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



CHAPTER IX

GETTING HIS FIRST CALL

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

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

"You're a bad boy. Get down, sir, and let me off," chided Phil.

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

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

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

"Wait a moment. I'll chain him up."

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

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

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

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

"That looks like him down there."

"Where?"

"There, leaning against that pole," she pointed.

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

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

"Hey, you!"

Teddy gave no heed to him.

"Get out of there! Think you own this show?"

The lad made believe that he did not hear.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"They let you in," bristled Teddy.

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

Phil's companion surveyed him with admiration.

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

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

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

"Looks easy. I'll bet I could do that," nodded Teddy.

Phil shook his head.

"Not so easy as it looks."

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

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

Phil's companion whistled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hello, there's Rod!" exclaimed Teddy.

"Who?"

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

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

"See, they're pulling him up on a rope. I wonder where he is going?"

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

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

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

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

"Yes; he certainly does do it fine."

"We can do it just as well."

"Perhaps, but not so gracefully."

"See, he's swinging his hand at us."

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

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

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

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

"My, that was great! I wouldn't want to do that."

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

"I'd be light headed."

"Guess, I would, too," laughed Phil.

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

"Are you Phil Forrest?" he asked.

"Yes."

"The boss wants to see you."

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



CHAPTER X

PHIL GETS A SURPRISE

"Where will I find Mr. Sparling?"

"In the doghouse."

"Where's that?"

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

"Oh! What does he want of me?"

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

"Oh, I don't know."

"I do. There's the doghouse over there. See it?"

"Yes, thank you."

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

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

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

"I forgot you couldn't knock at a tent door. I wonder how visitors announce themselves, anyway."

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

"Come in!" bellowed the voice of the owner of the show.

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

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

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

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

"So I did, so I did."

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

"Sit down!"

"On the ground, sir?"

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

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

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

"So you're not living at home?"

"I have no home now, sir."

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

Phil was amazed.

"You seem to know all about me, sir."

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

"I don't like to be thanked, Mr. Sparling, though I should like to know Mrs. Sparling," said Phil boldly.

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

"Some sugar and peanuts. That was all."

"Huh! You ought to be a showman."

"I have always wanted to be, Mr. Sparling."

"Oh, you have, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, why don't you?"

"I have never had the opportunity."

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

"Not entirely, sir."

"Well, do you want to join out with the Great Sparling Combined Shows, or don't you?"

"You mean—I join the—the—"

Mr. Sparling was observing him narrowly.

"I said, would you like to join our show?"

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

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

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

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

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

"That's what the contract says, doesn't it?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then, that's what it is. Traveling expenses and feed included. You are an easy keeper?"

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

"Huh!"

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

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

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

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

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

"I understand, sir."

"You'd better."

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

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

"I'm ready now, sir. I shall want to go home and get my things and my books."

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

"I wonder if there is anything that he doesn't know about," marveled Phil.

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

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

"Shucks!"

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

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

Phil laughed outright.

"I presume so. That's the way he usually gets in."

"Where is he now?"

"Seeing the performance, sir."

"Nail him when he comes out. We'll give him all the show he wants."

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

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

The gateman nodded.

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

"Ten minutes now."

"Then, I guess I won't go in. I promised to meet Teddy over by the ticket wagon anyway."

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

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

"They're coming out," called the gateman to him.

"Thank you."

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

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

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

"Great!"

"Maybe I can fix it for you."

"You?"

"Yes."

"Don't give me such a shock, Phil. You said it almost as if you meant it."

"And I did."

Teddy gazed at his companion for a full minute.

"Something's been going on, I guess—something that I don't seem to know anything about."

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

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

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

Mr. Sparling eyed the lad suspiciously.

"Want to join out, too, eh?"

"I—I'd like to," stammered Teddy.

"Do your parents approve of your going with a show?"

"I—I don't know, sir."

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

"Can't."

"Why not?"

" 'Cause they're dead."

"Huh! Why didn't you say so before?"

"You didn't ask me."

"You're too smart, young man."

"Takes a smart man to be a circus man, doesn't it?"

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

"Yes, sir; I'll be good."

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

"Thank you; we will," answered Phil.

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

"Perform?"

"Yes."

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"I'm going to be a performer and wear pink pants, ain't I?"

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

"Fine!"

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

"What do I do?"

"Do, young man—do?"

"Yes, sir."

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

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

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

"I'd hit him on the nose if he did," declared Teddy belligerently.

Mr. Sparling could not resist laughing.

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

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



CHAPTER XI

THE FIRST NIGHT WITH THE SHOW

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phil nodded.

"How much?"

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

"Dark secret, eh?" jeered Teddy Tucker.

"No; there's no secret about it. It is just plain business, that's all."

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

"You'll find business enough when you get in, Teddy Tucker."

"Don't believe it. It's just good fun and that's all."

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

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

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

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

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

"Better take a couple of towels along as well."

"Yes, sir; thank you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't eat everything they have," he warned laughingly.

"Plenty more where this came from. That's one good thing about a show."

"What's that?"

"If the food gives out they can eat the animals."

"Better look out that the animals don't make a meal of you."

"Joining out?" asked the man sitting next to Phil.

"Yes, sir."

"Ring act?"

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

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

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

"What's that funny-looking fellow over there doing?" interrupted Teddy.

"That man down near the end of the table?"

"Yes."

"That's Billy Thorpe, the Armless Wonder," the performer informed him.

"And he hasn't any hands?" wondered the boy.

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

"What's he doing now?"

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

"Doesn't he ever get cold feet?" questioned Teddy humorously.

"Circus people are not afflicted with that ailment. Doesn't go well with their business."

"May I ask what you do?" inquired Phil.

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

"Oh, yes, I saw you this afternoon."

"How many people are with the show?" asked Teddy.

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

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

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

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

Phil gave his companion a vigorous nudge under the table.

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

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

"Custard," answered Phil.

"Both for mine," added Teddy.

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

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

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

Phil assured her that he would not.

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

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

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

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

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

"Think he'll remember that, Mr. Kennedy?" he asked of the trainer.

"Never forget it, will you, Emperor?"

The elephant coughed.

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

"How old is he?"

"Close to a hundred."

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

"Not that anybody knows of."

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

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

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

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

"Certainly, sir. I shall enjoy it very much."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Phil concluded there was nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



CHAPTER XII

A THRILLING RESCUE

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The crowd shouted in approval.

"All out! Let go!" shouted Mr. Sparling.

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

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

"Where's that boy?"

"Here he is, and I guess he's hurt," answered Teddy.

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

"I—I don't know."

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

"Fetch a pail of water."

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

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

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

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

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

"I've got to ride Emperor in tonight," objected Phil.

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

"I'll be all right after I walk about a bit. How long before the elephants go in?"

"You've got fifteen minutes yet."

"Then I may go on?"

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

"Thank you. How is Mr.—Mr.—the trainer?"

"He isn't badly hurt, thanks to your presence of mind, young man," answered the surgeon.

"That makes two people you've saved today, Forrest," emphasized Mr. Sparling. "We will call that a day's work. You have earned your meal ticket. Better run back to the dressing tent and ask them to fix up some clothes for you. Ask for Mrs. Waite, the wardrobe woman. Teddy Tucker, you run in and tell Mr. Kennedy, who has charge of the elephants, that Phil will ride tonight, and to wait until he gets in."

