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The Circus Boys Across The Continent

            Or

Winning New Laurels on the Tanbark



by Edgar B. P. Darlington









CONTENTS







CHAPTER



I     The Boys Hear Good News

II    On The Road Once More

III   Phil to Rescue

IV    Renewing Old Acquaintances

V     Doing a Man's Work

VI    The Showman's Reward

VII   Trying The Culprit

VIII  Phil Makes a New Friend

IX    The Mule Distinguishes Himself

X     His First Bareback Lesson

XI    Summoned Before The Manager

XII   The Human Football

XIII  Ducked by an Elephant

XIV   In Dire Peril

XV    Emperor to The Rescue

XVI   An Unexpected Promotion

XVII  The Circus Boys Win New Laurels

XVIII Doing a Double Somersault

XIX   Marooned in a Freight Car

XX    The Barnyard Circus

XXI   When The Crash Came

XXII  What Happened to a Pacemaker

XXIII Searching The Train

XXIV  Conclusion








The Circus Boys Across the Continent









CHAPTER I



THE BOYS HEAR GOOD NEWS



"You never can guess it--you never can guess the news, Teddy,"

cried Phil Forrest, rushing into the gymnasium, his face flushed

with excitement.



Teddy Tucker, clad in a pair of linen working trunks and a

ragged, sleeveless shirt, both garments much the worse for their

winter's wear, was lazily swinging a pair of Indian clubs.



"What is it, some kind of riddle, Phil?" he questioned, bringing

the clubs down to his sides.



"Do be serious for a minute, won't you?"



"Me, serious?  Why, I never cracked a smile.  Isn't anything to

smile at.  Besides, do you know, since I've been in the circus

business, every time I want to laugh I check myself so suddenly

that it hurts?"



"How's that?"



"Because I think I've still got my makeup on and that I'll crack

it if I laugh."



"What, your face?"



"My face?  No!  My makeup.  By the time I remember that I haven't

any makeup on I've usually forgotten what it was I wanted to

laugh about.  Then I don't laugh."



Teddy shied an Indian club at a rat that was scurrying across the

far end of their gymnasium, missing him by half the width of

the building.



"If you don't care, of course I shan't tell you.  But it's good

news, Teddy.  You would say so if you knew it."



"What news?  Haven't heard anything that sounds like news,"

his eyes fixed on the hole into which the rat had disappeared.



"You can't guess where we are going this summer?"



"Going?  Don't have to guess.  I know," answered the lad with an

emphasizing nod.



"Where do you think?"



"We're going out with the Great Sparling Combined Shows,

of course.  Didn't we sign out for the season before we closed

with the show last fall?"



"Yes, yes; but where?" urged Phil, showing him the letter he

had just brought from the post office.  "You couldn't guess if

you tried."



"No.  Never was a good guesser.  That letter from Mr. Sparling?"

he questioned, as his eyes caught the familiar red and gold

heading used by the owner of the show.



"Yes."



"What's he want?"



"You know I wrote to him asking that we be allowed to skip the

rehearsals before the show starts out, so that we could stay here

and take our school examinations?"



Teddy nodded.



"I'd rather join the show," he grumbled.



"Never did see anything about school to go crazy over."



"You'll thank me someday for keeping you at it," said Phil.

"See how well you have done this winter with your school work.

I'm proud of you.  Why, Teddy, there are lots of the boys a long

way behind you.  They can't say circus boys don't know anything

just because they perform in a circus ring."



"H-m-m-m!" mused Teddy.  "You haven't told me yet where we are

going this summer.  What's the route?"



"Mr. Sparling says that, as we are going to continue our

last year's acts this season, there will be no necessity

for rehearsals."



The announcement did not appear to have filled Teddy Tucker

with joy.



"We do the flying rings again, then?"



"Yes.  And we shall be able to give a performance that will

surprise Mr. Sparling.  Our winter's practicing has done a lot

for us, as has our winter at school."



"Oh, I don't know."



"You probably will ride the educated mule again, while I expect

to ride the elephant Emperor in the grand entry, as I did before.

I'll be glad to get under the big top again, with the noise and

the people, the music of the band and all that.  Won't you,

Teddy?"

questioned Phil, his eyes glowing at the picture he had drawn.



Teddy heaved a deep sigh.



"Quit it!"



"Why?"



" 'Cause you make me think I'm there now."



Phil laughed softly.



"I can see myself riding the educated mule this very minute,

kicking up the dust of the ring, making everybody get out of the

way, and--"



"And falling off," laughed Phil.  "You certainly are the

most finished artist in the show when it comes to getting

into trouble."



"Yes; I seem to keep things going," grinned the lad.



"But I haven't told you all that Mr. Sparling says in

the letter."



"What else does he say?"



"That the show is to start from its winter quarters, just outside

of Germantown, Pennsylvania, on April twenty-second--"



"Let's see; just two weeks from today," nodded Teddy.



"Yes."



"I wish it was today."



"He says we are to report on the twenty-first, as the show leaves

early in the evening."



"Where do we show first?"



"Atlantic City.  Then we take in the Jersey Coast towns--"



"Do we go to New York?"



"New York?  Oh, no!  The show isn't big enough for New York quite

yet, even if it is a railroad show now.  We've got to grow some

before that.  Mighty few shows are large enough to warrant taking

them into the big city."



"How do you know?"



"All the show people say that."



"Pshaw!  I'd sure make a hit in New York with the mule."



"Time enough for that later.  You and I will yet perform in

Madison Square Garden.  Just put that down on your route card,

Teddy Tucker."



"Humph!  If we don't break our necks before that!  Where did you

say we were--"



"After leaving New Jersey, we are to play through New York State,

taking in the big as well as the small towns, and from Buffalo

heading straight west.  Mr. Sparling writes that we are going

across the continent."



"What?"



"Says he's going to make the Sparling Shows known from the

Atlantic to the Pacific--"



"Across the continent!" exclaimed Teddy unbelievingly.

"No; you're fooling."



"Yes; clear to the Pacific Coast.  We're going to

San Francisco, too.  What do you think of that, Teddy?"



"Great!  Wow!  Whoop!" howled the boy, hurling his remaining

Indian Club far up among the rafters of the gymnasium, whence it

came clattering down, both lads laughing gleefully.



"We're going to see the country this time, and we shan't have to

sleep out in an open canvas wagon, either."



"Where shall we sleep?"



"Probably in a car."



"It won't be half so much fun," objected Teddy.



"I imagine the life will be different.  Perhaps we shall not have

so much fun, but we'll have the satisfaction of knowing that we

are part of a real show.  It will mean a lot to us to be with an

organization like that.  It will give us a better standing in the

profession, and possibly by another season we may be able to get

with one of the really big ones.  Next spring, if we have good

luck, we shall have finished with our school here.  If they'll

have us, we'll try to join out with one of them.  In the meantime

we must work hard, Teddy, so we shall be in fine shape when we

join out two weeks from today.  Come on; I'll wrestle you a

few falls."



"Done," exclaimed Teddy.



Phil promptly threw off his coat and vest.  A few minutes later

the lads were struggling on the wrestling mat, their faces

dripping with perspiration, their supple young figures twisting

and turning as each struggled for the mastery of the other.



The readers of the preceding volume in this series, entitled,

THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS, will recognize Phil and

Teddy

at once as the lads who had so unexpectedly joined the Sparling

Combined Shows the previous summer.  It was Phil who, by his

ready resourcefulness, saved the life of the wife of the owner of

the show as well as that of an animal trainer later on.  Then,

too,

it will be remembered how the lad became the fast friend of the

great elephant Emperor, which he rescued from "jail," and with

which he performed in the ring to the delight of thousands.

Ere the close of the season both boys had won their way to the

flying rings, thus becoming full-fledged circus performers.

Before leaving the show they had signed out for another season

at a liberal salary.



With their savings, which amounted to a few hundred dollars, the

boys had returned to their home at Edmeston, there to put in the

winter at school.



That they might lose nothing of their fine physical condition,

the Circus Boys had rented an old carpenter shop, which they

rigged up as a gymnasium, fitting it with flying rings, trapeze

bars and such other equipment as would serve to keep them in trim

for the coming season's work.



Here Phil and Teddy had worked long hours after school.

During the winter they had gained marked improvement in

their work, besides developing some entirely new acts on

the flying rings.  During this time they had been living with

Mrs. Cahill, who, it will be remembered, had proved herself a

real friend to the motherless boys.



Now, the long-looked-for day was almost at hand when they should

once more join the canvas city for a life in the open.



The next two weeks were busy ones for the lads, with their

practice and the hard study incident to approaching examinations.

Both boys passed with high standing.  Books were put away,

gymnasium apparatus stored and one sunlit morning two slender,

manly looking young fellows, their faces reflecting perfect

health and happiness, were at the railroad station waiting for

the train which should bear them to the winter quarters of

the show.



Fully half the town had gathered to see them off, for Edmeston

was justly proud of its Circus Boys.  As the train finally drew

up and the lads clambered aboard, their school companions set up

a mighty shout, with three cheers for the Circus Boys.



"Don't stick your head in the lion's mouth, Teddy!" was the

parting salute Phil and Teddy received from the boys as the train

drew out.



"Well, Teddy, we're headed for the Golden Gate at last!"

glowed Phil.



"You bet!" agreed Teddy with more force than elegance.



"I wonder if old Emperor will remember me, Teddy?"



"Sure thing!  But, do you think that 'fool mule,' as Mr. Sparling

calls him, will remember me?  Or will he want to kick me full of

holes before the season has really opened?"



"I shouldn't place too much dependence on a mule," laughed Phil.

"Come on; let's go inside and sit down."







CHAPTER II



ON THE ROAD ONCE MORE



All was bustle and excitement.



Men were rushing here and there, shouting out hoarse commands.

Elephants were trumpeting shrilly, horses neighing; while, from

many a canvas-wrapped wagon savage beasts of the jungle were

emitting roar upon roar, all voicing their angry protest at being

removed from the winter quarters where they had been at rest for

the past six months.



The Great Sparling Combined Shows were moving out for their long

summer's journey.  The long trains were being rapidly loaded when

Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker arrived on the scene late in

the afternoon.



It was all new and strange to them, unused as they were to the

ways of a railroad show.  Their baggage had been sent on ahead of

them, so they did not have that to bother with.  Each carried a

suitcase, however, and the boys were now trying to find someone

in authority to ask where they should go and what they should do.



"Hello, Phil, old boy!" howled a familiar voice.



"Who's that?" demanded Teddy.



"Why, it's Rod Palmer, our working mate on the rings!" cried

Phil, dropping his bag and darting across the tracks, where he

had espied a shock of very red hair that he knew could belong

only to Rodney Palmer.



Teddy strolled over with rather more dignity.



"Howdy?" he greeted just as Phil and the red-haired boy were

wringing each other's hands.  "Anybody'd think you two were long

lost brothers."



"We are, aren't we, Rod?" glowed Phil.



"And we have been, ever since you boys showed me the brook where

I could wash my face back in that tank town where you two lived.

That was last summer.  Seems like it was yesterday."



"Yes, and we work together again, I hear?  I'm glad of that.

I guess you've been doing something this winter," decided Rodney,

after a critical survey of the lads.  "You sure are both in

fine condition.  Quite a little lighter than you were last

season, aren't you, Phil?"



"No; I weigh ten pounds more."



"Then you must be mighty hard."



"Hard as a keg of nails, but I hope not quite so stiff,"

laughed Phil.



"What you been working at?"



"Rings, mostly.  We've done some practicing on the trapeze.

What did you do all winter?"



"Me?  Oh, I joined a team that was playing vaudeville houses.

I was the second man in a ring act.  Made good money and saved

most of it.  Why didn't you join out for the vaudeville?"



"We spent our winter at school," answered Phil.



"That's a good stunt at that.  In the tank town, I suppose?"

grinned the red-haired boy.



"You might call it that, but it's a pretty good town, just the

same," replied Phil.  "I saw many worse ones while we were out

last season."



"And you'll see a lot more this season.  Wait till we get to

playing some of those way-back western towns.  I was out there

with a show once, and I know what I'm talking about.  Where are

you berthed?"



"I don't know," answered Phil.  "Where are you?"



"Car number fourteen.  Haven't seen the old man, then?"



