pride, and--onry--now there's the word for me-- Just onry--and to show you, I'll give my history With vital points in question, and I think you'll all agree. I was always stiff and stubborn since I could recollect, And had an awful temper, and never would reflect; And always into trouble--I remember once at school The teacher tried to flog me, and I reversed that rule. O I was bad I tell you! And it's a funny move That a fellow wild as I was could ever fall in love; And it's a funny notion that an animal like me, Under a girl's weak fingers was as tame as tame could be! But it's so, and sets me thinking of the easy way she had Of cooling down my temper--though I'd be fighting mad. "My Lion Queen" I called her--when a spell of mine occurred She'd come in a den of feelings and quell them with a word. I'll tell you how she loved me--and what her people thought: When I asked to marry Annie they said "they reckoned not-- That I cut too many didoes and monkey-shines to suit Their idea of a son-in-law, and I could go, to boot!" I tell you that thing riled me! Why, I felt my face turn white, And my teeth shut like a steel trap, and the fingers of my right Hand pained me with their pressure--all the rest's a mystery Till I heard my Annie saying--"I'm going, too, you see." We were coming through the gateway, and she wavered for a spell When she heard her mother crying and her raving father yell That she wa'n't no child of his'n--like an actor in a play We saw at Independence, coming through the other day. Well! that's the way we started. And for days and weeks and And even years we journeyed on, regretting never once Of starting out together upon the path of life-- Akind o' sort o' husband, but a mighty loving wife,-- And the cutest little baby--little Grace--I see her now A-standin' on the pig-pen as her mother milked the cow-- And I can hear her shouting--as I stood unloading straw,-- "I'm ain't as big as papa, but I'm biggerest'n ma." Now folks that never married don't seem to understand That a little baby's language is the sweetest ever planned-- Why, I tell you it's pure music, and I'll just go on to say That I sometimes have a notion that the angels talk that way! There's a chapter in this story I'd be happy to destroy; I could burn it up before you with a mighty sight of joy; But I'll go ahead and give it--not in detail, no, my friend, For it takes five years of reading before you find the end. My Annie's folks relented--at least, in some degree; They sent one time for Annie, but they didn't send for me. The old man wrote the message with a heart as hot and dry As a furnace--"Annie Mullen, come and see your mother die." I saw the slur intended--why I fancied I could see The old man shoot the insult like a poison dart at me; And in that heat of passion I swore an inward oath That if Annie pleased her father she could never please us both. I watched her--dark and sullen--as she hurried on her shawl; I watched her--calm and cruel, though I saw her tear-drops fall; I watched her--cold and heartless, though I heard her moaning, For mercy from high Heaven--and I smiled throughout it all. Why even when she kissed me, and her tears were on my brow, As she murmured, "George, forgive me--I must go to mother now!" Such hate there was within me that I answered not at all, But calm, and cold and cruel, I smiled throughout it all. But a shadow in the doorway caught my eye, and then the face Full of innocence and sunshine of little baby Grace. And I snatched her up and kissed her, and I softened through and For a minute when she told me "I must kiss her muvver too." I remember, at the starting, how I tried to freeze again As I watched them slowly driving down the little crooked lane-- When Annie shouted something that ended in a cry, And how I tried to whistle and it fizzled in a sigh. I remember running after, with a glimmer in my sight-- Pretending I'd discovered that the traces wasn't right; And the last that I remember, as they disappeared from view, Was little Grace a-calling, "I see papa! Howdy-do!" And left alone to ponder, I again took up my hate For the old man who would chuckle that I was desolate; And I mouthed my wrongs in mutters till my pride called up the His last insult had given me--until I smiled again Till the wild beast in my nature was raging in the den-- With no one now to quell it, and I wrote a letter then Full of hissing things, and heated with so hot a heat of hate That my pen flashed out black lightning at a most terrific rate. I wrote that "she had wronged me when she went away from me-- Though to see her dying mother 'twas her father's victory, And a woman that could waver when her husband's pride was rent Was no longer worthy of it." And I shut the house and went. To tell of my long exile would be of little good-- Though I couldn't half-way tell it, and I wouldn't if I could! I could tell of California--of a wild and vicious life; Of trackless plains, and mountains, and the Indian's scalping-knife. I could tell of gloomy forests howling wild with threats of I could tell of fiery deserts that have scorched me with their I could tell of wretched outcasts by the hundreds, great and And could claim the nasty honor of the greatest of them all. I could tell of toil and hardship; and of sickness and disease, And hollow-eyed starvation, but I tell you, friend, that these Are trifles in comparison with what a fellow feels With that bloodhound, Remorsefulness, forever at his heels. I remember--worn and weary of the long, long years of care, When the frost of time was making early harvest of my hair-- I remember, wrecked and hopeless of a rest beneath the sky, My resolve to quit the country, and to seek the East, and die. I remember my long journey, like a dull, oppressive dream, Across the empty prairies till I caught the distant gleam Of a city in the beauty of its broad and shining stream On whose bosom, flocked together, float the mighty swans of I remember drifting with them till I found myself again In the rush and roar and rattle of the engine and the train; And when from my surroundings something spoke of child and wife, It seemed the train was rumbling through a tunnel in my life. Then I remember something--like a sudden burst of light-- That don't exactly tell it, but I couldn't tell it right-- A something clinging to me with its arms around my neck-- A little girl, for instance--or an angel, I expect-- For she kissed me, cried and called me "her dear papa," and I My heart was pure virgin gold, and just about to melt-- And so it did--it melted in a mist of gleaming rain When she took my hand and whispered, "My mama's on the train." There's some things I can dwell on, and get off pretty well, But the balance of this story I know I couldn't tell; So I ain't going to try it, for to tell the reason why-- I'm so chicken-hearted lately I'd be certain 'most to cry. "tired out!" Yet face and brow Do not look aweary now, And the eyelids lie like two Pure, white rose-leaves washed with dew. Was her life so hard a task?-- Strange that we forget to ask What the lips now dumb for aye Could have told us yesterday! "Tired out!" A faded scrawl Pinned upon the ragged shawl-- Nothing else to leave a clue Even of a friend or two, Who might come to fold the hands, Or smooth back the dripping strands Of her tresses, or to wet Them anew with fond regret. "Tired out!" We can but guess Of her little happiness-- Long ago, in some fair land, When a lover held her hand In the dream that frees us all, Soon or later, from its thrall-- Be it either false or true, We, at last, must tire, too. Fold the little waxen hands Lightly. Let your warmest tears Speak regrets, but never fears,-- Heaven understands! Let the sad heart, o'er the tomb, Lift again and burst in bloom Fragrant with a prayer as sweet As the lily at your feet. Bend and kiss the folded eyes-- They are only feigning sleep While their truant glances peep Into Paradise. See, the face, though cold and white, Holds a hint of some delight E'en with Death, whose finger-tips Rest upon the frozen lips. When, within the years to come, Vanished echoes live once more-- Pattering footsteps on the floor, And the sounds of home,-- Let your arms in fancy fold Little Harlie as of old-- As of old and as he waits At the City's golden gates. SAY SOMETHING TO ME Say something to me! I've waited so long-- Waited and wondered in vain; Only a sentence would fall like a song Over this listening pain-- Over a silence that glowers and frowns,-- Even my pencil to-night Slips in the dews of my sorrow and wounds Each tender word that I write. Say something to me--if only to tell Me you remember the past; Let the sweet words, like the notes of a bell, Ring out my vigil at last. O it were better, far better than this Doubt and distrust in the breast,-- For in the wine of a fanciful kiss I could taste Heaven, and--rest. Say something to me! I kneel and I plead, In my wild need, for a word; If my poor heart from this silence were freed, I could soar up like a bird In the glad morning, and twitter and sing, Carol and warble and cry Blithe as the lark as he cruises awing Over the deeps of the sky. Leonainie--Angels named her; And they took the light Of the laughing stars and framed her In a smile of white; And they made her hair of gloomy Midnight, and her eyes of bloomy Moonshine, and they brought her to me In the solemn night.-- In a solemn night of summer, When my heart of gloom Blossomed up to greet the comer Like a rose in bloom; All forebodings that distressed me I forgot as Joy caressed me-- (LYING Joy! that caught and pressed me In the arms of doom!) Only spake the little lisper In the Angel-tongue; Yet I, listening, heard her whisper,-- "Songs are only sung Here below that they may grieve you-- Tales but told you to deceive you,-- So must Leonainie leave you While her love is young." Then God smiled and it was morning. Matchless and supreme Heaven's glory seemed adorning Earth with its esteem: Every heart but mine seemed gifted With the voice of prayer, and lifted Where my Leonainie drifted From me like a dream. A TEST OF LOVE "Now who shall say he loves me not." He wooed her first in an atmosphere Of tender and low-breathed sighs; But the pang of her laugh went cutting clear To the soul of the enterprise; "You beg so pert for the kiss you seek It reminds me, John," she said, "Of a poodle pet that jumps to 'speak' For a crumb or a crust of bread." And flashing up, with the blush that flushed His face like a tableau-light, Came a bitter threat that his white lips hushed To a chill, hoarse-voiced "Good night!" And again her laugh, like a knell that tolled, And a wide-eyed mock surprise,-- "Why, John," she said, "you have taken cold In the chill air of your sighs!" And then he turned, and with teeth tight clenched, He told her he hated her,-- That his love for her from his heart he wrenched Like a corpse from a sepulcher. And then she called him "a ghoul all red With the quintessence of crimes"-- "But I know you love me now," she said, And kissed him a hundred times. FATHER WILLIAM A NEW VERSION BY LEE O. HARRIS AND JAMES WHITCOMB RILEY "You are old, Father William, and though one would think All the veins in your body were dry, Yet the end of your nose is red as a pink; I beg your indulgence, but why?" "You see," Father William replied, "in my youth-- 'Tis a thing I must ever regret-- It worried me so to keep up with the truth That my nose has a flush on it yet." "You are old," said the youth, "and I grieve to detect A feverish gleam in your eye; Yet I'm willing to give you full time to reflect. Now, pray, can you answer me why?" "Alas," said the sage, "I was tempted to choose Me a wife in my earlier years, And the grief, when I think that she didn't refuse, Has reddened my eyelids with tears." "You are old, Father William," the young man said, "And you never touch wine, you declare, Yet you sleep with your feet at the head of the bed; Now answer me that if you dare." "In my youth," said the sage, "I was told it was true, That the world turned around in the night; I cherished the lesson, my boy, and I knew That at morning my feet would be right." "You are old," said the youth, "and it grieved me to note, As you recently fell through the door, That 'full as a goose' had been chalked on your coat; Now answer me that I implore." "My boy," said the sage, "I have answered you fair, While you stuck to the point in dispute, But this is a personal matter, and there Is my answer--the toe of my boot." WHAT THE WIND SAID 'I muse to-day, in a listless way, In the gleam of a summer land; I close my eyes as a lover may At the touch of his sweetheart's hand, And I hear these things in the whisperings Of the zephyrs round me fanned':-- I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, And I hold a sovereign reign Over the lands, as God designed, And the waters they contain: Lo! the bound of the wide world round Falleth in my domain! I was born on a stormy morn In a kingdom walled with snow, Whose crystal cities laugh to scorn The proudest the world can show; And the daylight's glare is frozen there In the breath of the blasts