Both boys hurried away on their respective missions. All that Mrs. Waite had that would come anywhere near fitting Phil was a yellow robe that looked like a night gown. Phil grinned as he tucked it under his arm and hurried back to the menagerie tent. As he passed through the "big top" he saw that it was filling up rapidly.

"I guess we are going to have a good house tonight," muttered the lad with a pleased smile. It did not occur to him that he himself was responsible for a large part of the attendance—that the part he had played in the exciting incidents of the day had done more to advertise the Great Sparling Combined Shows than any other one factor.

"I am all ready, Mr. Kennedy," announced Phil, running to the elephant quarters. The horns were blowing the signal for the grand entry, so the lad grasped the head harness, as Emperor stooped, and was quickly hoisted to the position in which he would enter the ring.

When the people saw that it was indeed Phil they set up a great shout. The lad was pale but resolute. As he went through the performance, his wounds smarted frightfully. At times the pain made him dizzy.

But Phil smiled bravely, waving his hands to the cheering people.

After the finish of the act Mr. Kennedy headed the elephants into the concourse, the open space between the rings and the seats, making a complete circuit of the tent, so that all might see Phil Forrest.

"This is a kind of farewell appearance, you know," grinned Kennedy. And so the audience took it.

The lad's former companions shouted all manner of things to him.

"Good-bye, Phil!"

"Don't stick your head in the lion's mouth."

"Be careful when you twist the tiger's tail. Better put some salt on it before you do."

"We'll look out for Uncle Abner."

Phil was grinning broadly as he rode back into the menagerie tent. Everybody in town now knew that he had joined the circus, which brought forth a variety of comments. Some said it would be the end of the boy, but Phil Forrest knew that a boy could behave himself with a circus just as well as in any other occupation, and so far as his observations went, the circus people were much better than some folks he knew at home.

No sooner had they gotten into the menagerie tent than a sudden bustle and excitement were apparent. Confused shouts were heard on all sides. Teams, fully harnessed, were being led into the tent, quarter-poles were coming down without regard to where they struck, everybody appearing to have gone suddenly crazy.

"They're striking the tent," nodded Mr. Kennedy, noting the boy's wonderment. "You had better look out for yourself. Don't stand in the way or you may get hurt," he warned.

"Get the bulls out!" called a man, hurrying by.

"They're getting," answered Kennedy.

"What do they mean by that?"

"In circus parlance, the 'bulls' are the elephants. Where you going to ride tonight?"

"I don't know. Hello, there's my friend Teddy. I guess I had better attach myself to him or he may get lost."

As a matter of fact, Phil was not sure where he was himself, activities were following each other with such surprising rapidity.

But the lads stuck to their ground until it was no longer safe to do so. Phil was determined to see all there was to be seen, and what he saw he remembered. He had no need to be told after that, providing he understood the meaning of a certain thing at first.

Observing that one man was holding to the peak rope, and that it was rapidly getting the best of him, both lads sprang to his assistance.

"That's right, boys. That's the way to do it. Always be ready to take advantage of every opening. You'll learn faster that way, and you'll both be full-fledged showmen before you know it."

"O Mr. Sparling," exclaimed Phil, after others had relieved them on the rope.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I have been wanting to see you, to ask what you wish us to do tonight—where we are to travel?"

"You may sleep in my wagon. I'll take a horse for tonight."

"I could not think of doing such a thing. No, Mr. Sparling, if I am to be a circus man, I want to do just as the rest of them do. Where do the other performers sleep?"

"Wherever they can find places. Some few of the higher paid ones have berths in wagons. Others sleep in the band wagon. The rest, I guess, don't sleep at all, except after we get into a town. The menagerie outfit will be leaving town very soon now. You may go through with them if you wish."

"If you do not object, I think I should prefer to remain until the rest of the show goes out."

"Suit yourself."

Mr. Sparling understood how the lads felt, and perhaps it would be better to let them break in at once, he reasoned. They would become seasoned much sooner.

The tent was taken down and packed away in the wagons in an almost incredibly short time.

"Come on; let's go into the circus tent and see what's going on there," suggested Teddy.

Phil agreed, and the lads strolled in. They found the performance nearly over. When it was finished quite a large number remained to see the "grand concert" that followed.

While this was going on there was a crash and a clatter as the men ripped up and loaded the seats, piling them into waiting wagons that had been driven into the tent from the rear so as not to be in the way of the people going out.

"It's more fun to watch the men work than it is to see the concert. That concert's a bum show," averred Teddy, thrusting his hands in his pockets and turning his back on the "grand concert."

"I agree with you," laughed Phil. "There's nothing but the freaks there, and we'll see them, after this, every time we go for our meals."

"Have you been in the dressing tent yet?" asked Teddy.

"No, I haven't had time. We'll have to look in there tomorrow, though I don't think they care about having people visit them unless they belong there. Just now we don't. Do you start work in the cook tent tomorrow?"

"Yes. I am to be the champion coffee drawer. I expect they will have my picture on the billboards after a little. Wouldn't I look funny with a pitcher of hot, steaming coffee in my hand leaping over a table in the cook tent?" and Teddy laughed heartily at the thought. "I'll bet I'd make a hit."

"You mean you would get hit."

"Well, maybe."

The boys hung about until the big top had disappeared from the lot. The tent poles and boxes of properties were being loaded on the wagons, while out on the field, the ring horses, performing ponies and the like stood sleeping, waiting for the moment when they should be aroused for the start.

"Come on, Teddy; let's you and I go make up our beds."

"Where are they?"

"We'll have to ask the porter," laughed Phil, who had traveled a little with his parents years before.

"It's a shame that that old tiger has to have a cage all to himself. We could make up a fine bed if we had half of his cage and some blankets," complained Teddy.

"Thank you. I should prefer to walk. I have had all the argument I want with that beast. Let's go try the band wagon."

"All right; that would be fine to sleep way up there."

Laughing and chattering, the lads hunted about on the lot until they found the great glittering band wagon. Being now covered with canvas to protect it from the weather, they had difficulty in making it out, but finally they discovered it, off near the road that ran by the grounds. Four horses were hitched to it, while the driver lay asleep on the high seat.

"Where will we get in?"

"I don't know, Teddy; we will climb up and find out."

Getting on the rear wheel they pulled themselves up, and finding the canvas covering loose, threw it open. Teddy plumped in feet first.

Immediately there followed such a howling, such a snarling and torrent of invective that, startled as he was, Phil lost his balance on the wheel and fell off.

No sooner had he struck the ground than a dark figure came shooting from above, landing on him and nearly knocking all the breath out of his body.

Phil threw off the burden, which upon investigation proved to be Teddy Tucker.

"Wha—what happened?" stammered Phil. "Sounds as if we had gotten into a wild animal cage."

"I—I walked on somebody's face and he threw me out," answered Teddy ruefully. Phil leaned against the wagon wheel and laughed until his throat ached.

"Get out of here! What do you mean?" bellowed an angry voice over their heads. "Think my face is a tight rope to be walked on by every Rube that comes along?"