"Mr. Sparling?  No.  And I want to see him at once.  Where shall

I find him?"



"He was here half an hour ago.  Maybe he's in his office."



"Where is that?"



"Private car number one.  Yes; the old man has his own elegant

car this season.  He's living high, I tell you.  No more sleeping

out in an old wagon that has no springs.  It will be great to get

into a real bed every night, won't it?"



Teddy shook his head doubtfully.



"I don't know 'bout that."



"I should think it would be pretty warm on a hot night,"

nodded Phil.



"And what about the rainy nights?" laughed Rodney.  "Taking it

altogether, I guess I'll take the Pullman for mine--"



"There goes Mr. Sparling now," interjected Teddy.



"Where?"



"Just climbing aboard a car.  See him?"



"That's number one," advised Rodney.  "Better skip, if you want

to catch him.  He's hard to land today.  There's a lot for him to

look after."



"Yes; come on, Teddy.  Get your grip," said Phil, hurrying over

to where he had dropped his suitcase.



"But it's going to be a great show," called Rodney.



"Especially the flying-ring act," laughed Phil.



A few minutes later both boys climbed aboard the private car,

and, leaving their bags on the platform, pushed open the door

and entered.



Mr. Sparling was seated at a roll-top desk in an office-like

compartment, frowning over some document that he held in

his hand.



The boys waited until he should look up.  He did so suddenly,

peering at them from beneath his heavy eyebrows.  Phil was not

sure, from the showman's expression, whether he had recognized

them or not.  Mr. Sparling answered this question almost at once.



"How are you, Forrest?  Well, Tucker, I suppose you've come back

primed to put my whole show to the bad, eh?"



"Maybe," answered Teddy carelessly.



"Oh, maybe, eh?  So that's the way the flag's blowing, is it?

Well, you let me catch you doing it and--stand up here, you two,

and let me look at you."



He gazed long and searchingly at the Circus Boys, noting every

line of their slender, shapely figures.



"You'll do," he growled.



"Yes, sir," answered Phil, smiling.



"Shake hands."



Mr. Sparling thrust out both hands toward them with almost

disconcerting suddenness.



"Ouch!" howled Teddy, writhing under the grip the showman gave

him, but if Phil got a pressure of equal force he made no sign.



"Where's your baggage?"



"We sent our trunks on yesterday.  I presume they are here

somewhere, sir."



"If they're not in your car, let me know."



"If you will be good enough to tell me where our car is I will

find out at once."



The showman consulted a typewritten list.



"You are both in car number eleven.  The porter will show you the

berths that have been assigned to you, and I hope you will both

obey the rules of the cars."



"Oh, yes, sir," answered Phil.



"I know you will, but I'm not so sure of your fat friend here.

I think it might be a good plan to tie him in his berth, or he'll

be falling off the platform some night, get under the wheels and

wreck the train."



"I don't walk in my sleep," answered Teddy.



"Oh, you don't?"



"I don't."



Mr. Sparling frowned; then his face broke out into a broad smile.



"I always said you were hopeless.  Run along, and get

settled now.  You understand that you will keep your berth

all season, don't you?"



"Yes, sir.  What time do we go out?"



"One section has already gone.  The next and last will leave

tonight about ten o'clock.  We want to make an early start, for

the labor is all green.  It'll take three times as long to put up

the rag as usual."



"The rag?  What's the rag?" questioned Teddy.



"Beg pardon," mocked Mr. Sparling.  "I had forgotten that you are

still a Reuben.  A rag is a tent, in show parlance."



"Oh!"



"Any orders after we get settled?" asked Phil.



"Nothing for you to do till parade time tomorrow.  You will look

to the same executives that you did last year.  There has been no

change in them."



The lads hurried from the private car, and after searching about

the railroad yard for fully half an hour they came upon car

number eleven.  This was a bright, orange-colored car with the

name of the Sparling Shows painted in gilt letters near the roof,

just under the eaves.  The smell of fresh paint was everywhere,

but the wagons being covered with canvas made it impossible for

them to see how the new wagons looked.  There were many of these

loaded on flat cars, with which the railroad yard seemed to

be filled.



"Looks bigger than Barnum & Bailey's," nodded Teddy,

feeling a growing pride that he was connected with so great

an organization.



"Not quite, I guess," replied Phil, mounting the platform of

number eleven.



The boys introduced themselves to the porter, who showed them

to their berths.  These were much like those in the ordinary

sleeper, except that the upper berths had narrow windows looking

out from them.  Across each berth was stretched a strong piece

of twine.



Phil asked the porter what the string was for.



"To hang your trousers on, sah," was the enlightening answer.

"There's hooks for the rest of your clothes just outside

the berths."



"This looks pretty good to me," said Phil, peering out through

the screened window of his berth.



"Reminds me of when I used to go to sleep in the woodbox behind

the stove where I lived last year in Edmeston," grumbled Teddy

in a muffled voice, as he rummaged about his berth trying to

accustom himself to it.  Teddy never had ridden in a sleeping

car, so it was all new and strange to him.



"Say, who sleeps upstairs?" he called to the porter.



"The performers, sah--some of them.  This heah is the performers'

car, sah."



"How do they get up there?  On a rope ladder?"



Phil shouted.



"You ninny, this isn't a circus performance.  No; of course they

don't climb up on a rope ladder as if they were starting a

trapeze act."



"How, then?"



"The porter brings out a little step ladder, and it's just like

walking upstairs, only it isn't."



"Huh!" grunted Teddy.  "Do they have a net under them all night?"



"A net?  What for?"



"Case they fall out of bed."



"Put him out!" shouted several performers who were engaged in

settling themselves in their own quarters.  "He's too new for

this outfit."



Phil drew his companion aside and read him a lecture on not

asking so many questions, advising Teddy to keep his ears and

eyes open instead.



Teddy grumbled and returned to the work of unpacking his bag.



Inquiry for their trunks developed the fact that they would have

to look for these in the baggage car; that no trunks were allowed

in the sleepers.



Everything about the car was new and fresh, the linen white and

clean, while the wash room, with its mahogany trimmings, plate

glass mirrors and upholstered seats, was quite the most elaborate

thing that Teddy had ever seen.



He called to Phil to come and look at it.



"Yes, it is very handsome.  I am sure we shall get to be very

fond of our home on wheels before the season is ended.  I'm going

out now to see if our trunks have arrived."



Phil, after some hunting about, succeeded in finding the baggage

man of the train, from whom he learned that the trunks had

arrived and were packed away in the baggage car.



By this time night had fallen.  With it came even greater

confusion, while torches flared up here and there to light the

scene of bustle and excitement.



It was all very confusing to Phil, and he was in constant fear of

being run down by switching engines that were shunting cars back

and forth as fast as they were loaded, rapidly making up the

circus train.  The Circus Boy wondered if he ever could get used

to being with a railroad show.



"I must be getting back or I shall not be able to find number

eleven," decided Phil finally.  "I really haven't the least idea

where it is now."



The huge canvas-covered wagons stood up in the air like a

procession of wraiths of the night, muttered growls and guttural

coughs issuing from their interiors.  All this was disturbing to

one not used to it.



Phil started on a run across the tracks in search of his car.



In the meantime Teddy Tucker, finding himself alone, had

sauntered forth to watch the loading, and when he ventured abroad

trouble usually followed.



The lad soon became so interested in the progress of the work

that he was excitedly shouting out orders to the men, offering

suggestions and criticisms of the way they were doing that work.



Now, most of the men in the labor gang were new--that is, they

had not been with the Sparling show the previous season, and

hence did not know Teddy by sight.  After a time they tired of

his running fire of comment.  They had several times roughly

warned him to go on about his business.  But Teddy did not heed

their advice, and likewise forgot all about that which Phil had

given him earlier in the evening.



He kept right on telling the men how to load the circus, for,

if there was one thing in the world that Teddy Tucker loved more

than another it was to "boss" somebody.



All at once the lad felt himself suddenly seized from behind and

lifted off his feet.  At the same time a rough hand was clapped

over his mouth.



The Circus Boy tried to utter a yell, but he found it impossible

for him to do so.  Teddy kicked and fought so vigorously that it

was all his captor could do to hold him.



"Come and help me.  We'll fix the fresh kid this time," called

the fellow in whose grip the lad was struggling.



"What's the matter, Larry?  Is he too much for you?" laughed the

other man.



"He's the biggest little man I ever got my fists on.  Gimme a

hand here."



"What are you going to do with him?"



"I'll show you in a minute."



"Maybe he's with the show.  He's slippery enough to be

a performer."



"No such thing.  And I don't care if he is.  I'll teach him not

to interfere with the men.  Grab hold and help me carry him."



Together they lifted the kicking, squirming, fighting boy,

carrying him on down the tracks, not putting him down until they

had reached the standpipe of a nearby water tank, where the

locomotives took on their supply of fresh water.



"Jerk that spout around!" commanded Larry, sitting down on Tucker

with a force that made the lad gasp.



"Can't reach the chain."



"Then get a pike pole, and be quick about it.  The foreman will

be looking for us first thing we know.  If he finds us here he'll

fire us before we get started."



"See here, Larry, what are you going to do?" demanded the

other suspiciously.



"My eyes, but you're inquisitive!  Going to wash the kid down.

Next time mebby he won't be so fresh."



And "wash" they did.



Suddenly the full stream from the standpipe spurted down.

Larry promptly let go of his captive.  Teddy was right in the

path of the downpour, and the next instant he was struggling in

the flood.



The showman dropped him and started to run.



Teddy let out a choking howl, grasping frantically for his

tormentor.

A moment later the lad's hands closed over Larry's ankles, and

before

the man was able to free himself from the boy's grip Teddy had

pulled

him down and dragged him under the stream that was pouring down

in a

perfect deluge.  The Circus Boy, being strong and muscular, was

able

to accomplish this with slight exertion.



Larry's companion was making no effort to assist his fallen

comrade.

Instead, the fellow was howling with delight.



No sooner, however, had Teddy raised the man and slammed him down

on his back under the spout, than the lad let go of his victim

and darted off into the shadows.  Teddy realized that it was high

time he was leaving.



The man, fuming with rage, uttering loud-voiced threats of

vengeance, scrambled out of the flood and began rushing up and

down the tracks in search of Teddy.



But the boy was nowhere to be found.  He had hastily climbed over

a fence, where he crouched, dripping wet, watching the antics of

the enraged Larry.



"Guess he won't bother another boy right away," grinned Teddy,

not heeding his own wet and bedraggled condition.



The two showmen finally gave up their quest, and all at once

started on a run in the opposite direction.



"Now, I wonder what's made them run away like that?  Surely they

aren't scared of me.  I wonder?  Guess I'll go over and

find out."



Leaving his hiding place, the lad retraced his steps across the

tracks until finally, coming up with a man, who proved to be the

superintendent of the yard, Teddy asked him where sleeping car

number eleven was located.



"Eleven?  The sleepers have all gone, young man."



"G-g-gone?"



"Yes."



"But I thought--"



"Went out regular on the 9:30 express."



Teddy groaned.  Here he was, left behind before the show

had all gotten away from its winter quarters.  But he noted

that the train bearing the cages and other equipment was still

in the yard.  There was yet a chance for him.



"Wha--what time does that train go?" he asked pointing to the

last section.



"Going now.  Why, what's the matter with you youngster?

The train is moving now."



"Going?  The matter is that I've got to go with them," cried the

lad, suddenly darting toward the moving train.



"Come back here!  Come back!  Do you want to be killed?"



"I've got to get on that train!" Teddy shouted back at

the superintendent.



The great stock cars were rumbling by as the boy drew near the

track, going faster every moment.  By the light of a switch lamp

Teddy could make out a ladder running up to the roof of one of

the box cars.



He could hear the yard superintendent running toward

him shouting.



"He'll have me, if I don't do something.  Then I will be wholly

left," decided Teddy.  "I'm going to try it."



As the big stock car slipped past him the lad sprang up into the

air, his eyes fixed on the ladder.  His circus training came in

handy here, for Teddy hit the mark unerringly, though it had been

considerably above his head.  The next second his fingers closed

over a rung of the ladder, and there he hung, dangling in the

air, with the train now rushing over switches, rapidly gaining

momentum as it stretched out headed for the open country.