that blow. Life to me was a jubilee From the first of my youthful days: Clinking my icy toys with glee-- Playing my childish plays; Filling my hands with the silver sands To scatter a thousand ways: Chasing the flakes that the Polar shakes From his shaggy coat of white, Or hunting the trace of the track he makes And sweeping it from sight, As he turned to glare from the slippery stair Of the iceberg's farthest height. Till I grew so strong that I strayed ere long From my home of ice and chill; With an eager heart and a merry song I traveled the snows until I heard the thaws in the ice-crag's jaws Crunched with a hungry will; And the angry crash of the waves that dash Themselves on the jagged shore Where the splintered masts of the ice-wrecks flash, And the frightened breakers roar In wild unrest on the ocean's breast For a thousand leagues or more. And the grand old sea invited me With a million beckoning hands, And I spread my wings for a flight as free As ever a sailor plans When his thoughts are wild and his heart beguiled With the dreams of foreign lands. I passed a ship on its homeward trip, With a weary and toil-worn crew; And I kissed their flag with a welcome lip, And so glad a gale I blew That the sailors quaffed their grog and laughed At the work I made them do. I drifted by where sea-groves lie Like brides in the fond caress Of the warm sunshine and the tender sky-- Where the ocean, passionless And tranquil, lies like a child whose eyes Are blurred with drowsiness. I drank the air and the perfume there, And bathed in a fountain's spray; And I smoothed the wings and the plumage rare Of a bird for his roundelay, And fluttered a rag from a signal-crag For a wretched castaway. With a sea-gull resting on my breast, I launched on a madder flight: And I lashed the waves to a wild unrest, And howled with a fierce delight Till the daylight slept; and I wailed and wept Like a fretful babe all night. For I heard the boom of a gun strike doom; And the gleam of a blood-red star Glared at me through the mirk and gloom From the lighthouse tower afar; And I held my breath at the shriek of death That came from the harbor bar. For I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, And I hold a sovereign reign Over the lands, as God designed, And the waters they contain: Lo! the bound of the wide world round Falleth in my domain! I journeyed on, when the night was gone, O'er a coast of oak and pine; And I followed a path that a stream had drawn Through a land of vale and vine, And here and there was a village fair In a nest of shade and shine. I passed o'er lakes where the sunshine shakes And shivers his golden lance On the glittering shield of the wave that breaks Where the fish-boats dip and dance, And the trader sails where the mist unveils The glory of old romance. I joyed to stand where the jeweled hand Of the maiden-morning lies On the tawny brow of the mountain-land. Where the eagle shrieks and cries, And holds his throne to himself alone From the light of human eyes. Adown deep glades where the forest shades Are dim as the dusk of day-- Where only the foot of the wild beast wades, Or the Indian dares to stray, As the blacksnakes glide through the reeds and hide In the swamp-depths grim and gray. And I turned and fled from the place of dread To the far-off haunts of men. "In the city's heart is rest," I said,-- But I found it not, and when I saw but care and vice reign there I was filled with wrath again: And I blew a spark in the midnight dark Till it flashed to an angry flame And scarred the sky with a lurid mark As red as the blush of shame: And a hint of hell was the dying yell That up from the ruins came. The bells went wild, and the black smoke piled Its pillars against the night, Till I gathered them, like flocks defiled, And scattered them left and right, While the holocaust's red tresses tossed As a maddened Fury's might. "Ye overthrown!" did I jeer and groan-- "Ho! who is your master?--say!-- Ye shapes that writhe in the slag and moan Your slow-charred souls away-- Ye worse than worst of things accurst-- Ye dead leaves of a day!" I am the Wind, and I rule mankind, And I hold a sovereign reign Over the lands, as God designed, And the waters they contain: Lo! the bound of the wide world round Falleth in my domain! . . . . . . . 'I wake, as one from a dream half done, And gaze with a dazzled eye On an autumn leaf like a scrap of sun That the wind goes whirling by, While afar I hear, with a chill of fear, The winter storm-king sigh.' The warm pulse of the nation has grown chill; The muffled heart of Freedom, like a knell, Throbs solemnly for one whose earthly will Wrought every mission well. Whose glowing reason towered above the sea Of dark disaster like a beacon light, And led the Ship of State, unscathed and free, Out of the gulfs of night. When Treason, rabid-mouthed, and fanged with steel, Lay growling o'er the bones of fallen braves, And when beneath the tyrant's iron heel Were ground the hearts of slaves, And War, with all his train of horrors, leapt Across the fortress-walls of Liberty With havoc e'en the marble goddess wept With tears of blood to see. Throughout it all his brave and kingly mind Kept loyal vigil o'er the patriot's vow, And yet the flag he lifted to the wind Is drooping o'er him now. And Peace--all pallid from the battle-field When first again it hovered o'er the land And found his voice above it like a shield, Had nestled in his hand. . . . . . . . . O throne of State and gilded Senate halls-- Though thousands throng your aisles and galleries-- How empty are ye! and what silence falls On your hilarities! And yet, though great the loss to us appears, The consolation sweetens all our pain-- Though hushed the voice, through all the coming years Its echoes will remain. AN AUTUMNAL EXTRAVAGANZA With a sweeter voice than birds Dare to twitter in their sleep, Pipe for me a tune of words, Till my dancing fancies leap Into freedom vaster far Than the realms of Reason are! Sing for me with wilder fire Than the lover ever sung, From the time he twanged the lyre When the world was baby-young. O my maiden Autumn, you-- You have filled me through and through With a passion so intense, All of earthly eloquence Fails, and falls, and swoons away In your presence. Like as one Who essays to look the sun Fairly in the face, I say, Though my eyes you dazzle blind Greater dazzled is my mind. So, my Autumn, let me kneel At your feet and worship you! Be my sweetheart; let me feel Your caress; and tell me too Why your smiles bewilder me-- Glancing into laughter, then Trancing into calm again, Till your meaning drowning lies In the dim depths of your eyes. Let me see the things you see Down the depths of mystery! Blow aside the hazy veil From the daylight of your face With the fragrance-ladened gale Of your spicy breath and chase Every dimple to its place. Lift your gipsy finger-tips To the roses of your lips, And fling down to me a bud-- But an unblown kiss--but one-- It shall blossom in my blood, Even after life is done-- When I dare to touch the brow Your rare hair is veiling now-- When the rich, red-golden strands Of the treasure in my hands Shall be all of worldly worth Heaven lifted from the earth, Like a banner to have set On its highest minaret. It tossed its head at the wooing breeze; And the sun, like a bashful swain, Beamed on it through the waving trees With a passion all in vain,-- For my rose laughed in a crimson glee, And hid in the leaves in wait for me. The honey-bee came there to sing His love through the languid hours, And vaunt of his hives, as a proud old king Might boast of his palace-towers: But my rose bowed in a mockery, And hid in the leaves in wait for me. The humming-bird, like a courtier gay, Dipped down with a dalliant song, And twanged his wings through the roundelay Of love the whole day long: Yet my rose turned from his minstrelsy And hid in the leaves in wait for me. The firefly came in the twilight dim My red, red rose to woo-- Till quenched was the flame of love in him, And the light of his lantern too, As my rose wept with dewdrops three And hid in the leaves in wait for me. And I said: I will cull my own sweet rose-- Some day I will claim as mine The priceless worth of the flower that knows No change, but a bloom divine-- The bloom of a fadeless constancy That hides in the leaves in wait for me! But time passed by in a strange disguise, And I marked it not, but lay In a lazy dream, with drowsy eyes, Till the summer slipped away, And a chill wind sang in a minor key: "Where is the rose that waits for thee?" . . . . . . . . I dream to-day, o'er a purple stain Of bloom on a withered stalk, Pelted down by the autumn rain In the dust of the garden-walk, That an Angel-rose in the world to be Will hide in the leaves in wait for me. Who would be A merman gay, Singing alone, Sitting alone, With a mermaid's knee, For instance--hey-- For a throne? I would be a merman gay; I would sit and sing the whole day long; I would fill my lungs with the strongest brine, And squirt it up in a spray of song, And soak my head in my liquid voice; I'd curl my tail in curves divine, And let each curve in a kink rejoice. I'd tackle the mermaids under the sea, And yank 'em around till they yanked me, Sportively, sportively; And then we would wiggle away, away, To the pea-green groves on the coast of day, Chasing each other sportively. There would be neither moon nor star; But the waves would twang like a wet guitar Low thunder and thrum in the darkness grum-- Neither moon nor star; We would shriek aloud in the dismal dales-- Shriek at each other and squawk and squeal, "All night!" rakishly, rakishly; They would pelt me with oysters and wiggletails, Laughing and clapping their hands at me, "All night!" prankishly, prankishly; But I would toss them back in mine, Lobsters and turtles of quaint design; Then leaping out in an abrupt way, I'd snatch them bald in my devilish glee, And skip away when they snatched at me, Fiendishly, fiendishly. O, what a jolly life I'd lead, Ah, what a "bang-up" life indeed! Soft are the mermaids under the sea-- We would live merrily, merrily. THE RAINY MORNING The dawn of the day was dreary, And the lowering clouds o'erhead Wept in a silent sorrow Where the sweet sunshine lay dead; And a wind came out of the eastward Like an endless sigh of pain, And the leaves fell down in the pathway And writhed in the falling rain. I had tried in a brave endeavor To chord my harp with the sun, But the strings would slacken ever, And the task was a weary one: And so, like a child impatient And sick of a discontent, I bowed in a shower of tear-drops And mourned with the instrument. And lo! as I bowed, the splendor Of the sun bent over me, With a touch as warm and tender As a father's hand might be: And, even as I felt its presence, My clouded soul grew bright, And the tears, like the rain of morning, Melted in mists of light. WE ARE NOT ALWAYS GLAD WHEN We are not always glad when we smile: Though we wear a fair face and are gay, And the world we deceive May not ever believe We could laugh in a happier way.-- Yet, down in the deeps of the soul, Ofttimes, with our faces aglow, There's an ache and a moan That we know of alone, And as only the hopeless may know. We are not always glad when we smile,-- For the heart, in a tempest of pain, May live in the guise Of a smile in the eyes As a rainbow may live in the rain; And the stormiest night of our woe May hang out a radiant star Whose light in the sky Of despair is a lie As black as the thunder-clouds are. We are not always glad when we smile!