"Come—come on away, Teddy. We made a mistake. We got into the wrong berth."

"Here's another wagon, Phil. They're just hitching the horses. Let's try this."

"All right, it's a canvas wagon. Go ahead, we'll try it."

"I've tried one wagon. It's your turn now," growled Teddy.

"I guess you're right. If I get thrown out you catch me the same as I did you," laughed Phil.

"Yes, you caught me, didn't you?"

Phil climbed up, but with more caution than Teddy had exercised in the case of the band wagon.

"Anybody living in this bedroom tonight?" questioned Phil of the driver.

"Guess you are. First come first served. Pile in. You're the kid that rode the bull, ain't you?"

"And twisted the tiger's tail," added Teddy.

"All right. Probably some others will be along later, but I'll see to it that they don't throw you out."

"Thank you. Come on up, Teddy; it's all right."

Teddy Tucker hastily scrambled up into the wagon which proved to be a canvas wagon—an open wagon, over which a canvas cover was stretched in case of storm only.

"Where's the bed clothes?" demanded Teddy.

"I guess the skies will have to be our quilts tonight," answered Phil.

The boys succeeded in crawling down between the folds of the canvas, however, and, snuggling close together, settled down for their first night on the road with a circus. Soon the wagons began to move in response to a chorus of hoarse shouts. The motion of the canvas wagon very soon lulled the lads to sleep, as the big wagon show slowly started away and disappeared in the soft summer night.



CHAPTER XIII

THE DAWNING OF A NEW DAY

"Hi! Stop the train! Stop the train!" howled Teddy, as he landed flat on his back on the hard ground.

"Here, here! What are you fellows doing?" shouted Phil, scrambling to his feet.

"I dreamed I was in a train of cars and they ran off the track," said Teddy, struggling to his feet and rubbing his shins gingerly. "Did you do that?"

"You bet. Think I can wait for you kids to take your beauty sleep? Don't you suppose this show's got something else to do besides furnish sleeping accommodations for lazy kids? Take hold here, and help us get this canvas out if you want any breakfast."

"Take it out yourself," growled Teddy, dodging the flat of the canvasman's hand.

The lads had been hurled from their sleeping place by a rough tentman in a hurry to get at his work. The chill of the early dawn was in the air. The boys stood, with shoulders hunched forward, shivering, their teeth chattering, not knowing where they were and caring still less. They knew only that they were most uncomfortable. The glamor was gone. They were face to face with the hardships of the calling they had chosen, though they did not know that it was only a beginning of those hardships.

"B-r-r-r!" shivered Teddy.

"T-h-h-h-at's what I say," chattered Phil.

"Say, are you kids going to get busy, or do you want me to help you to?"

Phil did not object to work, but he did not like the way the canvasman spoke to them.

"I guess you'll have to do your own work. Come on, Teddy; let's take a run and warm ourselves up."

Hand in hand the lads started off across the field. The field was so dark that they could scarcely distinguish objects about them. Here and there they dodged wagons and teams that stood like silent sentinels in the uncertain light.

"Turn a little, Teddy. We'll be lost before we know it, if we don't watch out—"

"Ouch! We're lost already!"

The ground seemed suddenly to give way beneath them. Both lads were precipitated into a stream of water that stretched across one end of the circus lot.

Shouting and struggling about they finally floundered to the bank, drenched from head to foot. If they had been shivering before, they were suffering from violent attacks of ague now.

"Whew! I'm freezing to death!" cried Phil.

"I feel like the North Pole on Christmas morning," added Teddy. "I wish I was home, so I could thaw out behind the kitchen stove."

"Brace up, Teddy. This is only the beginning of the fun. We shall have worse experiences than this, late in the fall, when the weather gets cool; that is, if they do not get enough of us in the meantime and send us away."

"I—I wish they would send us home now."

"Come now; we've got to run again. We shall surely take our death of cold, if we stand here much longer."

"Run? No, thank you. I've had one run."

"And you don't want another? Is that it?"

"Not I."

"Don't know as I blame you. Well, if you don't want to run, just stand in one place and jump up and down. Whip your hands, and you'll see how soon it will start your blood to circulating," advised Phil, who immediately proceeded to put his own theory into execution. "That feel better?"

"Yes, some," replied Teddy, rather doubtfully. "But I could be warmer. I wonder what time the cook tent will be up."

"That's an idea. Suppose we go over and find out?"

"Yes, but where is it?"

"I don't know. But we won't find it if we stand here."

They started off again, this time exercising more caution as to where their feet touched. They had not gone far before they came upon some men who were driving small stakes in the ground, marking out the spot where one of the tents was to be pitched.

"Can you tell us where the cook tent is going up?" asked Phil politely.

"North side of the field," grunted the man, not very good-naturedly.

"Which way is north?"

"Get a compass, get a compass," was the discourteous answer.

"He's a grouch. Come along," urged Teddy Tucker.

A few moments later, attracted by a light that looked like a fire, the lads hurried toward it.

"Where will we find the cook tent?" questioned Phil again.

"Right here," was the surprising answer.

"What time will it be ready?"

"About seven o'clock. What's the matter, hungry?"

"More cold than hungry," replied Phil, his teeth chattering.

"Got to get used to that. Come here. I've got something that will doctor you up in no time," announced the man in a cheerful voice, so different from the answers the lads had received to their questions that morning, that they were suddenly imbued with new courage.

"What is it?" asked Phil.

"Coffee, my lad. We always make coffee the first thing when we get in, these chilly mornings. The men work much better after getting something warm inside them. Got a cup?"

They had not.

"Wait, I'll get you one," said the accommodating showman.

Never had anything tasted so good as did the coffee that morning. It was excellent coffee, too, and the boys drank two cups apiece.

"We mustn't drink any more," warned Phil.

"Why not?" wondered Teddy.

"Because we shall be so nervous that we shall not be able to work today. And, by the way, were I in your place, I should get busy here and help in the cook tent until you are told to do something else. I think it will make a good impression on Mr. Sparling."

Teddy consented rather grudgingly.

"I'll turn in and do something at the same time. What can we do to help you, sir? That coffee was very good."

"Might get busy and unpack some dishes from those barrels. Be careful that you don't break any of them."

"All right. Where shall we put them?"

"Pile them on the ground, all the dishes of the same size together. Be sure to set a lantern by them so nobody falls over them in the dark."

The boys, glad of some task to perform, began their work with a will. With something to do it was surprising how quickly they forgot their misfortunes. In a short time they were laughing and joking with the good-natured cooktent man and making the dishes fairly fly out of the barrels.

"Guess I'll have to keep you two boys with my outfit," grinned the showman.

"I think Mr. Sparling said my friend, Teddy here, was to work in the cook tent for the present."

"All right, Mr. Teddy. There's one thing about working in the cook tent that ought to please you."

"What's that?"

"You can piece between meals all you want to. If you are like most boys, you ought to have a good healthy appetite all the time, except when you are sleeping."

"That's right. I could eat an elephant steak now—right this minute. How long before breakfast?"

"Seven o'clock, I told you."

"What time does Mr. Sparling get up?" inquired Phil.