CHAPTER III



PHIL TO RESCUE



Phil Forrest was in a panic of uneasiness.



No sooner had his own section started than he made the discovery

that Teddy Tucker was not on board.  Then the lad went through

the train in the hope that his companion had gotten on the

wrong car.  There was no trace of Teddy.



In the meantime Teddy had slowly clambered to the roof of the

stock car, where he stretched himself out, clinging to the

running board, with the big car swaying beneath him.  The wind

seemed, up there, to be blowing a perfect gale, and it was all

the boy could do to hold on.  After a while he saw a light

approaching him.  The light was in the hands of a brakeman who

was working his way over the train toward the caboose.



He soon came up to where Teddy was lying.  There he stopped.



"Well, youngster, what are you doing here?" he demanded, flashing

his light into the face of the uncomfortable Teddy.



"Trying to ride."



"I suppose you know you are breaking the law and that I'll have

to turn you over to a policeman or a constable the next town we

stop at?"



"Nothing of the sort!  What do you take me for?  Think I'm some

kind of tramp?" objected the lad.  "Go on and let me alone."



The brakeman looked closer.  He observed that the boy was soaking

wet, but that, despite this, he was well dressed.



"What are you, if not a tramp?"



"I'm with the show."



The brakeman laughed long and loud, but Teddy was more interested

in the man's easy poise on the swaying car than in what he said.



"Wish I could do that," muttered the lad admiringly.



"What's that?"



"Nothing, only I was thinking out loud."



"Well, you'll get off at the next stop unless you can prove that

you belong here."



"I won't," protested Teddy stubbornly.



"We'll see about that.  Come down here on the flat car behind

this one, and we'll find out.  I see some of the show people

there.

Besides, you're liable to fall off here and get killed.  Come

along."



"I can't."



"Why not?"



"I'll fall off if I try to get up."



"And you a showman?" laughed the brakeman satirically, at the

same time grabbing Teddy by the coat collar and jerking him to

his feet.



The trainman did not appear to mind the giddy swaying of the

stock car.  He permitted Teddy to walk on the running board while

he himself stepped carelessly along on the sloping roof of the

car, though not relaxing his grip on the collar of Teddy Tucker.



Bidding the boy to hang to the brake wheel, the brakeman began

climbing down the end ladder, so as to catch Teddy in case he

were to fall.  After him came the Circus Boy, cautiously picking

his way down the ladder.



"Any of you fellows know this kid?" demanded the trainman,

flashing his lantern into Teddy's face.  "He says he's with

the show."



"Put him off!" howled one of the roustabouts who had been

sleeping on the flat car under a cage.  "Never saw him before."



"You sit down there, young man.  Next stop, off you go,"

announced the brakeman sternly.



"I'll bet you I don't," retorted Teddy Tucker aggressively.



"We'll see about that."



"Quit your music; we want to go to sleep," growled a showman

surlily.



The brakeman put down his lantern and seated himself on the side

of the flat car.  He did not propose to leave the boy until he

had seen him safely off the train.



"How'd you get wet?" questioned Tucker's captor.



"Some fellows ducked me."



The trainman roared, which once more aroused the ire of the

roustabouts who were trying to sleep.



They had gone on for an hour, when finally the train slowed down.



"Here's where you hit the ties," advised the brakeman,

peering ahead.



"Where are we?"



"McQueen's siding.  We stop here to let an express by.  And I

want to tell you that it won't be healthy for you if I catch you

on this train again.  Now, get off!"



Teddy making no move to obey, the railroad man gently but firmly

assisted him over the side of the car, dropping him down the

embankment by the side of the track.



"I'll make you pay for this if I ever catch you again,"

threatened Teddy from the bottom of the bank, as he scrambled to

his feet.



Observing that the trainman was holding his light over the side

of the car and peering down at him, Teddy ran along on all fours

until he was out of sight of the brakeman, then he straightened

up and ran toward the rear of the train as fast as his feet would

carry him, while the railroad man began climbing over the cars

again, headed for the caboose at the rear.



Teddy had gained the rear of the train by this time, but he did

not show himself just yet.  He waited until the flagman had come

in, and until the fellow who had put him off had disappeared in

the caboose.



At that, Teddy sprang up, and, swinging to the platform of the

caboose, quickly climbed the iron ladder that led to the roof of

the little boxlike car.  He had no sooner flattened himself on

the roof than the train began to move again.



Only one more stop was made during the night and that for water.

Just before daylight they rumbled into the yards at Atlantic

City, and Teddy scrambled from his unsteady perch, quickly

clambering down so as to be out of the way before the trainmen

should discover his presence.



But quickly as he had acted, he had not been quick enough.

The trainman who had put him off down the line collared the lad

the minute his feet touched the platform of the caboose.



"You here again?" he demanded sternly.



Teddy grinned sheepishly.



"I told you you couldn't put me off."



"We'll see about that.  Here, officer."  He beckoned to a

policeman.

"This kid has been stealing a ride.  I put him off once.  I turn

him

over to you now."



"All right.  Young man, you come with me!"



Teddy protested indignantly, but the officer, with a firm grip on

his arm, dragged the lad along with him.  They proceeded on up

the tracks toward the station, the lad insisting that he was with

the show and that he had a right to ride wherever he pleased.



"Teddy!" shouted a voice, just as they stepped on the long

platform that led down to the street.



"Phil!" howled the lad.  "Come and save me!  A policeman's got me

and he's taking me to jail."



Phil Forrest ran to them.



"Here, here!  What's this boy done?" he demanded.







CHAPTER IV



RENEWING OLD ACQUAINTANCES



"Well, Teddy, I must say you have made a good start," grinned

Phil, after necessary explanations had been made and the young

Circus Boy had been released by the policeman who had him

in tow."  A few minutes more and you would have been in a

police station.  I can imagine how pleased Mr. Sparling would

have been to hear that."



Teddy hung his head.



"Your clothes are a sight, too.  How did--what happened?

Did you fall in a creek, or something of that sort?"



The lad explained briefly how he had been captured by the two men

and ducked under the standpipe of the water tank.



"But I soaked him, too," Tucker added triumphantly."  And I'm

going to soak him again.  The first man I come across whose name

is Larry is going to get it from me," threatened the lad, shaking

his fist angrily.



"You come over to the sleeper with me and get into some decent

looking clothes.  I'm ashamed of you, Teddy Tucker."



"So am I," grinned the boy as they turned to go, Phil leading

the way to the car number eleven, from which the performers

were beginning to straggle, rubbing their eyes and

stretching themselves.



The change of clothing having been made, the lads started for the

lot, hoping that they might find the old coffee stand and have a

cup before breakfast.  To their surprise, upon arriving at the

lot, they found the cook tent up and the breakfast cooking.



"Why, how did you ever get this tent here and up so quickly?"

asked Phil after they had greeted their old friend of the

cook tent.



"Came in on the flying squadron.  This is a railroad show now,

you know," answered the head steward, after greeting the boys.



"Flying squadron?  What's that?" demanded Teddy, interested

at once.



"The flying squadron is the train that goes out first.

It carries the cook tent and other things that will be

needed first.  We didn't have that last year.  You'll find a lot

of new things, and some that you won't like as well as you did

when we had the old road show.  What's your act this year?"



"Same as last."



"Elephant?"



"Yes, and the rings.  My friend Teddy I expect will ride the

educated mule again."



While they were talking the steward was preparing a pot of

steaming coffee for them, which he soon handed over to the lads

with a plate of wafers, of which they disposed in short order.



It was broad daylight by this time, and the boys decided to go

out and watch the erection of the tents.  It was all new and full

of interest to them.  As they caught the odor of trampled grass

and the smell of the canvas their old enthusiasm came back to

them with added force.



"It's great to be a circus man, isn't it, Phil?" breathed Teddy.



"It is unless one is getting into trouble all the time, the way

you do.  I expect that, some of these days, you'll get something

you don't want."



"What?"



"Oh, I don't know.  But I am sure it will be something

quite serious."



"You better look out for yourself," growled Teddy.  "I'll take

care of myself."



"Yes; the way you did last night," retorted Phil, with a

hearty laugh.  "Come on, now; let's not quarrel.  I want to find

some of our old friends.  Isn't that Mr. Miaco over there by the

dressing tent?"



"Sure."



Both lads ran toward their old friend, the head clown, with

outstretched hands, and Mr. Miaco, seeing them coming, hastened

forward to greet them.



"Well, well, boys!  How are you?"



"Oh, we're fine," glowed Phil.  "And we are glad to be back

again, let me tell you."



"No more so than your old friends are to have you back.

Same old act?"



"Yes."



"What have you boys been doing this winter?"



"Studying and exercising."



"Yes; I knew, from your condition, that you have been keeping up

your work.  Got anything new?"



"Not much.  Trapeze."



"Good!  I'll bet you will be in some of the flying-bar acts

before the season is over.  We have a lot of swell performers

this season."



"So I have heard.  Who are some of them?"



"Well, there's the Flying Four."



"Who are they?" questioned Teddy.



"Trapeze performers.  They're great--the best in the business.

And then there's The Limit."



"Talk United States," demanded Teddy.  "The Limit?  Whoever heard

of that?"



"In other words, the Dip of Death."



Teddy shook his head helplessly.



"That is the somersaulting automobile.  A pretty young woman

rides in it, and some fine day she won't.  I never did like those

freak acts.  But the public does," sighed the old circus man.

"The really difficult feats, that require years of practice,

patrons don't seem to give a rap for.  But let somebody do a

stunt in which he is in danger of suddenly ending his life, then

you'll see the people howl with delight.  I sometimes think they

would be half tickled to death to see some of us break our necks.

There's a friend of yours, Phil."



"Who?"



"Emperor, the old elephant that you rode last year.  They are

taking him to the menagerie tent."



"Whistle to him, Phil," suggested Teddy.



Phil uttered a low, peculiar whistle.



The big elephant's ears flapped.  The procession that he was

leading came to a sudden stop and Emperor trumpeted shrilly.



"He hasn't forgotten me," breathed Phil happily.  "Dear old

Emperor!"



"Pipe him up again," urged Teddy.



"No; I wouldn't dare.  He would be likely to break away from

Mr. Kennedy and might trample some of the people about here.

See, Mr. Kennedy is having his troubles as it is."



"Done any tumbling since you closed last fall?" questioned

Mr. Miaco.



"We have practiced a little.  I want to learn, if you will

teach me--"



"Why, you can tumble already, Phil."



"Yes; but I want to do something better--the springboard."



"They've got a leaping act this year."



"How?"



"Performers and clowns leap over a herd of elephants.

You've seen the act, haven't you?"



"Oh, yes; I know what it is.  I wish I were able to do it."



"You will be.  It is not difficult, only one has to have a

natural bent for it.  Now, your friend Teddy ought to make a

fine leaper."



"I am," interposed Teddy pompously.  "I always was."



"Yes; you're the whole show from your way of thinking," laughed

Mr. Miaco.  "I must go see if my trunk is placed.  See you

later, boys."



After leaving the clown, the lads strolled about the lot.  They

soon

discovered that the Sparling Shows was a big organization.  The

tents

had been very much enlarged and the canvas looked new and white.



In the menagerie tent the boys found many new cages, gorgeous in

red and gold, with a great variety of animals that had not been

in the show the previous summer.



Emperor's delight at seeing his little friend again was expressed

in loud trumpetings, and his sinuous trunk quickly found its way

into Phil Forrest's pocket in search of sweets.  And Emperor was

not disappointed.  In one coat pocket he found a liberal supply

of candy, while the other held a bag of peanuts, to all of which

the big elephant helped himself freely until no more was left.



"Have you got my trappings ready, Mr. Kennedy?" asked Phil

of the keeper.



"You'll find the stuff in fine shape.  The old man has had a new

bonnet made for Emperor and a new blanket.  He'll be right smart

when he enters the ring today.  Been over to the cook tent yet?"



"Yes; but not for breakfast.  We are going soon now.  We want to

see them raise the big top first."



When the boys had passed out into the open they observed the

big circus tent rising slowly from the ground where it had been

laid out, the various pieces laced together by nimble fingers.

Mr. Sparling was on the lot watching everything at the same time.