-- But the conscience is quick to record, All the sorrow and sin We are hiding within Is plain in the sight of the Lord: And ever, O ever, till pride And evasion shall cease to defile The sacred recess Of the soul, we confess We are not always glad when we smile. A SUMMER SUNRISE AFTER LEE O. HARRIS The master-hand whose pencils trace This wondrous landscape of the morn, Is but the sun, whose glowing face Reflects the rapture and the grace Of inspiration Heaven-born. And yet with vision-dazzled eyes, I see the lotus-lands of old, Where odorous breezes fall and rise, And mountains, peering in the skies, Stand ankle-deep in lakes of gold. And, spangled with the shine and shade, I see the rivers raveled out In strands of silver, slowly fade In threads of light along the glade Where truant roses hide and pout. The tamarind on gleaming sands Droops drowsily beneath the heat; And bowed as though aweary, stands The stately palm, with lazy hands That fold their shadows round his feet. And mistily, as through a veil, I catch the glances of a sea Of sapphire, dimpled with a gale Toward Colch's blowing, where the sail Of Jason's Argo beckons me. And gazing on and farther yet, I see the isles enchanted, bright With fretted spire and parapet, And gilded mosque and minaret, That glitter in the crimson light. But as I gaze, the city's walls Are keenly smitten with a gleam Of pallid splendor, that appalls The fancy as the ruin falls In ashen embers of a dream. Yet over all the waking earth The tears of night are brushed away, And eyes are lit with love and mirth, And benisons of richest worth Go up to bless the new-born day. DAS KRIST KINDEL I had fed the fire and stirred it, till the sparkles in delight Snapped their saucy little fingers at the chill December night; And in dressing-gown and slippers, I had tilted back "my The old split-bottomed rocker--and was musing all alone. I could hear the hungry Winter prowling round the outer door, And the tread of muffled footsteps on the white piazza floor; But the sounds came to me only as the murmur of a stream That mingled with the current of a lazy-flowing dream. Like a fragrant incense rising, curled the smoke of my cigar, With the lamplight gleaming through it like a mist-enfolded And as I gazed, the vapor like a curtain rolled away, With a sound of bells that tinkled, and the clatter of a sleigh. And in a vision, painted like a picture in the air, I saw the elfish figure of a man with frosty hair-- A quaint old man that chuckled with a laugh as he appeared, And with ruddy cheeks like embers in the ashes of his beard. He poised himself grotesquely, in an attitude of mirth, On a damask-covered hassock that was sitting on the hearth; And at a magic signal of his stubby little thumb, I saw the fireplace changing to a bright proscenium. And looking there, I marveled as I saw a mimic stage Alive with little actors of a very tender age; And some so very tiny that they tottered as they walked, And lisped and purled and gurgled like the brooklets, when they And their faces were like lilies, and their eyes like purest dew, And their tresses like the shadows that the shine is woven And they each had little burdens, and a little tale to tell Of fairy lore, and giants, and delights delectable. And they mixed and intermingled, weaving melody with joy, Till the magic circle clustered round a blooming baby-boy; And they threw aside their treasures in an ecstacy of glee, And bent, with dazzled faces and with parted lips, to see. 'Twas a wondrous little fellow, with a dainty double-chin, And chubby cheeks, and dimples for the smiles to blossom in; And he looked as ripe and rosy, on his bed of straw and reeds, As a mellow little pippin that had tumbled in the weeds. And I saw the happy mother, and a group surrounding her That knelt with costly presents of frankincense and myrrh; And I thrilled with awe and wonder, as a murmur on the air Came drifting o'er the hearing in a melody of prayer:-- 'By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee,-- We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee. Thy messenger has spoken, and our doubts have fled and gone As the dark and spectral shadows of the night before the dawn; And, in the kindly shelter of the light around us drawn, We would nestle down forever in the breast we lean upon. You have given us a shepherd--You have given us a guide, And the light of Heaven grew dimmer when You sent him from Your But he comes to lead Thy children where the gates will open wide To welcome his returning when his works are glorified. By the splendor in the heavens, and the hush upon the sea, And the majesty of silence reigning over Galilee,-- We feel Thy kingly presence, and we humbly bow the knee And lift our hearts and voices in gratefulness to Thee.' Then the vision, slowly failing, with the words of the refrain, Fell swooning in the moonlight through the frosty window-pane; And I heard the clock proclaiming, like an eager sentinel Who brings the world good tidings,--"It is Christmas--all is AN OLD YEAR'S ADDRESS "I have twankled the strings of the twinkering rain; I have burnished the meteor's mail; I have bridled the wind When he whinnied and whined With a bunch of stars tied to his tail; But my sky-rocket hopes, hanging over the past, Must fuzzle and fazzle and fizzle at last!" I had waded far out in a drizzling dream, And my fancies had spattered my eyes With a vision of dread, With a number ten head, And a form of diminutive size-- That wavered and wagged in a singular way As he wound himself up and proceeded to say,-- "I have trimmed all my corns with the blade of the moon; I have picked every tooth with a star: And I thrill to recall That I went through it all Like a tune through a tickled guitar. I have ripped up the rainbow and raveled the ends When the sun and myself were particular friends." And pausing again, and producing a sponge And wiping the tears from his eyes, He sank in a chair With a technical air That he struggled in vain to disguise,-- For a sigh that he breathed, as I over him leant, Was haunted and hot with a peppermint scent. "Alas!" he continued in quavering tones As a pang rippled over his face, "The life was too fast For the pleasure to last In my very unfortunate case; And I'm going"--he said as he turned to adjust A fuse in his bosom,--"I'm going to--BUST!" I shrieked and awoke with the sullen che-boom Of a five-pounder filling my ears; And a roseate bloom Of a light in the room I saw through the mist of my tears,-- But my guest of the night never saw the display, He had fuzzled and fazzled and fizzled away! A NEW YEAR'S PLAINT In words like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold; But that large grief which these enfold Is given in outline and no more. --TENNYSON. The bells that lift their yawning throats And lolling tongues with wrangling cries Flung up in harsh, discordant notes, As though in anger, at the skies,-- Are filled with echoings replete, With purest tinkles of delight-- So I would have a something sweet Ring in the song I sing to-night. As when a blotch of ugly guise On some poor artist's naked floor Becomes a picture in his eyes, And he forgets that he is poor,-- So I look out upon the night, That ushers in the dawning year, And in a vacant blur of light I see these fantasies appear. I see a home whose windows gleam Like facets of a mighty gem That some poor king's distorted dream Has fastened in his diadem. And I behold a throng that reels In revelry of dance and mirth, With hearts of love beneath their heels, And in their bosoms hearts of earth. O Luxury, as false and grand As in the mystic tales of old, When genii answered man's command, And built of nothing halls of gold! O Banquet, bright with pallid jets, And tropic blooms, and vases caught In palms of naked statuettes, Ye can not color as ye ought! For, crouching in the storm without, I see the figure of a child, In little ragged roundabout, Who stares with eyes that never smiled-- And he, in fancy can but taste The dainties of the kingly fare, And pick the crumbs that go to waste Where none have learned to kneel in prayer. Go, Pride, and throw your goblet down-- The "merry greeting" best appears On loving lips that never drown Its worth but in the wine of tears; Go, close your coffers like your hearts, And shut your hearts against the poor, Go, strut through all your pretty parts But take the "Welcome" from your door. LUTHER BENSON AFTER READING HIS AUTOBIOGRAPHY POOR victim of that vulture curse That hovers o'er the universe, With ready talons quick to strike In every human heart alike, And cruel beak to stab and tear In virtue's vitals everywhere,-- You need no sympathy of mine To aid you, for a strength divine Encircles you, and lifts you clear Above this earthly atmosphere. And yet I can but call you poor, As, looking through the open door Of your sad life, I only see A broad landscape of misery, And catch through mists of pitying tears The ruins of your younger years, I see a father's shielding arm Thrown round you in a wild alarm-- Struck down, and powerless to free Or aid you in your agony. I see a happy home grow dark And desolate--the latest spark Of hope is passing in eclipse-- The prayer upon a mother's lips Has fallen with her latest breath In ashes on the lips of death-- I see a penitent who reels, And writhes, and clasps his hands, and kneels, And moans for mercy for the sake Of that fond heart he dared to break. And lo! as when in Galilee A voice above the troubled sea Commanded "Peace; be still!" the flood That rolled in tempest-waves of blood Within you, fell in calm so sweet It ripples round the Saviour's feet; And all your noble nature thrilled With brightest hope and faith, and filled Your thirsty soul with joy and peace And praise to Him who gave release. Because her eyes were far too deep And holy for a laugh to leap Across the brink where sorrow tried To drown within the amber tide; Because the looks, whose ripples kissed The trembling lids through tender mist, Were dazzled with a radiant gleam-- Because of this I called her "Dream." Because the roses growing wild About her features when she smiled Were ever dewed with tears that fell With tenderness ineffable; Because her lips might spill a kiss That, dripping in a world like this, Would tincture death's myrrh-bitter stream To sweetness--so I called her "Dream." Because I could not understand The magic touches of a hand That seemed, beneath her strange control, To smooth the plumage of the soul And calm it, till, with folded wings, It half forgot its flutterings, And, nestled in her palm, did seem To trill a song that called her "Dream." Because I saw her, in a sleep As dark and desolate and deep And fleeting as the taunting night That flings a vision of delight To some lorn martyr as he lies In slumber ere the day he dies-- Because she vanished like a gleam Of glory, do I call her "Dream." WHEN EVENING SHADOWS FALL When evening shadows fall, She hangs her cares away Like empty garments on the wall That hides her from the day; And while old memories throng, And vanished voices call, She lifts her grateful heart in song When evening shadows fall. Her weary hands forget The burdens of the day. The weight of sorrow and regret In music rolls away; And from the day's dull tomb, That holds her in its thrall, Her soul springs up in lily bloom When evening shadows fall. O weary heart and hand, Go bravely to the strife-- No victory is half so grand As that which conquers life! One day shall yet be thine-- The day that waits for all Whose prayerful eyes are things divine When evening shadows fall. Her hair was, oh, so dense a blur Of darkness, midnight envied her; And stars grew dimmer in the skies To see the glory of her eyes; And all the summer rain of light That showered from the moon at night Fell o'er her features as the gloom Of twilight o'er a lily-bloom. The crimson fruitage of her lips Was ripe and lush with sweeter wine Than burgundy or muscadine Or vintage that the burgher sips In some old garden on the Rhine: And I to taste of it could well Believe my heart a crucible Of molten love--and I could feel The drunken soul within me reel And rock and stagger till it fell. And do you wonder that I bowed Before her splendor as a cloud Of storm the golden-sandaled sun Had set his conquering foot upon? And did she will it, I could lie In writhing rapture down and die A death so full of precious pain I'd waken up to die again. A fantasy that came to me As wild and wantonly designed As ever any dream might be Unraveled from a madman's mind,-- A tangle-work of tissue, wrought By cunning of the spider-brain, And woven, in an hour of pain, To trap the giddy flies of thought. I stood beneath a summer moon All swollen to uncanny girth, And hanging, like the sun at noon, Above the center of the earth; But with a sad and sallow light, As it had sickened of the night And fallen in a pallid swoon. Around me I could hear the rush Of sullen winds, and feel the whir Of unseen wings apast me brush Like phantoms round a sepulcher; And, like a carpeting of plush,0 A lawn unrolled beneath my feet, Bespangled o'er with flowers as sweet To look upon as those that nod Within the garden-fields of God, But odorless as those that blow In ashes in the shades below. And on my hearing fell a storm Of gusty music, sadder yet Than every whimper of regret That sobbing utterance could form, And patched with scraps of sound that seemed Torn out of tunes that demons dreamed, And pitched to such a piercing key, It stabbed the ear with agony; And when at last it lulled and died, I stood aghast and terrified. I shuddered and I shut my eyes, And still could see, and feel aware Some mystic presence waited there; And staring, with a dazed surprise, I saw a creature so divine That never subtle thought of mine May reproduce to inner sight So fair a vision of delight. A syllable of dew that drips From out a lily's laughing lips Could not be sweeter than the word I listened to, yet never heard.