"Up? Ask me what time he goes to bed. I can answer one question as well as the other. Nobody knows. He's always around when you least expect him. There he is now."

The owner was striding toward the cook tent for his morning cup of coffee.

"Good morning, sir," greeted the boys, pausing in their work long enough to touch their hats, after which they continued unpacking the dishes.

"Morning, boys. I see you are up early and getting right at it. That's right. No showman was ever made out of a sleepy-head. Where did you sleep last night?"

"In a wagon on a pile of canvas," answered Phil.

"And they threw us out of bed this morning," Teddy informed him, with a grimace.

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

"And we fell in a creek," added Teddy.

"Well, well, you certainly are having your share of experiences."

"Will you allow me to make a suggestion, Mr. Sparling?" asked Phil.

"Of course. You need not ask that question. What is it?"

"I think I ought to have some sort of a costume if I am to continue to ride Emperor in the grand entry."

"H-m-m-m. What kind do you think you want?"

"Could I wear tights?"

Mr. Sparling was about to laugh, but one glance into the earnest eyes of Phil Forrest told him that the boy's interest was wholly in wishing to improve the act—not for the sake of showing himself, alone.

"Yes, I think perhaps it might not be a bad idea. You go tell Mrs. Waite to fix you up with a suit. But I would prefer to have you wear your own clothes today."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"I'll tell you why. I telegraphed on to my advance man all about you last night, and what you did yesterday will be spread all over town here today. It will be a rattling good advertisement. You and the tiger are my best drawing cards today," smiled Mr. Sparling.

"Glad I have proved of some use to you, sir."

"Use? Use?"

"Yes, sir."

"Don't be a fool!" exploded the showman, almost brutally.

Phil's countenance fell.

"Don't you understand, yet, that you already have been worth several thousand dollars to me?"

"I—I—"

"Well, don't get a swelled head about it, for—"

"There is no danger of that, sir."

"And you don't have to potter around the cook tent working, either. That is, not unless you want to."

"But, I do, Mr. Sparling. I want to learn everything there is to be learned about the show business," protested Phil.

Mr. Sparling regarded him quizzically.

"You'll do," he said, turning away.

As soon as the dressing tent had been erected and the baggage was moved in, Phil hurried to the entrance of the women's dressing tent and calling for Mrs. Waite, told her what was wanted.

She measured his figure with her eyes, and nodded understandingly.

"Think I've got something that will fit you. A young fellow who worked on the trapeze fell off and broke a leg. He was just about your size, and I guess his tights will be about right for you. Not superstitious, are you?"

Phil assured her he was not.

"You will be, after you have been in the show business a while. Wait, I'll get them."

Phil's eyes glowed as he saw her returning with a suit of bright red tights, trunk and shirt to match.

"Oh, thank you ever so much."

"You're welcome. Have you a trunk to keep your stuff in?"

"No; I have only a bag."

"I've got a trunk in here that's not in use. If you want to drag it over to the men's dressing tent you're welcome to it."

Phil soon had the trunk, which he hauled across the open paddock to the place where the men were settling their belongings. He espied Mr. Miaco, the head clown.

"Does it make any difference where I place my trunk, Mr. Miaco?"

"It does, my lad. The performers' trunks occupy exactly the same position every day during the show year. I'll pick out a place for you, and every morning when you come in you will find your baggage there. Let me see. I guess we'll place you up at the end, next to the side wall of the dressing room. You will be more by yourself there. You'll like that, won't you?"

"Yes, sir."

"Going in in costume, today?"

"No, sir. Mr. Sparling thought I had better wear my own clothes today, for advertising purposes."

Miaco nodded understandingly.

"Then you'll want to fix up again. Been in the gutter?"

"I fell into a ditch in the darkness this morning," grinned Phil.

"You'll get used to that. Mr. Ducro, the ringmaster, carries a lantern with him so he won't fall in, but none of the rest of us do. We call him Old Diogenes because he always has a lantern in his hand. If you'll take off that suit I'll put it in shape for you."

"Undress—here?"

"Sure. You'll have to get used to that."

Phil retired to the further end of the tent where his trunk had been placed in the meantime, and there took off his clothes, handing them to the head clown. Mr. Miaco tossed the lad a bath robe, for the morning was still chilly.

"After you get broken in you will have to do all this for yourself. There's nothing like the show business to teach a fellow to depend upon himself. He soon becomes a jack-of-all-trades. As soon as you can you'll want to get yourself a rubber coat and a pair of rubber boots. We'll get some beastly weather by-and-by."

The good-natured clown ran on with much good advice while he was sponging and pressing Phil's clothes. When he had finished, the suit looked as if it had just come from a tailor shop.

Phil thanked him warmly.

"Now, you and I will see about some breakfast."

Reaching the cook tent, the first person Phil set eyes on was his chum, Teddy Tucker. Teddy was presiding over the big nickel coffeepot, his face flushed with importance. He was bossing the grinning waiters, none of whom found it in his heart to get impatient with the new boy.



CHAPTER XIV

AN UNEXPECTED HIT

"Another turn-away," decided a ticket taker, casting his eyes over the crowds that had gathered for the afternoon performance.

"I guess Mr. Sparling knows his business pretty well," mused Phil. "He knows how to catch the crowd. I wonder how many of them have come here to see me. How they would look and stare if they knew I was the kid that twisted the tiger's tail."

Phil's color rose.

It was something for a boy who had been a circus performer for less than two days to have his name heralded ahead of the show as one of the leading attractions.

But Phil Forrest had a level head. He did not delude himself with any extravagant idea of his own importance. He knew that what he had done was purely the result of accident.

"I'll do something, someday, that will be worthwhile," he told himself.

Phil's act that afternoon was fully as successful as it had been on the previous day back in his home town. Besides, he now had more confidence in himself. He felt that in a very short time he might be able to keep his feet on the elephant's head without the support of Emperor's trunk. That would be an achievement.

On this particular afternoon he rode with as much confidence as if he had been doing it all the season.

"You'll make a performer," encouraged Kennedy. "You've got the poise and everything necessary to make you a good one."

"What kind, do you think?"

"Any old kind. Do you get dizzy when up in the air?"

"I don't remember that I have ever been up much further than Emperor hoists me," laughed Phil.

For the next two minutes the man and the boy were too busy with their act to continue their conversation. The audience was enthusiastic, and they shouted out Phil Forrest's name several times, which made him smile happily.

"What would you advise me to do, Mr. Kennedy?" he asked as the elephants started to leave the ring, amid the plaudits of the spectators.

"Ever try the rings?"

"Yes, but not so high up as those that Rod and his partners perform on."

"Height doesn't make much difference. Get them to let the rings down so you can reach them, then each day raise them a little higher, if you find you can work on them."

"Thank you. Perhaps I'll try it this afternoon. I am anxious to be a real performer. Anybody could do this. Though it's easy, I think I might work up this act of ours to make it rather funny."

It will be observed that Phil was rapidly falling into the vernacular of the showman.

"If you've got any ideas we'll thresh them out. Emperor will be willing. He'll say yes to anything you suggest. What is it?"

"Don't you think Mr. Sparling would object?"

"Not he. Wait till I get the bulls chained; then we'll talk."