This was the first time the tent had been pitched, and, as has

been said before, most of the men were green at their work.

Yet, under the boisterous prodding of the boss canvasman,

the white city was going up rapidly and with some semblance

of system.



As soon as the dome of the big top left the ground the boys

crawled under and went inside.  Here all was excitement

and confusion.  Men were shouting their commands, above which

the voice of the boss canvasman rose distinctly.



The dome of the tent by this time was halfway up the long, green

center pole, while men were hurrying in with quarter poles on

their shoulders, and which they quickly stood on end and guided

into place in the bellying canvas.



The eyes of the Circus Boys sparkled with enthusiasm.



"I wish we were up there on the rings," breathed Teddy.



"We shall be soon, old fellow," answered Phil, patting him on

the shoulder.  "And for many days after this, I hope.  Hello, I

wonder what's wrong up there?"



Phil's quick glance had caught something up near the half-raised

dome that impressed him as not being right.



"Look out aloft!" he sang out warningly.



"The key rope's going.  Grab the other line!" bellowed the

boss canvasman.



"You fools!" roared Mr. Sparling from the opposite side

of the tent, as he quickly noted what was happening.  "Run for

your lives!  You'll have the whole outfit down on your heads!"



The men fled, letting go of ropes and poles, diving for places of

safety, many of them knowing what it meant to have that big tent

collapse and descend upon them.



The man who had held the key rope was the one who had been

at fault.  Some of the new men had called to him to give them

a hand on another line, and he, a new man himself, all forgetful

of the important task that had been assigned to him, dropped the

key rope, as it is called, turning to assist his associate.



Instantly the dome of the big top began to settle with a grating

noise as the huge iron ring in the peak began slipping down the

center pole.



The key rope coiled on the ground was running out and squirming

up into the air.  Only a single coil of it remained when Phil

suddenly darted forward.  With a bound, he threw himself upon the

rope, giving it a quick twist about his arm.



The instant Phil had fastened his grip upon the rope he shot up

into the air so quickly that the onlookers failed to catch the

meaning of his sudden flight.



One pair of eyes, however, saw and understood.  They belonged to

Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show.



"The boy will he killed!" he groaned.  "Let go!"







CHAPTER V



DOING A MAN'S WORK



For one brief instant Phil Forrest's head was giddy and his

breath fairly left his body from the speed with which he was

propelled upward on the key rope.



But the lad had not for a second lost his presence of mind.

Below him was some eight feet of the rope dangling in the air.



With a sudden movement that could only have been executed by one

with unusual strength and agility, Phil let the rope slip through

his hands just enough to slacken his speed.  Instantly he threw

himself around the center pole, twisting the rope around and

around it, each twist slackening his upward flight a little.

He knew that, were his head to strike the iron ring in the dome

at the speed he was traveling, he would undoubtedly be killed.

It was as much to prevent this as to save the tent that Phil took

the action he did, though his one real thought was to save his

employer's property.



Now the rapid upward shoot had dwindled to a slow, gradual

slipping of the rope as it moved up the center pole inch by inch.

But Phil's peril was even greater than before.  The moment that

heavy iron ring began pressing down on his head and shoulders

with the weight of the canvas behind it, there would be nothing

for him to do but to let go.



A forty-foot fall to the hard ground below seemed inevitable.

Yet he did not lose his presence of mind for an instant.



"Give him a hand!" yelled the boss canvasman.



"How?  How?" shouted the canvasmen.  "We can't reach him."



"Get a net under that boy, you blockheads!" thundered Mr.

Sparling,

rushing over from his station.  "Don't you see he's bound to

fall,

and if he does he'll break his neck?"



The boss canvasman ordered three of his men to get the trapeze

performers' big net that lay in a heap near the ring nearest the

dressing tent, for there were two rings now in the Great Sparling

Combined Shows.



They dragged it over as quickly as possible; then willing hands

grabbed it and stretched the heavy net out.  At Mr. Sparling's

direction the four corners of the net were manned and the

safety device raised from the ground, ready to catch the lad

should he fall.



"Now let go and drop!" roared Mr. Sparling.



They heard Phil laugh from his lofty perch.



"Jump, I say!"



"What, and let the tent down on you all?"



By this time the lad had curled his feet up over his head, and

they saw that he was bracing his feet against the iron ring,

literally holding the tent up with his own powerful muscles.

Of course, as a matter of fact, Phil was holding a very small

part of the weight of the tent, but as it was, the strain

was terrific.



Hanging head down, his face flushed until it seemed as if the

blood must burst through the skin, he hung there as calmly as if

he were not in imminent peril of his life.  Then, too, there was

the danger to those below him.  If the tent should collapse some

of them would be killed, for there were now few quarter poles in

place to break the fall of the heavy canvas.



"I say, down there!" he cried, finally managing to make himself

heard above the uproar.



"Are you going to drop?" shouted Mr. Sparling.



"No; do you want me to let the tent drop on you?  If you'll all

get out there'll be fewer hurt in case I have to let go."



"That boy!" groaned the showman.



"Toss me a line and be quick about it," called Phil shrilly.



"What can you do with a line?" demanded the showman, now more

excited than he had ever been in his life.



"Toss it!"



"Give him a line!"



"A strong one," warned Phil, his voice not nearly as far reaching

as it had been.



"A line!" bellowed Mr. Sparling.  "He knows what he wants it for,

and he's got more sense than the whole bunch of us."



A coil of rope shot up.  But it missed Phil by about six feet.



Another one was forthcoming almost instantly.  This time,

however, Mr. Sparling snatched it from the hands of the showman

who had made the wild cast.



"Idiot!" he roared, pushing the man aside.



Once more the coil sailed up, unrolling as it went.  This time

Phil grasped it with his free hand, which he had liberated for

the purpose.



"Now, be careful," warned Mr. Sparling.  "I don't know what you

think you're going to do; but whatever you start you're sure

to finish."



To this Phil made no reply.  He was getting too weak to talk, and

his tired body trembled.



In the end of the key rope a big loop had been formed, this

after the tent was up, was slipped over a cleat to prevent a

possibility of the rope slipping its fastenings and letting the

tent down.



Phil had discovered the loop when it finally slipped up so his

one hand was pressed against the knot.



Every second the weight on his feet--on his whole body, in fact,

was getting heavier.



"If I can hold on a minute longer, I'll make it!" he muttered,

his breath coming in short, quick gasps.



What he was seeking to do was to get the rope they had tossed to

him, through the big loop.  In his effort to do so, the coil

slipped from his hands, knocking a canvasman down as it fell,

but the lad had held to the other end with a desperate grip.



Now he began working it through the loop inch by inch.  It was

a slow process, but he was succeeding even better than he

had hoped.



Mr. Sparling now saw what Phil's purpose was.  About the same

time the others down there made the same discovery.



They set up a cheer of approval.



"Wait!" commanded the owner of the show.  "The lad isn't out of

the woods yet.  You men on the net look lively there.  If you

don't catch him should he fall, you take my word for it, it'll go

mighty hard with you."



"We'll catch him."



"You'd better, if you know what's good for you.  Goodness, but

he's got the strength and the grit!  I never saw anything like it

in all my circus experience."



They could not help him.  There was no way by which any of them

could reach Phil, and all they could do was to stand by and do

the best they could at breaking his fall should he be forced to

let go, as it seemed that he must do soon.



Nearer and nearer crept the line toward the ground, but it was

yet far above their heads.  It was moving faster, however, as

Phil got more weight of rope through the loop, thus requiring

less effort on his part to send it along on its journey.



"Side pole!  Side pole!" shouted the boy, barely making himself

heard above the shouts below.



At first they did not catch the meaning of his words.

Mr. Sparling, of course, was the first to do so.



"That's it!  Oh, you idiots!  You wooden Indians!  You thick

heads!

Get a side pole, don't you understand?" and the owner made a dive

at the nearest man to him, whereat the fellow quickly

side-stepped

and started off on a run for the pole for which Phil had asked.

But, even then, some of the hands did not understand what he

could want of a side pole.



The instant it was brought Mr. Sparling snatched it from the

hands of the tentman.  Raising the pole, assisted by the boss

canvasman, he was able to reach the loop.  The iron spike in the

end of the pole was thrust through the loop, and by exerting

considerable pressure they were able to force the loop slowly

toward the ground.



"You'll have to hurry!  I can't hang on much longer," cried

Phil weakly.



"We'll hurry, my lad.  It won't be half a minute now," encouraged

Mr. Sparling.  "Stand by here you blockheads, ready to fall on

that rope the minute it gets within reach.  Three of you grab

hold of the coil end and pay it out gradually.  Be careful.

Watch your business."



Three men sprang to do his bidding.



"Here comes the loop!"



Ready hands grasped the dangling rope.



The two strands were quickly carried together and the weight of a

dozen men thrown on them, instantly relieving the strain on Phil

Forrest's body.



Phil had saved the big top, and perhaps a few lives at the

same time.  Now a sudden dizziness seemed to have overtaken him.

Everything appeared to be whirling about him, the big top

spinning like a giant top before his eyes.



"Slide down the rope!" commanded Mr. Sparling.



The lad slowly unwound the rope from his arm and feebly motioned

to them that they were to walk around the pole with their end so

they might hoist the iron ring to the splice of the center pole.



"Never mind anything but yourself!" ordered Mr. Sparling.

"We'll attend to this mix-up ourselves."



Very cautiously and deliberately, more from force of habit

than otherwise, the lad had let his feet down, and with them

was groping for the rope.



"Swing the line between his legs!" roared the owner.  "Going to

let him stay up there all day?"



"That's what we're trying to do," answered a tentman.



"Yes, I see you trying.  That's the trouble with you fellows.

You always think you're trying, and if you are, you never

accomplish anything.  Got, it, Phil?"



"Y--ye--yes."



Twisting his legs about the rope the boy next took a weak grip on

it with both hands, then started slowly to descend.  This he knew

how to do, so the feat was attended with no difficulty other than

the strength required, and of which he had none to spare just at

the present moment.



"Look out!" he called.  He thought he had shouted it in a

loud tone.  As a matter of fact no sound issued from his lips.



But Mr. Sparling whose eyes had been fixed upon the boy,

saw and understood.



"He's falling.  Catch him!"



Phil shot downward head first.  Yet with the instinct of the

showman he curled his head up ever so little as he half

consciously felt himself going.







CHAPTER VI



THE SHOWMAN'S REWARD



Phil struck the net with a violent slap that was heard outside

the big top, though those without did not understand the meaning

of it, nor did they give it heed.



Mr. Sparling was the first to reach him.  The lad had landed on

his shoulders and then struck flat on his back, the proper way

to fall into a net.  Perhaps it was instinct that told him what

to do.



The lad was unconscious when the showman lifted him tenderly from

the net and laid him out on the ground.



"Up with that peak!" commanded Mr. Sparling.  "Get some water

here,

and don't crowd around him!  Give the boy air!  Tucker, you hike

for the surgeon."



A shove started Teddy for the surgeon.  In the meantime

Mr. Sparling was working over Phil, seeking to bring him back

to consciousness, which he finally succeeded in doing before

the surgeon arrived.



"Did I fall?" asked Phil, suddenly opening his eyes.



"A high dive," nodded Mr. Sparling.



Phil cast his eyes up to the dome where he saw the canvas

drawing taut.  He knew that he had succeeded and he

smiled contentedly.



By the time the surgeon arrived the boy was on his feet.



"How do you feel?"



"I'm a little sore, Mr. Sparling.  But I guess I'll be fit in a

few minutes."



"Able to walk over to my tent?  If not, I'll have some of the

fellows carry you."



"Oh, no; I can walk if I can get my legs started moving.

They don't seem to be working the way they should this morning,"

laughed the lad.  "My, that tent weighs something doesn't it?"



"It does," agreed the showman.



Just then the surgeon arrived.  After a brief examination he

announced that Phil was not injured, unless, perhaps, he might

have injured himself internally by subjecting himself to the

great strain of holding up the tent.



"I think some breakfast will put me right again," decided

the lad.



"Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" demanded Mr. Sparling.



"No; I guess I've been too busy."



"Come with me, then.  I haven't had mine either," said

the showman.



Linking his arm within that of the Circus Boy, Mr. Sparling

walked from the tent, not speaking again until they had reached

the manager's private tent.  This was a larger and much more

commodious affair than it had been last year.