-- For, oh, the woman hiding there Within the shadows of her hair, Spake to me in an undertone So delicate, my soul alone But understood it as a moan Of some weak melody of wind A heavenward breeze had left behind. A tracery of trees, grotesque Against the sky, behind her seen, Like shapeless shapes of arabesque Wrought in an Oriental screen; And tall, austere and statuesque She loomed before it--e'en as though The spirit-hand of Angelo Had chiseled her to life complete, With chips of moonshine round her feet. And I grew jealous of the dusk, To see it softly touch her face, As lover-like, with fond embrace, It folded round her like a husk: But when the glitter of her hand, Like wasted glory, beckoned me, My eyes grew blurred and dull and dim-- My vision failed--I could not see-- I could not stir--I could but stand, Till, quivering in every limb, I flung me prone, as though to swim The tide of grass whose waves of green Went rolling ocean-wide between My helpless shipwrecked heart and her Who claimed me for a worshiper. And writhing thus in my despair, I heard a weird, unearthly sound, That seemed to lift me from the ground And hold me floating in the air. I looked, and lo! I saw her bow Above a harp within her hands; A crown of blossoms bound her brow, And on her harp were twisted strands Of silken starlight, rippling o'er With music never heard before By mortal ears; and, at the strain, I felt my Spirit snap its chain And break away,--and I could see It as it turned and fled from me To greet its mistress, where she smiled To see the phantom dancing wild And wizard-like before the spell Her mystic fingers knew so well. I dreamed I was a spider; A big, fat, hungry spider; A lusty, rusty spider With a dozen palsied limbs; With a dozen limbs that dangled Where three wretched flies were tangled And their buzzing wings were strangled In the middle of their hymns. And I mocked them like a demon-- A demoniacal demon Who delights to be a demon For the sake of sin alone; And with fondly false embraces Did I weave my mystic laces Round their horror-stricken faces Till I muffled every groan. And I smiled to see them weeping, For to see an insect weeping, Sadly, sorrowfully weeping, Fattens every spider's mirth; And to note a fly's heart quaking, And with anguish ever aching Till you see it slowly breaking Is the sweetest thing on earth. I experienced a pleasure, Such a highly-flavored pleasure, Such intoxicating pleasure, That I drank of it like wine; And my mortal soul engages That no spider on the pages Of the history of ages Felt a rapture more divine. I careened around and capered-- Madly, mystically capered-- For three days and nights I capered Round my web in wild delight; Till with fierce ambition burning, And an inward thirst and yearning I hastened my returning With a fiendish appetite. And I found my victims dying, "Ha!" they whispered, "we are dying!" Faintly whispered, "we are dying, And our earthly course is run." And the scene was so impressing That I breathed a special blessing, As I killed them with caressing And devoured them one by one. DREAMER, SAY Dreamer, say, will you dream for me A wild sweet dream of a foreign land, Whose border sips of a foaming sea With lips of coral and silver sand; Where warm winds loll on the shady deeps, Or lave themselves in the tearful mist The great wild wave of the breaker weeps O'er crags of opal and amethyst? Dreamer, say, will you dream a dream Of tropic shades in the lands of shine, Where the lily leans o'er an amber stream That flows like a rill of wasted wine,-- Where the palm-trees, lifting their shields of green, Parry the shafts of the Indian sun Whose splintering vengeance falls between The reeds below where the waters run? Dreamer, say, will you dream of love That lives in a land of sweet perfume, Where the stars drip down from the skies above In molten spatters of bud and bloom? Where never the weary eyes are wet, And never a sob in the balmy air, And only the laugh of the paroquet Breaks the sleep of the silence there? The harp has fallen from the master's hand; Mute is the music, voiceless are the strings, Save such faint discord as the wild wind flings In sad aeolian murmurs through the land. The tide of melody, whose billows grand Flowed o'er the world in clearest utterings, Now, in receding current, sobs and sings That song we never wholly understand. * * O, eyes where glorious prophecies belong, And gracious reverence to humbly bow, And kingly spirit, proud, and pure, and strong; O, pallid minstrel with the laureled brow, And lips so long attuned to sacred song, How sweet must be the Heavenly anthem now! Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger! Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger Back to the lotus-lands of the far-away! Turn back the leaves of life.--Don't read the story.-- Let's find the pictures, and fancy all the rest; We can fill the written pages with a brighter glory Than old Time, the story-teller, at his very best. Turn to the brook where the honeysuckle tipping O'er its vase of perfume spills it on the breeze, And the bee and humming-bird in ecstacy are sipping From the fairy flagons of the blooming locust-trees. Turn to the lane where we used to "teeter-totter," Printing little foot-palms in the mellow mold-- Laughing at the lazy cattle wading in the water Where the ripples dimple round the buttercups of gold; Where the dusky turtle lies basking on the gravel Of the sunny sand-bar in the middle tide, And the ghostly dragon-fly pauses in his travel To rest like a blossom where the water-lily died. Heigh-ho! Babyhood! Tell me where you linger! Let's toddle home again, for we have gone astray; Take this eager hand of mine and lead me by the finger Back to the lotus-lands of the far-away! NEW CASTLE, JULY 4, 1878 For a hundred years the pulse of time Has throbbed for Liberty; For a hundred years the grand old clime Columbia has been free; For a hundred years our country's love, The Stars and Stripes, has waved above. Away far out on the gulf of years-- Misty and faint and white Through the fogs of wrong--a sail appears, And the Mayflower heaves in sight, And drifts again, with its little flock Of a hundred souls, on Plymouth Rock. Do you see them there--as long, long since-- Through the lens of History; Do you see them there as their chieftain prints In the snow his bended knee, And lifts his voice through the wintry blast In thanks for a peaceful home at last? Though the skies are dark and the coast is bleak, And the storm is wild and fierce, Its frozen flake on the upturned cheek Of the Pilgrim melts in tears, And the dawn that springs from the darkness there Is the morning light of an answered prayer. The morning light of the day of Peace That gladdens the aching eyes, And gives to the soul that sweet release That the present verifies,-- Nor a snow so deep, nor a wind so chill To quench the flame of a freeman's will! Days of toil when the bleeding hand Of the pioneer grew numb, When the untilled tracts of the barren land Where the weary ones had come Could offer nought from a fruitful soil To stay the strength of the stranger's toil. Days of pain, when the heart beat low, And the empty hours went by Pitiless, with the wail of woe And the moan of Hunger's cry-- When the trembling hands upraised in prayer Had only the strength to hold them there. Days when the voice of hope had fled-- Days when the eyes grown weak Were folded to, and the tears they shed Were frost on a frozen cheek-- When the storm bent down from the skies and gave A shroud of snow for the Pilgrim's grave. Days at last when the smiling sun Glanced down from a summer sky, And a music rang where the rivers run, And the waves went laughing by; And the rose peeped over the mossy bank While the wild deer stood in the stream and drank. And the birds sang out so loud and good, In a symphony so clear And pure and sweet that the woodman stood With his ax upraised to hear, And to shape the words of the tongue unknown Into a language all his own-- 'Sing! every bird, to-day! Sing for the sky so clear, And the gracious breath of the atmosphere Shall waft our cares away. Sing! sing! for the sunshine free; Sing through the land from sea to sea; Lift each voice in the highest key And sing for Liberty!' 'Sing for the arms that fling Their fetters in the dust And lift their hands in higher trust Unto the one Great King; Sing for the patriot heart and hand; Sing for the country they have planned; Sing that the world may understand This is Freedom's land!' 'Sing in the tones of prayer, Sing till the soaring soul Shall float above the world's control In freedom everywhere! Sing for the good that is to be, Sing for the eyes that are to see The land where man at last is free, O sing for liberty!' A holy quiet reigned, save where the hand Of labor sent a murmur through the land, And happy voices in a harmony Taught every lisping breeze a melody. A nest of cabins, where the smoke upcurled A breathing incense to the other world. A land of languor from the sun of noon, That fainted slowly to the pallid moon, Till stars, thick-scattered in the garden-land Of Heaven by the great Jehovah's hand, Had blossomed into light to look upon The dusky warrior with his arrow drawn, As skulking from the covert of the night With serpent cunning and a fiend's delight, With murderous spirit, and a yell of hate The voice of Hell might tremble to translate: When the fond mother's tender lullaby Went quavering in shrieks all suddenly, And baby-lips were dabbled with the stain Of crimson at the bosom of the slain, And peaceful homes and fortunes ruined--lost In smoldering embers of the holocaust. Yet on and on, through years of gloom and strife, Our country struggled into stronger life; Till colonies, like footprints in the sand, Marked Freedom's pathway winding through the land-- And not the footprints to be swept away Before the storm we hatched in Boston Bay,-- But footprints where the path of war begun That led to Bunker Hill and Lexington,-- For he who "dared to lead where others dared To follow" found the promise there declared Of Liberty, in blood of Freedom's host Baptized to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost! Oh, there were times when every patriot breast Was riotous with sentiments expressed In tones that swelled in volume till the sound Of lusty war itself was well-nigh drowned. Oh, those were times when happy eyes with tears Brimmed o'er as all the misty doubts and fears Were washed away, and Hope with gracious mien, Reigned from her throne again a sovereign queen. Until at last, upon a day like this When flowers were blushing at the summer's kiss, And when the sky was cloudless as the face Of some sweet infant in its angel grace,-- There came a sound of music, thrown afloat Upon the balmy air--a clanging note Reiterated from the brazen throat Of Independence Bell: A sound so sweet, The clamoring throngs of people in the streets Were stilled as at the solemn voice of prayer, And heads were bowed, and lips were moving there That made no sound--until the spell had passed, And then, as when all sudden comes the blast Of some tornado, came the cheer on cheer Of every eager voice, while far and near The echoing bells upon the atmosphere Set glorious rumors floating, till the ear Of every listening patriot tingled clear, And thrilled with joy and jubilee to hear. 'Stir all your echoes up, O Independence Bell, And pour from your inverted cup The song we love so well. 'Lift high your happy voice, And swing your iron tongue Till syllables of praise rejoice That never yet were sung. 'Ring in the gleaming dawn Of Freedom--Toll the knell Of Tyranny, and then ring on, O Independence Bell.-- 'Ring on, and drown the moan, Above the patriot slain, Till sorrow's voice shall catch the tone And join the glad refrain. 'Ring out the wounds of wrong And rankle in the breast; Your music like a slumber-song Will lull revenge to rest. 'Ring out from Occident To Orient, and peal From continent to continent The mighty joy you feel. 'Ring! Independence Bell! Ring on till worlds to be Shall listen to the tale you tell Of love and Liberty!' O Liberty--the dearest word A bleeding country ever heard,-- We lay our hopes upon thy shrine And offer up our lives for thine. You gave us many happy years Of peace and plenty ere the tears A mourning country wept were dried Above the graves of those who died Upon thy threshold. And again When newer wars were bred, and men Went marching in the cannon's breath And died for thee and loved the death, While, high above them, gleaming bright, The dear old flag remained in sight, And lighted up their dying eyes With smiles that brightened paradise. O Liberty, it is thy power To gladden us in every hour Of gloom, and lead us by thy hand As little children through a land Of bud and blossom; while the days Are filled with sunshine, and thy praise Is warbled in the roundelays Of joyous birds, and in the song Of waters, murmuring along The paths of peace, whose flowery fringe Has roses finding deeper tinge Of crimson, looking on themselves Reflected--leaning from the shelves Of cliff and crag and mossy mound Of emerald splendor shadow-drowned.-- We hail thy presence, as you come With bugle blast and rolling drum, And booming guns and shouts of glee Commingled in a symphony That thrills the worlds that throng to see The glory of thy pageantry. 