After attending to his charges, Mr. Kennedy and Phil stepped behind the elephants and sat down on a pile of straw against the side walls of the menagerie tent.

Phil confided at length what he had in mind, Kennedy nodding from time to time as Phil made points that met with the trainer's approval.

"Boy, you've got a head on you a yard wide. You'll make your everlasting fortune. Why, I'd never even thought of that before."

"Don't you think I had better speak to Mr. Sparling?"

Kennedy reflected for a moment.

"Perhaps you had better do so. But you needn't tell him what it is. We'll give them a surprise. Let's go see the property man and the carpenter. We'll find out what they can do for us."

Slipping out under the canvas, the two hurried back to the property room, an enclosure where all the costumes were kept, together with the armor used in the grand entry, and the other trappings employed in the show, known as properties.

Mr. Kennedy explained to the property man what was wanted. The latter called in the carpenter. After consulting for a few minutes, they decided that they could give the elephant trainer and his assistant what they sought.

"When will you have it ready?"

"Maybe in time for tonight's performance, but I can't promise for sure."

"Thank you," exclaimed Phil, hurrying away to consult with Mr. Sparling.

"I have been thinking out a plan to work up my part of the elephant act," announced Phil, much to the owner's surprise.

"You have, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

"What is it?"

"I was in hopes you wouldn't ask me that. I wanted to surprise you."

Mr. Sparling shook his head doubtfully.

"I'm afraid you haven't had experience enough to warrant my trusting so important a matter to you," answered the showman, knowing how serious a bungled act might be, and how it would be likely to weaken the whole show.

Phil's face showed his disappointment.

"Mr. Kennedy says it will be a fine act. I have seen the property man and the carpenter, and they both think it's great. They are getting my properties ready now."

"So, so?" wondered the owner, raising his eyebrows ever so little. "You seem to be making progress, young man. Let's see, how long have you been in the show business?" he reflected.

"Twenty-four hours," answered Phil promptly.

Mr. Sparling grinned.

"M-m-m-m. You're certainly getting on fast. Who told you you might give orders to my property man and my carpenter, sir?" the proprietor demanded, somewhat sternly.

"I took that upon myself, sir. I'm sure it would improve the act, even though I have not had as much experience as I might have. Will you let me try it?" demanded the boy boldly.

"I'll think about it. Yes, I'll think about it. H-m-m-m! H-m-m-m!"

Thus encouraged, Phil left his employer, going in to watch some of the other acts.

About that time Mr. Sparling found it convenient to make a trip back to the property man's room, where he had quite a long talk with that functionary. The proprietor came away smiling and nodding.

About an hour later Phil sauntered out and passed in front of Mr. Sparling's tent, hoping the showman would see him and call him in.

Phil was not disappointed. Mr. Sparling did that very thing.

"How's that new act of yours coming along, young man?" he demanded.

"I have done no more than think it over since talking with you a little while ago. If the props are ready Mr. Kennedy and I will have a quiet rehearsal this afternoon. That is, if we can shoo everybody out of the tent and you are willing we should try it. How about it, sir?"

"I must say you are a most persistent young man."

"Yes, sir."

"And what if this act falls down flat? What then?"

"It mustn't."

"But if it does?"

"Then, sir, I'll give up the show business and go back to Edmeston, where I'll hire out to work on a farm. If I can't do a little thing like this I guess the farm will be the best place for me."

Phil was solemn and he meant every word he said. Mr. Sparling, however, unable to maintain his serious expression, laughed heartily.

"My boy, you are all right. Go ahead and work up your act. You have my full permission to do that in your own way, acting, of course, under the approval of Mr. Kennedy. He knows what would go with his bulls."

"Thank you, thank you very much," exclaimed Phil, impulsively. "I hope you will be pleasantly surprised."

"I expect to be."

Phil ran as fast as his legs would carry him to convey the good news to Mr. Kennedy. Active preparations followed, together with several hurried trips to the property room. The property man was getting along famously with his part of the plan, and both Phil and Mr. Kennedy approved of what had been done thus far.

According to programme, after the afternoon show had been finished and all the performers had gone to the cook tent the rehearsal took place in the menagerie tent. Faithful to his promise, Mr. Sparling kept away, but a pair of eyes representing him was peering through a pin-hole in the canvas stretched across the main opening where the ticket takers stood when at work.

"That's great, kid! Great, you bet!" shouted Mr. Kennedy after a successful trial of their new apparatus.

With light heart, an expansive grin overspreading his countenance, the lad ran to the cook tent for his supper. He came near missing it as it was, for the cook was about to close the tent. Mr. Sparling, who was standing near the exit, nodded to the chief steward to give Phil and Mr. Kennedy their suppers.

"Well, did the rehearsal fall down?" he asked, with a quizzical smile on his face.

"It fell down, but not in the way you think," laughed Phil happily.

No further questions were asked of him.

That night, when the grand entry opened the show to a packed house, a shout of laughter from the great assemblage greeted the entrance of old Emperor. Emperor was clad in a calico gown of ancient style, with a market basket tucked in the curl of his trunk. But the most humorous part of the long-suffering elephant's makeup was his head gear.

There, perched jauntily to one side was the most wonderful bonnet that any of the vast audience ever had gazed upon. It was tied with bright red ribbons under Emperor's chops with a collection of vari-colored, bobbing roses protruding from its top. Altogether it was a very wonderful piece of head gear.

The further the act proceeded the more the humor of Emperor's makeup appeared to impress the audience. They laughed and laughed until the tears ran down their cheeks, while the elephant himself, appearing to share in the humor of the hour, never before had indulged in so many funny antics.

Mr. Kennedy, familiar with side-splitting exhibitions, forgot himself so far as actually to laugh out loud.

But where was Phil Forrest? Thus far everybody had been too much interested in the old lady with the trunk and the market basket to give a thought to the missing boy, though some of the performers found themselves wondering if he had closed with the show already.

Those of the performers not otherwise engaged at the moment were assembled inside the big top at one side of the bandstand, fairly holding their sides with laughter over old Emperor's exhibition.

Standing back in the shadow of the seats, where the rays from the gasoline lamps did not reach, stood Mr. Sparling, a pleased smile on his face, his eyes twinkling with merriment. It was a good act that could draw from James Sparling these signs of approval.

The act was nearing its close.

The audience thought they had seen the best of it. But there was still a surprise to come—a surprise that they did not even dream of.

The time was at hand for the elephants to rear in a grand finale. An attendant quietly led Jupiter from the ring and to his quarters, Emperor making a circuit of the sawdust arena to cover the going of the other elephant and that there might be no cessation of action in the exhibition.

Emperor and his trainer finally halted, standing facing the reserved seats, as motionless as statues.

The audience sat silent and expectant. They felt that something still was before them, but what they had not the least idea, of course.

"Up, Emperor!" commanded Mr. Kennedy in a quiet voice. "All ready, Phil."

The elephant reared slowly on its hind legs, going higher and higher, as it did in its regular performance.

As he went up, the bonnet on Emperor's head was seen to take on sudden life. The old calico gown fell away from the huge beast at the same time, leaving him clothed in a brilliant blanket of white and gold.