He placed Phil in a folding easy chair, and sat down to his desk

where he began writing.



After finishing, Mr. Sparling looked up.



"Phil," he said in a more kindly tone than the lad had ever

before heard him use, "I was under a deep obligation to you

last season.  I'm under a greater one now."



"I wish you wouldn't speak of it, sir.  What I have done is

purely in the line of duty.  It's a fellow's business to be

looking out for his employer's interests.  That's what I have

always tried to do."



"Not only tried, but have," corrected Mr. Sparling.  "That's an

old-fashioned idea of yours.  It's a pity young men don't feel

more that way, these days.  But that wasn't what I wanted to say.

As a little expression of how much I appreciate your interest,

as well as the actual money loss you have saved me, I want to

make you a little present."



"Oh, no no," protested Phil.



"Here is a check which I have made out for a hundred dollars.

That will give you a little start on the season.  But it isn't

all that I am going to do for you--"



"Please, Mr. Sparling.  Believe me I do appreciate your kindness,

but I mustn't take the check.  I couldn't take the check."



"Why not?"



"Because I haven't earned it."



"Haven't earned it?  He hasn't earned it!"



"No, sir."



The showman threw his hands above his head in a hopeless sort of

a way.



"I should not feel that I was doing right.  I want to be

independent, Mr. Sparling.  I have plenty of money.  I have

not spent more than half of what I earned last summer.

This season I hope to lay by a whole lot, so that I shall be

quite independent."



"And so you shall, so you shall, my boy," Sparling exclaimed,

rising and smiting Phil good naturedly with the flat of his hand.



Instead of tearing up the check, however, Mr. Sparling put it in

an envelope which he directed and stamped, then thrust in his

coat pocket.



"I--I hope you understand--hope you do not feel offended,"

said Phil hesitatingly.  "I should not like to have you

misunderstand me."



"Not a bit of it, my lad.  I can't say that I have any higher

opinion of you because of your decision, but--"



Phil glanced up quickly.



"I already have as high an opinion of you as it is possible for

me to have for any human being, and--"



"Thank you.  You'll make me have a swelled head if you keep on

that way," laughed Phil.



"No danger.  You would have had one long ago, if that was

your makeup.  Have you seen Mrs. Sparling yet?"



"No, and I should like to.  May I call on her in your car?"



"Not only may, but she has commissioned me to ask you to.

I think we had better be moving over to the cook tent, now,

if we wish any breakfast.  I expect the hungry roustabouts

have about cleaned the place out by this time."



They soon arrived at the cook tent.  Here Phil left Mr. Sparling

while he passed about among the tables, greeting such of his old

acquaintances as he had not yet seen that morning.  He was

introduced to many of the new ones, all of whom had heard pretty

much everything about Phil's past achievements before he reached

their tables.  The people of a circus are much like a big family,

and everyone knows, or thinks he knows, the whole family history

of his associates.



Even Phil's plucky work in the big top, less than an hour before,

had already traveled to the cook tent, and many curious glances

were directed to the slim, modest, boy as he passed among his

friends quietly, giving them his greetings.



Teddy, on the other hand, was not saying a word.  He was

busy eating.



"How's your appetite this morning, Teddy?" questioned Phil,

sinking down on the bench beside his companion.



"Pretty fair," answered Teddy in a muffled voice.  "I began at

the top--"



"Top of what?"



"Top of the bill of fare.  I've cleaned up everything halfway

down the list, and I'm going through the whole bill, even if I

have to get up and shake myself down like the miller does a bag

of meal."



"Be careful, old chap.  Remember you and I have to begin our real

work today.  We shall want to be in the best of shape for our

ring act.  You won't, if you fill up as you are doing now,"

warned Phil.



"Not going to work today."



"What's that?"



"No flying rings today."



"I don't understand."



"No flying rings, I said.  Mr. Sparling isn't going to put on our

act today."



"How do you know?" asked Phil in some surprise.



"Heard him say so."



"When?"



"Just now."



"Why, I came in with him myself less than ten minutes ago--"



"I know.  He stopped right in front of my table here to speak to

the ringmaster.  Heard him say you were not to be allowed to go

on till tomorrow.  We don't have to go in the parade today if we

don't want to, either.  But you are to ride Emperor in the

Grand Entry, and I'm to do my stunt on the educated mule."



"Pshaw, I can work today as well as I ever could," said Phil in a

disappointed tone.  "And I'm going on, too, unless Mr. Sparling

gives me distinct orders to the contrary."



Phil got the orders before he had finished his breakfast.



"Believe me, Phil, I know best," said Mr. Sparling, noting the

lad's disappointment.  "You have had a pretty severe strain this

morning, and to go on now with the excitement of the first day

added to that, I fear might be too much for you.  It might lay

you up for some weeks, and we cannot afford to have that happen,

you know.  I need you altogether too much for that."



"Very well, sir; it shall be as you wish.  I suppose I may go on

in the Grand Entry as usual?"



"Oh, yes, if you wish."



"I do."



"Very well; then I'll let Mr. Kennedy know.  You had better lie

down and rest while the parade is out."



"Thank you; I hardly think that will be necessary.  I feel fit

enough for work right now."



"Such is youth and enthusiasm," mused the showman, passing on out

of the cook tent, once more to go over his arrangements, for

there were many details to be looked after on this the first day

of the show's season on the road.



Phil called on Mrs. Sparling after breakfast, receiving from the

showman's wife a most hospitable welcome.  She asked him all

about how he had spent the winter, and seemed particularly

interested in Mrs. Cahill, who was now the legal guardian of

both the boys.  Mrs. Sparling already had a letter in her pocket,

with the check for one hundred dollars which the showman had

drawn for Phil.  It was going to Mrs. Cahill to be deposited to

the lad's credit, but he would know nothing of this until the

close of the season.  After he had gone home he would find

himself a hundred dollars richer than he thought.



His call finished, Phil went out and rejoined Teddy.  Together

they

started back toward the dressing tent to set their trunks in

order

and get out such of their costumes as they would need that

afternoon and evening.  Then again, the dressing tent was really

the most attractive part of the show to all the performers.  It

was

here that they talked of their work and life, occasionally

practiced

new acts of a minor character, and indulged in pranks like a lot

of

schoolboys at recess time.



As they were passing down along the outside of the big top,

Phil noticed several laborers belonging to the show sitting

against the side wall sunning themselves.  He observed that one

of the men was eyeing Teddy and himself with rather more than

ordinary interest.



Phil did not give it a second thought, however, until suddenly

Teddy gave his arm a violent pinch.



"What is it?"



"See those fellows sitting there?"



"Yes.  What of it?"



"One of them is the fellow who ducked me under the water tank

back at Germantown."



"You don't say?  Which one?"



"Fellow with the red hair.  I heard them call him Larry as I

passed, or I might not have noticed him particularly.  His hair

is redder than Rod Palmer's.  I should think it would set him

on fire."



"It certainly would seem so."



"Mister Larry has got something coming to him good and proper,

and he's going to get it, you take my word for that."



Phil laughed good naturedly.



"Please, now, Teddy, forget it.  Don't go and get into any

more mix-ups.  You'll be sending yourself back home first thing

you know.  Then it will be a difficult matter to get into any

other show if you are sent away from this one in disgrace."



"Don't you worry about me.  I'll take care of myself.  I always

do, don't I?"



"I'm afraid I can't agree to that," laughed Phil.  "I should say

that quite the contrary is the case."



Teddy fell suddenly silent as they walked on in the bright

morning light, drinking in the balmy air in long-drawn breaths.

Entering the paddock they turned sharply to the left and pushed

their way through the canvas curtains into the dressing tent.



"Hurrah for the Circus Boys," shouted someone.  "Hello Samson,

are you the strong-armed man that held the tent up by your feet?"



"Strong-footed man, you mean," suggested another.  "A

strong-armed

man uses his arms not his feet."



"Come over here and show yourself," shouted another voice.



Phil walked over and stood smilingly before them.  Nothing seemed

to disturb his persistent good nature.



"Huh, not so much!  I guess they stretched that yarn," grunted

a new performer.



"I guess not," interposed Mr. Miaco.  "I happened to see that

stunt pulled off myself.  It was the biggest thing I ever saw

a man--let alone a boy--get away with."  Then Mr. Miaco went over

the scene with great detail, while Phil stole away to his own

corner, where he busied himself bending over his trunk to hide

his blushes.



But Teddy felt no such emotion.  Almost as soon as he entered the

dressing tent he began searching about for something.  This he

soon found.  It was a pail, but he appeared to be in a hurry.

Picking up the pail he ran with it to the water barrel, that

always stands in the dressing tent, filled the pail and skulked

out as if he did not desire to attract attention.



Once outside the dressing tent Teddy ran at full speed across the

paddock and out into the big top.  A few men were working here

putting up apparatus for the performers.  They gave no heed to

the boy with the pail of water.



Teddy ran his eye along the inside of the tent, nodded and went

on to the middle section where he turned, climbing the steps to

the upper row.



Arriving there he cautiously peered out over the top of the

side wall.  What he saw evidently was not to his liking, for once

more he picked up the pail of water and ran lightly along the top

seat toward the menagerie tent.



All at once he paused, put down his pail and peered out over the

side wall again.  Nodding with satisfaction he picked up the

pail, lifted it to the top of the side wall, once more looked out

measuring the distance well, then suddenly turned the pail bottom

side up.



In his course through the big top Teddy had gathered up several

handfuls of sawdust and dirt which he had stirred well into the

water as he ran, making a pasty mess of it.



It was this mixture that he had now poured out over the

side wall.  Teddy waited only an instant to observe the effect

of the deluge that he had turned on.  Then he fled down the

rattling board seats.



Outside a sudden roar broke the stillness.  No sooner had he

reached the bottom of the seats than several men raised up the

side wall and came tumbling in, yelling like Comanche Indians.

Teddy cast one frightened look at them, then ran like

all possessed.  What he had seen was a red-haired man in the

lead, dripping wet with hair and clothes plastered with mud

and sawdust.  Larry was after the lad in full cry.







CHAPTER VII



TRYING THE CULPRIT



"Stop him!" howled Larry, as he, followed by half a dozen

blue-shirted fellows, bolted into the arena in pursuit of the lad

who had emptied the pail of muddy water over him.



Teddy, still clinging to the pail, was sprinting down the

concourse as if his very life depended upon it.  A canvasman,

hearing Larry's call, and suspecting the boy was wanted for

something quite serious, rushed out, heading Teddy off.

It looked as if the lad were to be captured right here.



But Teddy Tucker was not yet at the end of his resources.  He ran

straight on as if he had not observed the canvasman.  Just as he

reached the man, and the latter's hands were stretched out to

intercept him, Teddy hurled the pail full in the fellow's face.

Then the lad darted to one side and fled toward the paddock.



The canvasman had joined the procession by this time.  Into the

dressing tent burst the boy, followed by Larry, the others having

brought up sharply just before reaching the dressing room,

knowing full well that they had no business there and that

their presence would be quickly and effectively resented.

Larry, consumed with rage, did not stop to think about this,

so he dashed on blindly to his fate.



At first the circus performers in the dressing tent could not

imagine what was going on.  Clotheslines came down, properties

were upset and in a moment the tent was in confusion.



"Stop that!" bellowed an irate performer.



Larry gave no heed to the command, and Teddy was in too big a

hurry to stop to explain.



Suddenly Phil Forrest, realizing that his little companion was in

danger, gave a leap.  He landed on Larry's back, pinioning the

fellow's arms to his sides.



"You stop that now!  You let him alone!" commanded Phil.



Before the canvasman could make an effort to free himself,

Mr. Miaco, the head clown, took a hand in the proceedings.

Throwing Phil from the tentman, Miaco jerked Larry about,

and demanded to know what he meant by intruding on the privacy

of the dressing tent in that manner.



"I want that kid," he growled.



"Put him out!" howled a voice.



"What do you want him for?"



"He--he dumped a pail of water over me.  I'll get even with him.

I'll--"



"How about this, Master Teddy?" questioned Mr. Miaco.



Teddy explained briefly how the fellow Larry and a companion

had ducked him under the water tank, and had ruined his clothes,

together with causing him to miss his train.