0And with thy praise, we breathe a prayer That God who leaves you in our care May favor us from this day on With thy dear presence--till the dawn Of Heaven, breaking on thy face, Lights up thy first abiding place. TOM VAN ARDEN Tom Van Arden, my old friend, Our warm fellowship is one Far too old to comprehend Where its bond was first begun: Mirage-like before my gaze Gleams a land of other days, Where two truant boys, astray, Dream their lazy lives away. There's a vision, in the guise Of Midsummer, where the Past Like a weary beggar lies In the shadow Time has cast; And as blends the bloom of trees With the drowsy hum of bees, Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend, Tom Van Arden, my old friend. Tom Van Arden, my old friend, All the pleasures we have known Thrill me now as I extend This old hand and grasp your own-- Feeling, in the rude caress, All affection's tenderness; Feeling, though the touch be rough, Our old souls are soft enough. So we'll make a mellow hour: Fill your pipe, and taste the wine-- Warp your face, if it be sour, I can spare a smile from mine; If it sharpen up your wit, Let me feel the edge of it-- I have eager ears to lend, Tom Van Arden, my old friend. Tom Van Arden, my old friend, Are we "lucky dogs," indeed? Are we all that we pretend In the jolly life we lead?-- Bachelors, we must confess, Boast of "single blessedness" To the world, but not alone-- Man's best sorrow is his own! And the saddest truth is this,-- Life to us has never proved What we tasted in the kiss Of the women we have loved: Vainly we congratulate Our escape from such a fate As their lying lips could send, Tom Van Arden, my old friend! Tom Van Arden, my old friend, Hearts, like fruit upon the stem, Ripen sweetest, I contend, As the frost falls over them: Your regard for me to-day Makes November taste of May, And through every vein of rhyme Pours the blood of summer-time. When our souls are cramped with youth Happiness seems far away In the future, while, in truth, We look back on it to-day Through our tears, nor dare to boast,-- "Better to have loved and lost!" Broken hearts are hard to mend, Tom Van Arden, my old friend. Tom Van Arden, my old friend, I grow prosy, and you tire; Fill the glasses while I bend To prod up the failing fire. . . . You are restless:--I presume There's a dampness in the room.-- Much of warmth our nature begs, With rheumatics in our legs! . . . Humph! the legs we used to fling Limber-jointed in the dance, When we heard the fiddle ring Up the curtain of Romance, And in crowded public halls Played with hearts like jugglers' balls.-- FEATS OF MOUNTEBANKS, DEPEND!-- Tom Van Arden, my old friend. Tom Van Arden, my old friend, Pardon, then, this theme of mine: While the firelight leaps to lend Higher color to the wine,-- I propose a health to those Who have HOMES, and home's repose, Wife- and child-love without end! . . . Tom Van Arden, my old friend. This Etext was prepared for Project Gutenberg by Greg Berckes 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 The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings 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 "Going to be," nodded Teddy decisively, as if the matter were already settled. "Oh, you are, eh?" "I don't know. Someday--someday when I get old enough, maybe." Phil Forrest surveyed his companion with a half critical smile on "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 "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 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 "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 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 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." "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?" "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 "For not going to the circus?" "Well, I don't think Uncle would let me; that's a fact." "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 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 "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 "Cause, if you break your neck, you won't be able to go to the "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 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 "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 "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 "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 "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?" "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 "Uncle, Uncle!" protested the lad in amazement. "Would you turn "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 "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 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 palefaced, 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 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 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 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 "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. 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 "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?" "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 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 "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?" 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. "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 "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. 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. "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 "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 "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, "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 "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. "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 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?" "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 "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 "You're a cheerful idiot, aren't you?" he twinkled. "I'll tell you why I don't. Confidentially, you know?" "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?" "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 "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 "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 "Then, what's the use of being any more'n lazy?" Teddy's logic was too much for his companion, and Phil laughed "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 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 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 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." "Boss Sparling, the fellow over there with the big voice and the 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 "Huh! I wish I had him!" growled Mr. Sparling. "What do you "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!" "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. "Am I going? I should say so. Want to go in with me on my pass, 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 "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." "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." 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 "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?" "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 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 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 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 "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 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 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 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. 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 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 "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 "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 "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 "Bet we'll have a turn-away this afternoon," announced a clown. "Looks that way," agreed another, "and all on account of the "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 "I'd like to," glowed the lad. "Ask the boss." "No, he wouldn't want me. There is nothing I could do now, I 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 "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 "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 "I'm glad she is all right. Who is she?" "Don't you know?" "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 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?" "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 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 "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 "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--" "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 The elephant tender laughed without changing the expression of his face. His laugh was all inside of him, as Phil characterized "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 "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 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 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 "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 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 A familiar voice just behind him served to calm Phil's disquieted "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 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 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 "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 "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 "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. Phil had scrambled to all fours. "Hold him, Emperor!" The great trunk curled up, ran over the boy's legs and twined "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 What a distance it was! Phil hastily directed his glances 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 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 "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 "Watch out, we're going down," warned the trainer. The elephant trainer's command came out like the crack of a ringmaster's whip. Slowly the great beasts lowered themselves toward the sawdust "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. 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." "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. 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 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 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 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. "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 "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 "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. "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. 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 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 "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. "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?" "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?" "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. 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 "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 "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 "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." "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 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. "Maybe I can fix it for you." "Don't give me such a shock, Phil. You said it almost as if you "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." " '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 "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?" "Then, I think I'll let you juggle the big coffeepot in the cook tent for the edification of the hungry roustabouts," grinned Mr. "What do I do?" "Do, young man--do?" "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 "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 "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 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. THE FIRST NIGHT WITH THE SHOW "Teddy, you and I are a pair of lucky boys. Do you know it?" 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 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. "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 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 "Don't eat everything they have," he warned laughingly. "Plenty more where this came from. That's one good thing about a "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. "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 "That man down near the end of the table?" "That's Billy Thorpe, the Armless Wonder," the performer informed "And he hasn't any hands?" wondered the boy. "Naturally not, not having any arms. He uses his feet for "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 "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 "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 "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 "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 "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 "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 "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 "Sit down in front," shouted someone. "We can't see the animals In a moment the spectators saw a play that was not down on the 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 "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. 