But a long drawn "a-h-h-h," rippled over the packed seats as the old elephant's bonnet suddenly collapsed.

Out of the ruins rose a slender, supple figure, topping the pyramid of elephant flesh in a graceful poise. The figure, clad in red silk tights, appeared to be that of a beautiful girl.

The audience broke out into a thunder of approval, their feet drumming on the board seats sounding not unlike the rattle of musketry.

The girl's hand was passed around to the back of her waist, where it lingered for an instant, then both hands were thrown forward just as a diver does before taking the plunge.

"Ready?"

"Yes."

"Fly!"

The young girl floated out and off from the elephant's back, landing gently on her feet just outside the sawdust ring.

Emperor, at this juncture, threw himself forward on his forelegs, stretched out his trunk, encircling the performer's waist and lifting her clear off the ground.

At that moment the supposed young woman stripped her blonde wig from her head, revealing the fact that the supposed girl was no girl at all. It was a boy, and that boy was Phil Forrest.

Emperor, holding his young friend at full length ahead of him, started rapidly for his quarters, Phil lying half on his side, appearing to be floating on the air, save for the black trunk that held him securely in its grip.

At this the audience fairly howled in its surprise and delight, but Phil never varied his pose by a hair's breadth until Emperor finally set him down, flushed and triumphant, in the menagerie tent.

At that moment Phil became conscious of a figure running toward him.

He discovered at once that it was Mr. Sparling.

Grasping both the lad's hands, the showman wrung them until it seemed to Phil as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets.

"Great, great, great!" cried the owner of the show.

"Did you like it?" questioned the blushing Phil.

"Like it? Like it? Boy, it's the greatest act I ever saw. It's a winner. Come back with me."

"What, into the ring?"

"Yes."

"But what shall I do?"

"You don't have to do anything. You've done it already. Show yourself, that's all. Hurry! Don't you hear them howling like a band of Comanche Indians?"

"Y-yes."

"They want you."

By this time Mr. Sparling was fairly dragging Phil along with him. As they entered the big top the cheering broke out afresh.

Phil was more disturbed than ever before in his life. It seemed as though his legs would collapse under him.

"Buck up! Buck up!" snapped the showman. "You are not going to get an attack of stage fright at this late hour, are you?"

That was exactly what was the matter with Phil Forrest. He was nearly scared out of his wits, but he did not realize the nature of his affliction.

"Bow and kiss your hand to them," admonished the showman.

Phil did so, but his face refused to smile. He couldn't have smiled at that moment to save his life.

All at once he wrenched himself loose from Mr. Sparling's grip, and ran full speed for the dressing tent. He had not gone more than a dozen feet before he tripped over a rope, landing on head and shoulders. But Phil was up like a rubber man and off again as if every animal in the menagerie was pursuing him.

The spectators catching the meaning of his flight, stood up in their seats and howled lustily.

Phil Forrest had made a hit that comes to few men in the sawdust arena.



CHAPTER XV

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

"That was a knockout, kid," nodded Mr. Miaco, with emphasis. "I'm laughing on the inside of me yet. I don't dare let my face laugh, for fear the wrinkles will break through my makeup."

"Thank you," smiled Phil, tugging at his silk tights, that fitted so closely as to cause him considerable trouble in stripping them off.

"You'll have the whole show jealous of you if you don't watch out. But don't get a swelled head—"

"Not unless I fall off and bump it," laughed Phil. "Where do I wash?"

"You always want to get a pail of water before you undress."

"Say, Phil, did you really fly?" queried Teddy, who was standing by eyeing his companion admiringly.

"Sure. Didn't you see me?"

"I did and I didn't. Will you show me how to fly like that?"

" 'Course I will. You come in under the big top tomorrow after the show and I'll give you a lesson."

Teddy had not happened to observe the simple mechanical arrangement that had permitted the young circus performer to carry out his flying act.

"I reckon you ought to get a dollar a day for that stunt," decided Teddy.

"Yes, I think so myself," grinned Phil.

Teddy now turned his attention to Mr. Miaco, who, made up for his clown act in the ring, presented a most grotesque appearance.

"How do I look?" asked the clown, noting the lad's observant gaze.

"You look as if you'd stuck your head in a flour barrel," grunted Teddy.

"Ho ho," laughed the clown. "I'll have to try that on the audience. That's a good joke. To look at you, one wouldn't think it of you, either."

"Oh, that's nothing. I can say funnier things than that when I want to. Why—"

But their conversation was cut short by the band striking up the tune to which Mr. Miaco always entered the ring.

"Listen to me, kid. You'll hear them laugh when I tell 'em the story," he called back. And they did. The audience roared when the funny man told them what his young friend had said.

His work for the day having been finished, Phil bethought himself of his trunk, which had not yet been packed. His costume was suspended from a line in the dressing tent where many other costumes were hanging to air and dry after the strenuous labors of their owners.

Phil took his slender belongings down, shook them out well and laid them in the trunk that Mrs. Waite had given him. It was too late for Phil to get his bag from the baggage wagon, so with a grin he locked his tights and his wig in the trunk.

"Guess they won't break their backs lifting that outfit," he mused.

Phil then strolled in to watch the show. He found many new points of interest and much that was instructive, as he studied each act attentively and with the keenness of one who had been in the show business all his life.

"Someday I'll have a show like this myself," nodded the boy. He did not know that he expressed his thoughts aloud until he noticed that the people sitting nearest to him were regarding him with amused smiles.

Phil quickly repressed his audible comments.

The show was soon over; then came the noise and the confusion of the breaking up. The illusion was gone—the glamor was a thing of the past. The lad strolled about slowly in search of his companion, whom he eventually found in the dressing tent.

"Teddy, isn't it about time you and I went to bed?" he asked.

"Oh, I don't know. Circus people sleep when there isn't anything else to do. Where we going to sleep?"

"Same place, I presume, if no one gets ahead of us."

"They'd better not. I'll throw them out if they do."

Phil laughed good-naturedly.

"If I remember correctly, somebody was thrown out last night and this morning, but it didn't happen to be the other fellow. I'm hungry; wish I had something to eat."

"So am I," agreed Teddy.

"You boys should get a sandwich or so and keep the stuff in your trunk while we are playing these country towns. When we get into the cities, where they have restaurants, you can get a lunch downtown after you have finished your act and then be back in time to go out with the wagons," Mr. Miaco informed them. "You'll pick up these little tricks as we go along, and it won't be long before you are full-fledged showmen. You are pretty near that point already."

The lads strolled out on the lot and began hunting for their wagon. They found nothing that looked like it for sometime and had about concluded that the canvas wagon had gone, when they chanced to come across the driver of the previous night, who directed them to where they would find it.

"The wagon isn't loaded yet. You'll have to wait half an hour or so," he said.

They thanked him and went on in the direction indicated, where they soon found that which they were in search of.

"I think we had better wait here until it is loaded," advised Phil, throwing himself down on the ground.

"This having to hunt around over a ten-acre lot for your bedroom every night isn't as much fun as you would think, is it?" grinned Teddy.

"Might be worse. I have an idea we haven't begun to experience the real hardships of the circus life." And indeed they had not.