"This demands investigation," decided Mr. Miaco gravely.

"Fellows, it is evident that we had better try this man.

That is the best way to dispose of his case."



"Yes, yes; try him!" they shouted.



"Whom shall we have for judge?"



"Oscar, the midget!"



The Smallest Man on Earth was quickly boosted to the top of a

property box.



"Vot iss?" questioned the midget, his wizened, yellow little face

wrinkling into a questioning smile.



"We are going to try this fellow, Larry, and you are to be

the judge."



"Yah," agreed Oscar, after which he subsided, listening to the

proceedings that followed, with grave, expressionless eyes.

It is doubtful if Oscar understood what it was all about, but his

gravity and judicial manner sent the whole dressing tent into an

uproar of merriment.



After the evidence was all in, the entire company taking part in

testifying, amid much merriment--for the performers entered into

the spirit of the trial like a lot of schoolboys--Oscar was asked

to decide what should be done with the prisoner Larry.



Oscar was at a loss to know how to answer.



"Duck him," suggested one.



This was an inspiration to Oscar.  He smiled broadly.



"Yah, dat iss."



"What iss?" demanded the Tallest Man On Earth.  "Talk

United States."



"Yah," agreed Oscar, smiling seraphically.  "Duck um."



"Larry, it is the verdict of this court that you be ducked,

as the only fitting punishment for one who has committed the

crime of laying hands on a Circus Boy.  Are we all agreed on the

punishment meted out by the dignified judge?"



"Yes, yes!" they shouted.  "The rain barrel for him."



"Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Miaco.



"I wouldn't do that," interposed Phil.  "You haven't any more

right to duck him than he had to put Teddy under the water tank.

It isn't right."



But they gave no heed to his protests.  Willing hands

grabbed the red-headed tentman, whose kicks and struggles

availed him nothing.  Raising him over the barrel of water

they soused him in head first, ducking him again and again.



"Take him out.  You'll drown him," begged Phil.



Then they hauled Larry out, shaking the water out of him.

As soon as his coughing ceased, he threatened dire vengeance

against his assailants.



Four performers then carried their victim to the opening of the

dressing tent and threw him out bodily.



Instantly Larry's companions saw him fall at their feet, and

heard his angry explanation of the indignities that had been

heaped upon him.  There was a lively scrambling over the ground,

and the next instant a volley of stones was hurled into the

dressing tent.



Phil was just coming out on his way to the main entrance as the

row began.  A stone just grazed his cheek.  Without giving the

least heed to the assailants, he turned to cross the paddock in

order to slip out under the tent and go on about his business.

Most lads would have run under the circumstances.  Not so Phil.

His were steady nerves.



"There he is!  Grab him!" shouted Larry, catching sight of Phil

and charging that Phil had been one of those who had helped

duck him.



Such was not the case, however, for instead of having taken part

in the ducking, Phil Forrest had tried to prevent it.



Larry and another man were running toward him.  The lad halted,

turned and faced them.



"What do you want of me?" he demanded.



"I'll show you what I want of you.  You started this row."



"I did nothing of the sort, sir.  You go on about your business

and I shall do the same, whether you do or not."



Phil raised the canvas and stepped out.  But no sooner had he

gotten out into the lot than the two men burst through the

flapping side wall.



The boy saw them coming and knew that he was face to face

with trouble.



He adopted a ruse, knowing full well that he could not hope

to cope with the brawny canvasmen single handed and alone.

Starting off on a run, Phil was followed instantly, as he felt

sure he would be, but managing to keep just ahead of the men and

no more.



"I've got you!"



The voice was almost at his ear.



Phil halted with unexpected suddenness and dropped on all fours.



The canvasman was too close to check his own speed.  He fell over

Phil, landing on his head and shoulders in the dirt.



The lad was up like a flash.  Larry was close upon him now, and

with a snarl of rage launched a blow full at Phil Forrest's face.

But he had not reckoned on the lad's agility, nor did he know

that Phil was a trained athlete.  Therefore, Larry's surprise was

great when his fist beat the empty air.



Thrown off his balance, Larry measured his length on the ground.



"I advise you to let me alone," warned Phil coolly, as the

tentman was scrambling to his feet.  Already Larry's companion

had gotten up and was gazing at Phil in a half dazed sort of way.



"Get hold of him, Bad Eye!  What are you standing there like a

dummy for?  He'll run in a minute."



Phil's better judgment told him to do that very thing, but he

could not bring himself to run from danger.  Much as he disliked

a row, he was too plucky and courageous to run from danger.



Bad Eye was rushing at him, his eyes blazing with anger.



Phil side-stepped easily, avoiding his antagonist without the

least difficulty.  But now he had to reckon with Larry, who,

by this time, had gotten to his feet.



It was two to one.



"Stand back unless you want to get hurt!" cried Phil, with a

warning glint in his eyes.



Larry, by way of answer, struck viciously at him.  Phil, with a

glance about him, saw that he could not expect help, for there

was no one in sight, the performers being engaged at that moment

in driving off the angry laborers, which they were succeeding in

doing with no great effort on their part.



The lad cleverly dodged the blow.  But instead of backing away

as the canvasman's fist barely grazed his cheek, Phil, with a

short arm jolt, caught his adversary on the point of his chin.

Larry instantly lost all desire for fight.  He sat down on the

hard ground with a bump.



Now Bad Eye rushed in.  Again Phil sidestepped, and, thrusting a

foot between the fellow's legs, tripped him neatly.



Half a dozen men came running from the paddock.  They were the

fellows whom the performers had put to rout.  At that moment the

bugle blew for all hands to prepare for the parade.



"I guess I have done about enough for one day," decided Phil.

"And for a sick man it wasn't a half bad job."



With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the

big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped

under and disappeared within.







CHAPTER VIII



PHIL MAKES A NEW FRIEND



"Tweetle!  Tweetle!"



Two rippling blasts from the ringmaster's whistle notified the

show people that the performance was on.  In moved the procession

for the Grand Entry, as the silken curtains separating the

paddock from the big top slowly fell apart.



Phil, from his lofty perch on the head of old Emperor, peering

through the opening of the bonnet in which he was concealed,

could not repress an exclamation of admiration.  It was a

splendid spectacle--taken from a story of ancient Rome--

that was sweeping majestically about the arena to the music

of an inspiring tune into which the big circus band had

suddenly launched.



Gayly-caparisoned, nervous horses pranced and reared; huge

wagons, gorgeous under their coat of paint and gold, glistened

in the afternoon sunlight that fell softly through the canvas top

and gave the peculiar rattling sound so familiar to the lover of

the circus as they moved majestically into the arena; elephants

trumpeted shrilly and the animals back in the menagerie tent sent

up a deafening roar of protest.  After months of quiet in their

winter quarters, this unusual noise and excitement threw the wild

beasts into a tempest of anger.  Pacing their cages with upraised

heads, they hurled their loud-voiced protests into the air until

the more timid of the spectators trembled in their seats.



It was an inspiring moment for the circus people, as well as for

the spectators.



"Tweetle!  Tweetle!" sang the ringmaster's whistle after the

spectacle had wound its way once around the concourse.



At this the procession wheeled, its head cutting between the

two rings, slowly and majestically reaching for the paddock

and dressing tent, where the performers would hurry into their

costumes for their various acts to follow.



This left only the elephants in the ring.  The huge beasts now

began their evolutions, ponderous but graceful, eliciting great

applause, as did their trainer, Mr. Kennedy.  Then came the

round-off of the act.  This, it will be remembered, was of Phil

Forrest's own invention, the act in which Phil, secreted in the

elephant's bonnet, burst out at the close of the act, and, by the

aid of wires running over a pulley above him, was able to descend

gracefully to the sawdust arena.



He was just a little nervous in this, the first performance of

the season, but, steadying his nerves, he went through the act

without a hitch and amid thunders of applause.  As in the

previous season's act, old Emperor carried the lad from the ring,

holding Phil out in front of him firmly clasped in his trunk.

No similar act ever had been seen in a circus until Phil and

Emperor worked it out for themselves.  It had become one of the

features of the show last year, and it bade fair to be equally

popular that season.  Phil had added to it somewhat, which gave

the act much more finish than before.



"Very good, young man," approved Mr. Sparling, as the elephant

bore the lad out.  Mr. Sparling was watching the show with keen

eyes in order to decide what necessary changes were to be made.

"Coming back to watch the performance?"



"Oh, yes.  I wouldn't miss that for anything."



As soon as the lad had thrown off his costume and gotten back

into his clothes, he hurried into the big top, where he found

Teddy, who did not go on in his bucking mule act until later.



"How's the show, Teddy?" greeted Phil.



"Great.  Greatest thing I ever saw.  Did you see the fellows jump

over the herd of elephants and horses?"



"No.  Who were they?"



"Oh, most all of the crowd, I guess.  I'm going to do that."



"You, Teddy?  Why, you couldn't jump over half a dozen

elephants and turn a somersault.  You would break your neck the

first thing."



"Mr. Miaco says I could.  Says I'm just the build for that sort

of thing," protested the lad.



"Well, then, get him to teach you.  Of course we can't know how

to do too many things in this business.  We have learned that it

pays to know how to do almost everything.  Have you made friends

with the mule since you got back?"



"Yes.  He spooned over me and made believe he loved me like

a brother."



Teddy paused reflectively.



"Then what?"



"Well, then he tried to kick the daylight out of me."



"I thought so," laughed Phil.  "I'm glad I chose an elephant for

my friend, instead of an educated mule.  When are you going to

begin on the springboard--begin practicing, I mean?"



"Mr. Miaco says he'll teach me as soon as we get settled--"



"Settled?  I never heard of a show getting settled--that is, not

until the season is ended and it is once more in winter quarters.

I suppose by 'settled' he means when everything gets to

moving smoothly."



"I guess so," nodded Teddy.  "What are you going to do?"



"The regular acts that I did last year."



"No; I mean what are you going to learn new?"



"Oh!  Well, there are two things I'm crazy to be able to do."



"What are they?"



"One is to be a fine trapeze performer," announced Phil

thoughtfully.



"And the other?"



"To ride bareback."



"Want to be the whole thing, don't you?" jeered Teddy.



"No; not quite.  But I should like to be able to do those two

things, and to do them well.  There is nothing that catches the

audiences as do the trapezists and the bareback riders.  And it

fascinates me as well."



"Here, too," agreed Teddy.



"But there is one thing I want to talk with you about--to read

you a lecture."



"You needn't."



"I shouldn't be surprised if there was some sort of an inquiry

about the row in the dressing tent.  You know Mr. Sparling won't

stand for anything of that sort."



"He doesn't know about it," interposed Teddy.



"But we do.  Therefore, we are just as much to blame as if he

did know.  And I am not so sure that he doesn't.  You can't fool

Mr. Sparling.  You ought to know that by this time.  There isn't

a thing goes on in this show that he doesn't find out about,

sooner or later, and he is going to find out about this."



"I didn't do anything.  You did, when you had a scrap with those

two fellows out on the lot."



"You forget that you started the row by emptying a pail of water

on Larry's head.  Don't you call that starting doing anything?

I do."



Phil had to laugh at the comical expression on his

companion's face.



"Well, maybe."



"And we haven't heard the last of those fellows yet.  They're mad

all through.  I am sorry I had to hit them.  But they would have

used me badly had I not done something to protect myself.

I should tell the whole matter to Mr. Sparling, were it not that

I would get others into trouble.  That I wouldn't do."



"I should think not."



"By the way, Teddy, there come the bareback riders.  Don't you

follow after their act?"



"My!  That's so.  I had forgotten all about that.  Thought I was

watching the show just like the rest of the folks."



"Better hustle, or you won't get into your makeup in time

to go on.  There'll be a row for certain if you are late."



But Teddy already had started on a run for the dressing tent,

bowling over a clown at the entrance to the paddock and bringing

down the wrath of that individual as he hustled for the

dressing tent and began feverishly getting into his ring clothes.

These consisted of a loose fitting pair of trousers, a slouch hat

and a coat much the worse for wear.  A "Rube" act, it was called

in show parlance, and it was that in very truth, more because of

Teddy's drollery than for the makeup that he wore.