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 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 "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?" Phil scrambled to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the "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 "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 "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 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 "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 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 "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 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 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 "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?" "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 "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 "Good morning, sir," greeted the boys, pausing in their work long enough to touch their hats, after which they continued unpacking "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 "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. "Glad I have proved of some use to you, sir." "Use? Use?" "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?" "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?" "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 "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. 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 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 "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 "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 "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 "Thank you," exclaimed Phil, hurrying away to consult with Mr. "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?" "What is it?" "I was in hopes you wouldn't ask me that. I wanted to surprise 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! 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 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 Phil was not disappointed. Mr. Sparling did that very thing. "How's that new act of yours coming along, young man?" he "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." "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 Phil was solemn and he meant every word he said. Mr. Sparling, however, unable to maintain his serious expression, laughed "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 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 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 "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 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. 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 At that moment Phil became conscious of a figure running toward 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 "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?" "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?" "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 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 "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 "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 "You look as if you'd stuck your head in a flour barrel," grunted "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 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 "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 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 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 "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." "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 "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. "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 "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." 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 "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 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 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 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. "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?" "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 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 "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 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 "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 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 "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. "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." 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 "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 "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 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 boys 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 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." "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 "Emperor is sour. Got a regular grouch on." "Misses that young rascal Phil, I suppose?" "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." 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 "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." "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?" 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 "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 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 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 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 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 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 "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 "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. 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. THE RETURN TO THE SAWDUST LIFE "Is he dead?" "No; you can't kill a thick-head like that," snarled the 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 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 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 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 "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 "No, no, no," replied Mr. Miaco in a tone of disgust. "It's no disease at all." "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 "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 "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. "Go on. Say it quick." "I have been thinking about the fall I got, since I've been laid "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 "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." "To see what had been done to it." "Oh, you do, eh?" "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 "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." "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 "Somebody put it there!" exploded the showman. "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. "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 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 "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 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 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 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 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 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 If the showman had been angry before, he was in a towering rage "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 "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?" "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." 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 "Hello, Teddy!" "What are you standing there for?" "Perhaps I'm getting the night air," laughed Phil. "Fine, isn't "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, "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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 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 "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 "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. 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 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 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 "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 "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 "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 "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 "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." 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 "But you are only one. We shall need two performers," objected "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 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 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 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. This Etext was prepared for Project Gutenberg by Greg Berckes The Circus Boys Across The Continent Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark by Edgar B. P. Darlington I The Boys Hear Good News II On The Road Once More III Phil to 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 The Circus Boys Across the Continent 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 "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. "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 "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, questioned Phil, his eyes glowing at the picture he had drawn. Teddy heaved a deep sigh. " '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 "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. "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." "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 "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 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, 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 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 "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." 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. "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 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?" 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." "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 "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 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' "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 "He's the biggest little man I ever got my fists on. Gimme a "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 showman dropped him and started to run. Teddy let out a choking howl, grasping frantically for his A moment later the lad's hands closed over Larry's ankles, and the man was able to free himself from the boy's grip Teddy had him down and dragged him under the stream that was pouring down perfect deluge. The Circus Boy, being strong and muscular, was to accomplish this with slight exertion. Larry's companion was making no effort to assist his fallen 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 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." "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. PHIL TO 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 "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 Besides, you're liable to fall off here and get killed. Come "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 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 "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 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 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 "This kid has been stealing a ride. I put him off once. I turn 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. 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 "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 "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." "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." "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?" 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?" "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 "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." "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 "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 "We have practiced a little. I want to learn, if you will "Why, you can tumble already, Phil." "Yes; but I want to do something better--the springboard." "They've got a leaping act this year." "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 discovered that the Sparling Shows was a big organization. The 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 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!" 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. rushing over from his station. "Don't you see he's bound to 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. "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 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 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 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 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. 