Soon after that the wagon was loaded, and, bidding the driver a cheery good night, the circus boys tumbled in and crawled under the canvas.

They were awakened sometime before daylight by a sudden heavy downpour of rain. The boys were soaked to the skin, the water having run in under the canvas until they were lying in a puddle of water.

There was thunder and lightning. Phil scrambled out first and glanced up at the driver, who, clothed in oilskins, was huddled on his seat fast asleep. He did not seem to be aware that there was anything unusual about the weather.

"I wish I was home," growled Teddy.

"Well, I don't. Bad as it is, it's better than some other things that I know of. I'll tell you what I'll do—I'll get rubber coats for us both when we get in in the morning."

"Got the money?"

"That's so. I had forgotten that," laughed Phil. "I never thought that I should need money to buy a coat with. We'll have to wait until payday. I wonder when that is?"

"Ask Mr. Sparling."

"No; I would rather not."

"All right; get wet then."

"I am. I couldn't be any more so were I to jump in the mill pond at home," laughed Phil.

Home! It seemed a long way off to these two friendless, or at least homeless, boys, though the little village of Edmeston was less than thirty miles away.

The show did not get in to the next town until sometime after daylight, owing to the heavy condition of the roads. The cook tent was up when they arrived and the lads lost no time in scrambling from the wagon. They did not have to be thrown out this morning.

"Come on," shouted Phil, making a run for the protection of the cook tent, for the rain was coming down in sheets.

Teddy was not far behind.

"I'm the coffee boy. Where's the coffee?" he shouted.

"Have it in a few minutes," answered the attendant who had been so kind to them the previous morning. "Here, you boys, get over by the steam boiler there and dry out your clothes," he added, noting that their teeth were chattering.

"Wish somebody would pour a pail of water over me," shivered Teddy.

"Water? What for?"

"To wash the rain off. I'm soaked," he answered humorously.

They huddled around the steam boiler, the warmth from which they found very comforting in their bedraggled condition.

"I'm steaming like an engine," laughed Phil, taking off his coat and holding it near the boiler.

"Yes; I've got enough of it in my clothes to run a sawmill," agreed Teddy. "How about that coffee?"

"Here it is."

After helping themselves they felt much better. Phil, after a time, walked to the entrance of the cook tent and looked out. The same bustle and excitement as on the previous two days was noticeable everywhere, and the men worked as if utterly oblivious of the fact that the rain was falling in torrents.

"Do we parade today?" called Phil, observing Mr. Sparling hurrying past wrapped in oilskins and slouch hat.

"This show gives a parade and two performances a day, rain, shine, snow or earthquake," was the emphatic answer. "Come over to my tent in half an hour. I have something to say to you."

Phil ran across to Mr. Sparling's tent at the expiration of half an hour, but he was ahead of time evidently, for the showman was not there. Nice dry straw had been piled on the ground in the little tent to take up the moisture, giving it a cosy, comfortable look inside.

"This wouldn't be a half bad place to sleep," decided Phil, looking about him. "I don't suppose we ever play the same town two nights in succession. I must find out."

Mr. Sparling bustled in at this point, stripping off his wet oilskins and hanging them on a hook on the tent pole at the further end.

"Where'd you sleep?"

"In wagon No. 10."

"Get wet?"

"Very."

"Humph!"

"We dried out in the cook tent when we got in. It might have been worse."

"Easily satisfied, aren't you?"

"I don't know about that. I expect to meet with some disagreeable experiences."

"You won't be disappointed. You'll get all that's coming to you. It'll make a man of you if you stand it."

"And if I don't?" questioned Phil Forrest, with a smile.

Mr. Sparling answered by a shrug of the shoulders.

"We'll have to make some different arrangements for you," he added in a slightly milder tone. "Can't afford to have you get sick and knock your act out. It's too important. I'll fire some lazy, good-for-nothing performer out of a closed wagon and give you his place."

"Oh, I should rather not have you do that, sir."

"Who's running this show?" snapped the owner.

Phil made no reply.

"I am. I'll turn out whom I please and when I please. I've been in the business long enough to know when I've got a good thing. Where's your rubber coat?" he demanded, changing the subject abruptly.

"I have none, sir. I shall get an outfit later."

"No money, I suppose?"

"Well, no, sir."

"Humph! Why didn't you ask for some?"

"I did not like to."

"You're too modest. If you want a thing go after it. That's my motto. Here's ten dollars. Go downtown and get you a coat, and be lively about it. Wait a minute!" as Phil, uttering profuse thanks, started away to obey his employer's command.

"Yes, sir."

"About that act of yours. Did you think it out all yourself?"

"The idea was mine. Of course the property man and Mr. Kennedy worked it out for me. I should not have been able to do it alone."

"Humph! Little they did. They wouldn't have thought of it in a thousand years. Performers usually are too well satisfied with themselves to think there's anything worthwhile except what they've been doing since they came out of knickerbockers. How'd you get the idea?"

"I don't know—it just came to me."

"Then keep on thinking. That act is worth real money to any show. How much did I say I'd pay you?"

"Ten dollars a week, sir."

"Humph! I made a mistake. I won't give you ten."

Phil looked solemn.

"I'll give you twenty. I'd give you more, but it might spoil you. Get out of here and go buy yourself a coat."



CHAPTER XVI

HIS FIRST SETBACK

"Tha—thank—"

"Out with you!"

Laughing, his face flushed with pride and satisfaction, Phil did move. Not even pausing to note what direction he should go, he hurried on toward the village, perhaps more by instinct than otherwise. He was too full of this wonderful thing that had come to him—success—to take note of his surroundings.

To Phil there was no rain. Though he already was drenched to the skin he did not know it.

All at once he pulled himself up sharply.

"Phil Forrest, you are getting excited," he chided. "Now, don't you try to make yourself believe you are the whole show, for you are only a little corner of it. You are not even a side show. You are a lucky boy, but you are going to keep your head level and try to earn your money. Twenty dollars a week! Why, it's wealth! I can see Uncle Abner shaking his stick when he hears of it. I must write to Mrs. Cahill and tell her the good news. She'll be glad, though I'll warrant the boys at home will be jealous when they hear about how I am getting on in the world."

Thus talking to himself, Phil plodded on in the storm until he reached the business part of the town. There he found a store and soon had provided himself with a serviceable rubber coat, a pair of rubber boots and a soft hat. He put on his purchases, doing up his shoes and carrying them back under his arm.

The parade started at noon. It was a dismal affair—that is, so far as the performers were concerned, and the clowns looked much more funny than they felt.

Mr. Miaco enlivened the spirits of those on the hayrack by climbing to the back of one of the horses drawing the clowns' wagon, where he sat with a doll's parasol over his head and a doll in his arms singing a lullaby.

The people who were massed along the sidewalks of the main street did not appear to mind the rain at all. They were too much interested in the free show being given for their benefit.

The show people ate dinner with their feet in the mud that day, the cook tent having been pitched on a barren strip of ground.

"This is where the Armless Wonder has the best of us today," nodded Teddy, with his usual keen eye for humor.

"How is that?" questioned Mr. Miaco.