Phil quickly forgot all about the lecture he had been reading to

his companion as the bareback riders came trotting in.  His eyes

were fixed on a petite, smiling figure who tripped up to the

curbing, where she turned toward the audience, and, kicking one

foot out behind her, bowed and threw a kiss to the spectators.



Phil had walked over and sat down by the center pole right

near the sawdust ring, so that he might get a better view

of the riding.



The young woman who so attracted his attention was known

on the show bills as "Little Miss Dimples, the Queen of the

Sawdust Arena."  Phil, as he gazed at her graceful little figure,

agreed that the show bills did not exaggerate her charms at all.



Little Dimples, using the ringmaster's hand as a step, vaulted

lightly to the back of the great gray ring horse, where she sat

as the animal began a slow walk about the ring.



Phil wondered how she could stay on, for she appeared to be

sitting right on the animal's sloping hip.



The band struck up a lively tune, the gray horse began a slow,

methodical gallop.  The first rise of the horse bounded Little

Dimples to her knees, and the next to her feet.



With a merry little "yip! yip!" she began executing a fairy-like

dance, keeping time with her whip, which she held grasped in

both hands.



"Beautiful!" cried Phil, bringing his hands together sharply.

In fact, he had never seen such artistic riding.  The girl seemed

to be treading on air, so lightly did her feet touch the rosined

back of the ring horse.



Little Dimples heard and understood.  She flashed a brilliant

smile at Phil and tossed her whip as a salute.  Phil had never

met her, but they both belonged to the same great family, and

that was sufficient.



His face broke out into a pleased smile at her recognition and

the lad touched his hat lightly, settling back against the

center pole to watch Dimples' riding, which had only just begun.

It made him laugh outright to see her big picture hat bobbing up

and down with the motion of the horse.



"Works just like an elephant's ear when the flies are thick,"

was the lad's somewhat inelegant comparison.



But now Dimples removed the hat, sending it spinning to the

ringmaster, who, in turn, tossed it to an attendant.  The real

work of the act was about to start.  Phil never having seen the

young woman ride, did not know what her particular specialty was.

Just now he was keenly observing, that he might learn

her methods.



Dimples' next act was to jump through a series of paper hoops.

This finished, she leaped to the ring, and, taking a running

start, vaulted to the back of her horse.



"Bravo!" cried Phil, which brought another brilliant smile from

the rider.  She knew that it was not herself, but her work,

that had brought this expression of approval from the Circus Boy,

whom she already knew of by hearing some of the other performers

tell of his achievements since he joined the circus less than a

year ago.



"The ring is rough.  I should have thought they would have

leveled it down better," Phil grumbled, noting the uneven surface

of the sawdust circle with critical eyes.  "I'll bet Mr. Sparling

hasn't seen that, or he would have raised a row.  But still

Dimples seems very sure on her feet.  I wonder if she does any

brilliant stunts?"



As if in answer to the lad's question, the "tweetle" of the

ringmaster's whistle brought everything to a standstill under the

big top.  Even the band suddenly ceased playing.  Then Phil knew

that something worthwhile was coming.



"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced the ringmaster, holding up

his right hand to attract the eyes of the spectators to him,

"Little Miss Dimples, The Queen of the Sawdust Arena, will now

perform her thrilling, death-defying, unexcelled, unequaled feat

of turning a somersault on the back of a running horse.  I might

add in this connection that Little Miss Dimples is the only woman

who ever succeeded in going through this feat without finishing

up by breaking her neck.  The band will cease playing while this

perilous performance is on, as the least distraction on the part

of the rider might result fatally for her.  Ladies and gentlemen,

I introduce to you Little Miss Dimples," concluded the

ringmaster, with a comprehensive wave of the hand toward the

young woman and her gray ring horse.



Dimples dropped to the ring, swept a courtesy to the audience,

then leaped to the animal's back with a sharp little "yip! yip!"



During the first round of the ring she removed the bridle,

tossing it mischievously in Phil's direction.  He caught it

deftly, placing it on the ground beside him, then edged a little

closer to the ring that he might the better observe her work.



The ring horse started off at a lively gallop, the rider allowing

her elbows to rise and fall with the motion of the horse,

in order that she might the more thoroughly become a part of the

animal itself--that the motion of each should be the same.



Suddenly Dimples sprang nimbly to her feet, tossing her riding

whip to the waiting hands of the ringmaster.



Phil half scrambled to his feet as he saw her poise for a

backward somersault.  He had noted another thing, too.  She was

going to throw herself, it seemed, just as the horse was on the

roughest part of the ring.  He wondered if she could make it.

To him it was a risky thing to try, but she no doubt knew better

than he what she was about.



The ringmaster held up his hand as a signal to the audience that

the daring act was about to take place.



Phil crept a little nearer.



All at once the girl gracefully threw herself into the air.

He judged she had cleared the back of the animal by at least

three feet, a high jump to make straight up with unbent knees.



But just as she was leaving the back of the horse, the animal

suddenly stumbled, thus turning her halfway around, and for the

instant taking her mind from her work.  Dimples already had

begun to turn backward, but he noted that all at once she

stopped turning.



Phil knew what that meant.  As show people term it, she had

"frozen" in the air.  She was falling, head first, right toward

the wooden ring curbing.



"Turn!  Turn!" cried Phil sharply.



The girl was powerless to do so, while the ringmaster, being on

the opposite side of the ring, could be of no assistance to her.



"Turn!" shouted Phil, more loudly this time, giving a mighty

spring in the direction of the falling woman.







CHAPTER IX



THE MULE DISTINGUISHES HIMSELF



The audience had half risen, believing that the girl would surely

be killed.  It did seem that it would be a miracle if she escaped

without serious injury.



But the Circus Boy, his every faculty centered on the task before

him, proposed to save her if he could.



He sprang up on the ring curbing, stretching both hands above his

head as far as he could reach, bracing himself with legs wide

apart to meet the shock.



It is not an easy task to attempt to catch a person, especially

if that person be falling toward you head first.  But Phil

Forrest calculated in a flash how he would do it.  That is,

he would unless he missed.



It all happened in much less time than it takes to tell it,

of course, and a moment afterwards one could not have told how it

had occurred.



The Circus Boy threw both hands under Dimples' outstretched

arms with the intention of jerking her down to her feet,

then springing from the curbing with her before both should

topple over.



His plan worked well up to the point of catching her.

But instantly upon doing so he realized that she was moving

with such speed as to make it impossible for him to retain

his balance.



Dimples was hurled into his arms with great force, bowling Phil

over like a ninepin.  Yet, in falling, he did not lose his

presence of mind.  He hoped fervently that he might be fortunate

enough not to strike on a stake, of which there were many on that

side of the ring.



"Save yourself!" gasped the girl.



Instead, Phil held her up above him at arm's length.  When he

struck it was full on his back, the back of his head coming in

contact with the hard ground with such force as to stun him

almost to the point of unconsciousness.  As he struck he gave

Dimples a little throw so that she cleared his body, landing on

the ground beyond him.



The girl stretched forth her hands and did a handspring, once

more thorough master of herself, landing gracefully on her feet.

But Phil had undoubtedly saved her life, as she well knew.



Without giving the slightest heed to the audience, which was

howling its delight, Dimples ran to the fallen lad, leaning over

him anxiously.



"Are you hurt?" she begged, placing a hand on his head.



"I--I guess not," answered Phil, pulling himself together

a little.  "I'll get up or they'll think something is the matter

with me."



"Let me help you."



"No, thank you," he replied, brushing aside the hand she had

extended to him.  But his back hurt him so severely that he could

only with difficulty stand upright.



Phil smiled and straightened, despite the pain.



At that Dimples grasped him by the hand, leading him to the

concourse facing the reserved seats, where she made a low bow to

the audience; then, throwing both arms about Phil, she gave him a

hearty kiss.



Thunders of applause greeted this, the audience getting to its

feet in its excitement.  Had it been possible, both the boy and

Miss Dimples would have been borne in triumph from the ring.



"Come back and sit down while I finish my act," she whispered.



"You're not going to try that again, are you?" questioned Phil.



"Of course I am.  You'll see what a hit it will make."



"I saw that you came near making a hit a few moments ago,"

answered the lad.



"There, there; don't be sarcastic," she chided, giving him a

playful tap.  "If you feel strong enough, please help me up."



Phil did so smilingly; then he retired to his place by the center

pole, against which he braced his aching back.



"Turn after you have gotten over the rough spot," he

cautioned her.



Dimples nodded her understanding.



This time Phil held his breath as he saw her crouching ever so

little for her spring.



Dimples uttered another shrill "yip!" and threw herself into the

air again.



He saw, with keen satisfaction, that this time she was not

going to miss.  Dimples turned in the air with wonderful grace,

alighting far back on the broad hips of the gray horse with

bird-like lightness.



Phil doffed his hat, and, getting to his feet, limped away,

with the audience roaring out its applause.  They had forgotten

all about the boy who but a few moments before had saved Little

Dimples' life, and he was fully as well satisfied that it should

be so.



Just as he was passing the bandstand the educated mule,

with Teddy Tucker on its back, bolted through the curtains

like a projectile.  The mule nearly ran over Phil, then brought

up suddenly to launch both heels at him.  But the Circus Boy had

seen this same mule in action before, and this time Phil had

discreetly ducked under the bandstand.



Then the mule was off.



"Hi-yi-yi-yip-yi!" howled Teddy, as the outfit bolted into

the arena.  The old hands with the show discreetly darted for

cover when they saw Teddy and his mule coming.  Like Phil

Forrest,

they had had experience with this same wild outfit before.

There was no knowing what the bucking mule might not do,

while there was a reasonable certainty in their minds as

to what he would do if given half a chance.



"Hi!  Hi!  Look out!" howled Teddy as they neared the entrance

to the menagerie tent, where a number of people were standing.

The boy saw that the mule had taken it into his stubborn head

to enter the menagerie tent, there to give an exhibition of

his contrariness.



In they swept like a miniature whirlwind, the mule twisting this

way and that, stopping suddenly now and then and bracing its feet

in desperate efforts to unseat its rider.



But Teddy held on grimly.  This rough riding was the delight of

his heart, and the lad really was a splendid horseman, though it

is doubtful if he realized this fact himself.



A man was crossing the menagerie tent with a pail of water in

each hand.  The mule saw him.  Here was an opportunity not to

be lost.



Teddy's mount swept past the fellow.  Then both the beast's heels

shot out, catching both the pails at the same time.  The two

pails took the air in a beautiful curve, like a pair of rockets,

distributing water all the way across the tent, a liberal portion

of which was spilled over the water carrier as the pails left

his hands.



The man chanced to be Larry, Teddy's enemy.  Teddy was traveling

at such a rapid rate that he did not recognize the fellow,

but Larry recognized him, and thereby another account was charged

up against the Circus Boy.



But the mule, though the time limit for his act had expired,

had not quite satisfied his longing for excitement.

Whirling about, he plunged toward the big top again.



"Whoa!  Whoa!" howled Teddy, tugging at the reins.  But he might

as well have tried to check the wind.  Nothing short of a stone

wall could stop the educated mule until he was ready to stop.

The ringmaster had blown his whistle for the next act and the

performers were running to their stations when Teddy and his

mount suddenly made their appearance again.



"Get out of here!" yelled the ringmaster.



"I am trying to do so," howled Teddy in a jeering voice.

"Can't go any faster than I am."



"Stop him!  You'll run somebody down!" shouted Mr. Sparling,

dodging out of the way as the mule, with ears laid back on his

head, dashed straight at the showman.



"Can't stop.  In a hurry," answered Teddy.



On they plunged past the bandstand again, the mule pausing

at the paddock entrance long enough to kick the silk curtains

into ribbons.  Next he made a dive for the dressing tent.



In less time than it takes to tell it, the dressing tent looked

as if it had been struck by a cyclone.



Clubs and side poles were brought down on the rump of the wild

mule,

most of which were promptly kicked through the side of the tent.

Teddy, in the meantime, had landed in a performer's trunk,

smashing

through the tray, being wedged in so tightly that he could not

extricate himself.  Added to the din was Teddy's voice howling

for help.



The performers, in all stages of dress and undress, had fled to

the outside.



Then, the mule becoming suddenly meek, pricked forward his ears,

ambled out into the paddock and began contentedly nibbling at the

fresh grass about the edges of the enclosure.