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 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 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 "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." "Because I haven't earned it." "Haven't earned it? He hasn't earned it!" The showman threw his hands above his head in a hopeless sort of "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 "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 "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 "How do you know?" asked Phil in some surprise. "Heard him say so." "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." "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 started back toward the dressing tent to set their trunks in 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 here that they talked of their work and life, occasionally new acts of a minor character, and indulged in pranks like a lot 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 "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 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. 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. "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 "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 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 "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 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? 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 "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 "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. 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 "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 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 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 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 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 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 most of which were promptly kicked through the side of the tent. Teddy, in the meantime, had landed in a performer's trunk, through the tray, being wedged in so tightly that he could not extricate himself. Added to the din was Teddy's voice howling 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. 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 "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. Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property 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 "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 "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 I wish, though, that I could do a bareback act one quarter as as you do. I should be very proud if I could." "Have you ever tried it?" "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--" "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." "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 "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 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 I'm going to set him at a gallop now. Stand straight and lean 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. 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?" "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." "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?" "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. "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!" "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. "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 "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," "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. 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. "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 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 "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. 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?" "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. 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 "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 "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 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 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 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 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 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 "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 "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." 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 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. 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." "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 "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 "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 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 As she dashed along a rider, losing his presence of mind, if 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 He turned, facing the mad herd, a slender but heroic figure in that moment of peril. 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. 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, 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 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 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. He went at it with all the confidence and skill of a professional elephant trainer. 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 "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 "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 "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 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. 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 "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. "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. "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 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. "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--" "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 "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 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." "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 "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?" "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. "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." "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." "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?" "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 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 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. "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. "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 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. 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 "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 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 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," "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." "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." "Yes. He's going on the leaping act for the first time, "That's so. I had forgotten all about it. I want to see that, 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 "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 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 I want to talk to you. Confidentially, you know. I'm going to 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 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. 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 "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 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 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 "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 As a matter of fact, no one was near him at that moment. The 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 he mused. I wonder if I couldn't climb up and hang to the 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 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." "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 The villagers consulted for a moment; then the spokesman turned "I reckon, if you be a circus feller, you kin show us some tricks, eh?" "Perform for you, you mean?" "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 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." "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 "What; here in this rough yard?" 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 They had not believed he could, and now, at any rate, he was 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 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 "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. 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 "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 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." 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 "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 "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 "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. "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 "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, 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?" 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 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. There was no answer. 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. "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 Mr. Sparling nodded. "I'll go into it with the railroad people at once. You two get into your berths. Can you walk?" "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 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." "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." "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 "I thought as much," nodded Phil. "But perhaps its just as "What do you mean by that?" questioned the showman sharply. "That the railroad folks will do what the police are too lazy "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 "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 "All the more reason for getting the fellow at once," nodded Phil. "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." "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?" "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." "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 "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 "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 "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 "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 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 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 "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 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 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 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 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. This Etext was prepared for Project Gutenberg by Greg Berckes The Circus Boys In Dixie Land Winning the Plaudits of the Sunny South by Edgar B. P. Darlington 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 The Circus Boys in Dixie Land 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 "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?" "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?" "I never thought I'd be able to earn so much money as that in a whole year," reflected Teddy. "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! 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, it's--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 "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?" "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 "We'll never get another mule like Jumbo," he sighed. "Hope not," answered Teddy shortly. " '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 perform." "So that's it, is it?" "It is. I'm going to show myself tomorrow, and I don't care who "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 "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?" "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. 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 Phil dropped the curtain and lay face down in the pillow for "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." "The gang. The whole high school crowd." "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?" 