" 'Cause he don't have to put his feet in the mud like the rest of us do. He keeps them on the table. I wish I could put my feet on the table."

Everybody within hearing laughed heartily.

In the tents there was little to remind one of the dismal weather, save for the roar of the falling rain on the canvas overhead. Straw had been piled all about on the ground inside the two large tents, and only here and there were there any muddy spots, though the odor of fresh wet grass was everywhere.

The afternoon performance went off without a hitch, though the performers were somewhat more slow than usual, owing to the uncertainty of the footing for man and beast. Phil Forrest's exhibition was even more successful than it had been in the last show town. He was obliged to run back to the ring and show himself after having been carried from the tent by Emperor. This time, however, his stage fright had entirely left him, never to return. He was now a seasoned showman, after something less than three days under canvas.

The afternoon show being finished, and supper out of the way, Phil and Teddy returned to the big top to practice on the flying rings, which they had obtained permission to use.

Mr. Miaco, himself an all around acrobat, was on hand to watch their work and to offer suggestions. He had taken a keen interest in Phil Forrest, seeing in the lad the making of a high-class circus performer.

The rings were let down to within about ten feet of the sawdust ring, and one at a time the two lads were hoisted by the clown until their fingers grasped the iron rings.

With several violent movements of their bodies they curled their feet up, slipping them through the rings, first having grasped the ropes above the rings.

"That was well done. Quite professional," nodded the clown. "Take hold of this rope and I will swing you. If it makes you dizzy, tell me."

"Don't worry; it won't," laughed Phil.

"Give me a shove, too," urged Teddy.

"In a minute."

Mr. Miaco began swinging Phil backwards and forwards, his speed ever increasing, and as he went higher and higher, Phil let himself down, fastening his hands on the rings that he might assist in the swinging.

"Now, see if you can get back in the rings with your legs."

"That's easy," answered Phil, his breath coming sharp and fast, for he never had taken such a long sweep in the rings before.

The feat was not quite so easy as he had imagined. Phil made three attempts before succeeding. But he mastered it and came up smiling.

"Good," cried the clown, clapping his hands approvingly.

"Give me another swing. I want to try something else."

Having gained sufficient momentum, the lad, after reaching the point where the rings would start on their backward flight, permitted his legs to slip through the rings, catching them with his feet.

He swept back, head and arms hanging down, as skillfully as if he had been doing that very thing right along.

"You'll do," emphasized the clown. "You will need to put a little more finish in your work. I'll give you a lesson in that next time."

Teddy, not to be outdone, went through the same exhibition, though not quite with the same speed that Phil had shown.

It being the hour when the performers always gathered in the big top to practice and play, many of them stood about watching the boys work. They nodded their heads approvingly when Phil finished and swung himself to the ground.

Teddy, on his part, overrated his ability when it came to hanging by his feet.

"Look out!" warned half a dozen performers at once.

He had not turned his left foot into the position where it would catch and hold in the ring. Their trained eyes had noted this omission instantly.

The foot, of course, failed to catch, and Teddy uttered a howl when he found himself falling. His fall, however, was checked by a sharp jolt. The right foot had caught properly. As he swept past the laughing performers he was dangling in the air like a huge spider, both hands and one foot clawing the air in a desperate manner.

There was nothing they could do to liberate him from his uncomfortable position until the momentum of his swing had lessened sufficiently to enable them to catch him.

"Hold your right steady!" cautioned Miaco. "If you twist it you'll take a beauty tumble."

Teddy hadn't thought of that before. Had Miaco known the lad better he would not have made the mistake of giving that advice.

Teddy promptly turned his foot.

He shot from the flying rings as if he had been fired from a cannon.

Phil tried to catch him, but stumbled and fell over a rope, while Teddy shot over his head, landing on and diving head first into a pile of straw that had just been brought in to bed down the tent for the evening performance.

Nothing of Teddy save his feet was visible.

They hauled him out by those selfsame feet, and, after disentangling him from the straws that clung to him, were relieved to find that he had not been hurt in the least.

"I guess we shall have to put a net under you. Lucky for you that that pile of straw happened to get in your way. Do you know what would have happened to you had it not been?" demanded Mr. Miaco.

"I—I guess I'd have made a hit," decided Teddy wisely.

"I guess there is no doubt about that."

The performers roared.

"I'm going to try it again."

"No; you've done enough for one day. You won't be able to hold up the coffeepot tomorrow morning if you do much more."

"Do you think we will be able to accomplish anything on the flying rings, Mr. Miaco?" asked Phil after they had returned to the dressing tent.

"There is no doubt of it. Were I in your place I should take an hour's work on them every day. Besides building you up generally, it will make you surer and better able to handle yourself. Then, again, you never know what minute you may be able to increase your income. People in this business often profit by others' misfortunes," added the clown significantly.

"I would prefer not to profit that way," answered Phil.

"You would rather do it by your own efforts?"

"Yes."

"It all amounts to the same thing. You are liable to be put out any minute yourself, then somebody else will get your job, if you are a performer of importance to the show."

"You mean if my act is?"

"That's what I mean."

The old clown and the enthusiastic young showman talked in the dressing tent until it was time for each to begin making up for the evening performance.

The dressing tent was the real home of the performers. They knew no other. It was there that they unpacked their trunks—there that during their brief stay they pinned up against the canvas walls the pictures of their loved ones, many of whom were far across the sea. A bit of ribbon here, a faded flower drawn from the recess of a trunk full of silk and spangles, told of the tender hearts that were beating beneath those iron-muscled breasts, and that they were as much human beings as their brothers in other walks of life.

Much of this Phil understood in a vague way as he watched them from day to day. He was beginning to like these big-hearted, big-muscled fellows, though there were those among them who were not desirable as friends.

"I guess it's just the same as it is at home," decided Phil. "Some of the folks are worthwhile, and others are not."

He had summed it up.

Sometime before the evening performance was due to begin Phil was made up and ready for his act. As his exhibition came on at the very beginning he had to be ready early. Then, again, he was obliged to walk all the way to the menagerie tent to reach his elephant.

Throwing a robe over his shoulders and pulling his hat well down over his eyes, the lad pushed the silken curtains aside and began working his way toward the front, beating against the human tide that had set in against him, wet, dripping, but good natured.

"Going to have a wet night," observed Teddy, whom he met at the entrance to the menagerie tent.

"Looks that way. But never mind; I'll share my rubber coat with you. We can put it over us and sit up to sleep. That will make a waterproof tent. Perhaps we may be able to find a stake or something to stick up in the middle of the coat."

"But the canvas under us will be soaked," grumbled Teddy. "We'll be wetter than ever."

"We'll gather some straw and tie it up in a tight bundle to put under us when we get located. There goes the band. I must be off, or you'll hear Emperor screaming for me."

"He's at it now. Hear him?"

"I couldn't well help hearing that roar," laughed Phil, starting off on a run.

The grand entry was made, Phil crouching low in the bonnet on the big beast's head. It was an uncomfortable position, but he did not mind it in the least. The only thing that troubled Phil was the fear that the head gear might become disarranged and spoil the effect of his surprise. There were many in the tent who had seen him make his flight at the afternoon performance, and had returned with their friends almost solely to witness the pretty spectacle again.