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 "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. "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 "By the way," inquired Phil, "the fellows are all coming this afternoon, I suppose?" "Yes, but not this afternoon." "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. "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. "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?" "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. "Good place to show off." "You have a much better one." "In the ring. Anybody can ride a horse in a parade, but not everyone can perform on the flying rings and leap over elephants 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." "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 "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. 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?" "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?" 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 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 "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 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. 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 "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 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 "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 "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 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 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. "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?" "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. "Hopeless!" muttered Sparling, shaking his head. TAKEN BY SURPRISE "Hurry up, Teddy!" "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 "No; I think not. I asked him if he were alone, and he said "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 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. IN THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY Teddy had squared off, and was landing sledge-hammer blows on the 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 "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. "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." "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?" "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 "Did you tell him you were going to have a supper up here?" "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. "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 "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 "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 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. 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. 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 "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 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 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 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 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?" "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?" "Nothing except that there is another show billed to play there the day before." 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 "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." "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?" "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 "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 "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, "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. 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 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?" " 'Cause the folks will all spend their money going to 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?" "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. "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 "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. 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 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. 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 "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 "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 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. 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?" "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 With an enraged cry Sully sprang upon Phil, and raised his hand "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. 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 "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 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!" "In the private office there." "So this is your private car, is it?" "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 "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 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 "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. 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?" "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?" "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?" "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 "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 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? 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?" 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 "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." "I'll ride for you today for twenty-five dollars." "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 "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. "Does the other man do that?" "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. 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, "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. "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. 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 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 "You run along. I will ride him back," directed Phil innocently. "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. 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. 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 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 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 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 "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 "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 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 "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 "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 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!" THE BATTLE OF THE ELEPHANTS "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 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!" "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, Sully fairly hurled the word at the disreputable looking "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 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 "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 "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 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 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. "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?" 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 TAXES 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 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?" "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 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?" "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 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 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. 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, "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 "Looks like rain, doesn't it," greeted Teddy, as he espied Mr. Sparling plodding about with a keen eye to the safety of "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." "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 "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?" "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 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?" "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." 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 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 "Are you going to let me lie here and drown?" cried the "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?" "We've got to walk to the next stand." "How--how far is it?" "Maybe a hundred miles." 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. "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. "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." "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. "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 "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 "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?" "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 Mr. Sparling surveyed the boy with the suspicion of a twinkle in "Well, kid, I reckon I shall have to buy you a new suit, at that. "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. 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?" "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 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 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 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. " '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 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 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 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 "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 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 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. 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 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 "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. "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?" "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. "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 "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." "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 "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." "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 "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 "A tall fellow about my size, with blue eyes and blonde hair," added Teddy. "Stop your fooling, Teddy." "That's all," replied Phil a bit impatiently. "Have you "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. "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." "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. "Was the door open?" "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, 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 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 "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 "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 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?" 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 "I have been thinking the matter over, Phil." "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. "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. This Etext was prepared for Project Gutenberg by Greg Berckes The Circus Boys On the Mississippi Afloat with the Big Show on the Big River By EDGAR B. P. DARLINGTON 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 The Circus Boys on the Mississippi MAKING A LIVELY START "Have you had any trouble with Diaz, Teddy?" "The new Spanish clown." 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." "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." "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?" "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 "I don't care. I can get a job with the Yankee Robinson show any "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." "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--" "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?" "I am sorry I made a fool of you, Mr. Diaz." "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. "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 "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 "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. 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 "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 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 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 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 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. 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?" "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." 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?" "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 "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 "Your grave?" "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 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?" "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. THEIR CURIOSITY AROUSED "Phil, I have an idea that you are wondering whe