About this time Mr. Sparling came running in.  His face was red

and the perspiration was rolling down it.



"Where's that fool boy?" he bellowed.  "Where is he, I say?"



"Here he is," answered the plaintive voice of Teddy Tucker.



"Come out of that!"



"I can't.  I'm stuck fast."



The showman jerked him out with scant ceremony, while Teddy began

pulling pieces of the trunk tray out of his clothes.



"Do you want to put my show out of business?  What do you think

this is--a cowboy picnic?  I'll fire you.  I'll--"



"Better fire the mule.  I couldn't stop him," answered the boy.



By this time the performers, after making sure that the mule had

gone, were creeping back.



"I'll cut that act out.  I'll have the mule shot.  I'll--

Get out of here, before I take you over my knee and give you

what you deserve."



"I'm off," grinned Teddy, ducking under the canvas.



He was seen no more about the dressing tent until just before it

was time to go on for the evening performance.







CHAPTER X



HIS FIRST BAREBACK LESSON



"Where's that boy?"



"He'll catch it if he ever dares show his face in this dressing

tent again."



This and other expressions marked the disapproval of the

performers of the manner in which their enclosure had been

entered and disrupted.



"Don't blame him; blame the mule," advised Mr. Miaco, the

head clown.



"Yes; Teddy wasn't to blame," declared Phil, who had entered at

that moment.  "Did he do all this?" he asked, looking about at

the scene of disorder.



"He did.  Lucky some of us weren't killed," declared one.

"If that mule isn't cut out of the programme I'll quit

this outfit.  Never safe a minute while he and the kid

are around.  First, the kid gets us into a scrimmage with the

roustabouts, then he slam bangs into the dressing tent with a

fool mule and puts the whole business out of the running."



"Was Mr. Sparling--was he mad?" asked Phil, laughing until the

tears started.



"Mad?  He was red headed," replied Miaco.



"Where's Teddy?"



"He got stuck in the strong man's trunk there.  The boss had to

pull him out, for he was wedged fast.  Then the young man

prudently made his escape.  If the boss hadn't skinned him we

would have done so.  He got out just in time."



"Are you Phil Forrest?" asked a uniformed attendant entering the

dressing tent.



"Yes; what is it?"



"Lady wants to see you out in the paddock."



"Who is it?"



"Mrs. Robinson."



"I don't know any Mrs. Robinson."



"He means Little Dimples," Mr. Miaco informed him.



"Oh."





Phil hurried from the tent.  Dimples was sitting on a property

box,

industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work.  She made a

pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful

occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at

her admiringly.



Dimples glanced down with a smile.



"Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work?  That's what

I love.  Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every

week during the show season.  I don't know what I'll do with

them all.  But come over here and sit down by me.  I ought to

thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would

rather I did not."



Phil nodded.



"I don't like to be thanked.  It makes me feel--well, awkward,

I guess.  You froze, didn't you?"



"I did," and Dimples laughed merrily.



"What made you do so--the horse?"



"Yes.  I thought he was going to fall all the way down,

then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn't turn to save

my life.  I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn't.

But let's talk about you.  You hurt your back, didn't you?"



"Nothing to speak of.  It will be all right by morning.  I'm just

a little lame now.  Where were you--what show were you with

last year?"



"The Ringlings."



"The Ringlings?" marveled Phil.  "Why, I shouldn't think you

would want to leave a big show like that for a little one such

as this?"



"It's the price, my dear boy.  I get more money here, and I'm

a star here.  In the big shows one is just a little part of a

big organization.  There's nothing like the small shows for

comfort and good fellowship.  Don't you think so?"



"I don't know," admitted Phil.  "This is the only show I have

ever been with.  I 'joined out' last season--"



"Only last season?  Well, well!  I must say you have made pretty

rapid progress for one who has been out less than a year."



"I have made a lot of blunders," laughed Phil.  "But I'm

learning.

I wish, though, that I could do a bareback act one quarter as

well

as you do.  I should be very proud if I could."



"Have you ever tried it?"



"No."



"Why don't you learn, then?  You'd pick it up quickly."



"For the reason that I have never had an opportunity--I've had no

one to teach me."



"Then you shall do so now.  Your teacher is before you."



"You--you mean that you will teach me?"



"Of course.  What did you think I meant?"



"I--I wasn't sure.  That will be splendid."



"I saw your elephant act.  You are a very finished performer--

a natural born showman.  If you stay in the business long enough

you will make a great reputation for yourself."



"I don't want to be a performer all my life.  I am going to own

a show some of these days," announced the boy confidently.



"Oh, you are, are you?" laughed Dimples.  "Well, if you say so,

I most surely believe you.  You have the right sort of pluck

to get anything you set your heart on.  Now if my boy only--"



"Your boy?"



"Yes.  Didn't you know that I am a married woman?"



"Oh my, I thought you were a young girl," exclaimed Phil.



"Thank you; that was a very pretty compliment.  But, alas, I am

no longer young.  I have a son almost as old as you are.  He is

with his father, performing at the Crystal Palace in London.

I expect to join them over there after my season closes here."



"Is it possible?"



"Yes, and as my own boy is so far away I shall have to be a sort

of mother to you this season.  You have no mother, have you?"



"No.  My mother is dead," answered the lad in a low voice,

lowering his eyes.



"I thought as much.  Mothers don't like to have their boys join

a circus; but, if they knew what a strict, wholesome life a

circus performer has to lead, they would not be so set against

the circus.  Don't you think, taking it all in all, that we are

a pretty good sort?" smiled Dimples.



"I wish everyone were as good as circus folks," the boy made

answer so earnestly as to bring a pleased smile to the face of

his companion.



"You shall have a lesson today for that, if you wish."



"Do I?"



"Then run along and get on your togs.  As soon as the performance

is over we will get out my ring horse and put in an hour's work."



"Thank you, thank you!" glowed Phil as Mrs. Robinson rolled up

her work.  "I'll be out in a few moments."



Full of pleasurable anticipation, Phil ran to the dressing

tent and began rummaging in his trunk for his working tights.

These he quickly donned and hurried back to the paddock.

There he found Dimples with her ring horse, petting the

broad-backed beast while he nibbled at the grass.



"Waiting, you see?" she smiled up at Forrest.



"Yes.  But the performance isn't finished yet, is it?"



"No.  The hippodrome races are just going on.  Come over to this

side of the paddock, where we shall be out of the way, and I'll

teach you a few first principles."



"What do you want me to do first?"



"Put your foot in my hand and I will give you a lift."



The lad did as directed and sprang lightly to the back of

the gray.



"Move over on the horse's hip.  There.  Sit over just as

far as you can without slipping off.  You saw how I did it

this afternoon?"



"Yes--oh, here I go!"



Phil slid from the sloping side of the ring horse, landing in a

heap, to the accompaniment of a rippling laugh from Dimples.



"I guess I'm not much of a bareback rider," grinned the lad,

picking himself up.  "How do you manage to stay on it in

that position?"



"I don't know.  It is just practice.  You will catch the trick of

it very soon."



"I'm not so sure of that."



"There!  Now, take hold of the rein and stand up.

Don't be afraid--"



"I'm not.  Don't worry about my being afraid."



"I didn't mean it that way.  Move back further.  It is not good

to stand in the middle of your horse's back all the time.

Besides throwing too much weight on the back, you are liable to

tickle the animal there and make him nervous.  The best work is

done by standing over the horse's hip.  That's it.  Tread on the

balls of your feet."



But Phil suddenly went sprawling, landing on the ground again,

at which both laughed merrily.



Very shortly after that the show in the big top came to a close.

The concert was now going on, at the end nearest the menagerie

tent,

so Phil and Dimples took the ring at the other end of the tent,

where they resumed their practice.



After a short time Phil found himself able to stand erect with

more confidence.  Now, his instructor, with a snap of her little

whip, started the gray to walking slowly about the ring, Phil

holding tightly to the bridle rein to steady himself.



"Begin moving about now.  Tread softly and lightly.  That's it.

You've caught it already."



"Why not put a pad on the horse's back, as I've seen some

performers do?" he questioned.



"No.  I don't want you to begin that way.  Start without a pad,

and you never will have to unlearn what you get.  That's my

advice.

I'm going to set him at a gallop now.  Stand straight and lean

back

a little."



The ring horse moved off at a slow, methodical gallop.



Phil promptly fell off, landing outside the ring, from where he

picked himself up rather crestfallen.



"Never mind.  You'll learn.  You are doing splendidly,"

encouraged Dimples, assisting him to mount again.  "There's the

press agent, Mr. Dexter, watching you.  Now do your prettiest.

Do you know him?"



"No; I have not met him.  He's the fellow that Teddy says blows

up his words with a bicycle pump."



"That's fine.  I shall have to tell him that.  Remember, you

always want to keep good friends with the press agent.  He's the

man who makes or unmakes you after you have passed the eagle eyes

of the proprietor," Dimples laughed.  "From what I hear I guess

you stand pretty high with Mr. Sparling."



"I try to do what is right--do the best I know how."



She nodded, clucking to the gray and Phil stopped talking at

once, for he was fully occupied in sticking to the horse,

over whose back he sprawled every now and then in the most

ridiculous of positions.  But, before the afternoon's practice

had ended, the lad had made distinct progress.  He found himself

able to stand erect, by the aid of the bridle rein, and to keep

his position fairly well while the animal took a slow gallop.

He had not yet quite gotten over the dizziness caused by the

constant traveling about in a circle in the narrow ring,

but Dimples assured him that, after a few more turns, this would

wear off entirely.



After finishing the practice, Dimples led her horse back

to the horse tent, promising Phil that they should meet the

next afternoon.



Phil had no more than changed to his street clothes before he

received a summons to go to Mr. Sparling in his private tent.



"I wonder what's wrong now?" muttered the lad.  "But, I think

I know.  It's about that row we had this morning out on the lot.

I shouldn't be surprised if I got fined for that."



With a certain nervousness, Phil hurried out around the

dressing tent, and skirting the two big tents, sought out

Mr. Sparling in his office.







CHAPTER XI



SUMMONED BEFORE THE MANAGER



The lad was not far wrong in his surmise.  That Mr. Sparling was

angry was apparent at the first glance.



He eyed Phil from head to foot, a fierce scowl wrinkling his face

and forehead.



"Well, sir, what have you been up to this afternoon?"



"Practicing in the ring since the afternoon performance closed."



"H-m-m-m!  And this forenoon?"



"Not much of anything in the way of work."



"Have any trouble with any of the men?"



"Yes, sir."



"Who?"



"A man by the name of Larry, and another whom they call Bad Eye."



"Humph!  I suppose you know it's a bad breach of discipline in a

show to have any mixups, don't you?"



"I do.  I make no apologies, except that I was acting wholly in

self defense.  All the same, I do not expect any favoritism.

I am willing to take my punishment, whatever it may be," replied

the lad steadily.



There was the merest suspicion of a twinkle in the eyes of

the showman.



"Tell me what you did."



"I punched Larry, tripped his friend, and--well, I don't

exactly know all that did happen," answered Phil without a change

of expression.



"Knock them down?"



"I--I guess so."



"H-m-m.  I suppose you know both those fellows are pretty bad

medicine, don't you?"



"I may have heard something of the sort."



"Larry has quite a reputation as a fighter."



"Yes, sir."



"And you knocked him out?"



"Something like that," answered Phil meekly.



"Show me how you did it?" demanded Mr. Sparling, rising and

standing before the culprit.



"It was like this, you see," began Phil, exhibiting a sudden

interest in the inquiry.  "I was chased by the two men.

Suddenly I stopped and let the fellow, Larry, fall over me.

During the scrimmage I tripped Bad Eye.  I didn't hit anyone

until Larry crowded me so I had to do so in order to save myself,

or else run away."



"Why didn't you run, young man?"



"I--I didn't like to do that, you know."



Mr. Sparling nodded his head.



"How did you hit him?"



"He made a pass at me like this," and the lad lifted

Mr. Sparling's hand over his shoulder.  "I came up under his

guard with a short arm jolt like this."



"Well, what next?"



"That was about all there was to it.  The others came out,

about that time, and I ducked in under the big top."



To Phil's surprise Mr. Sparling broke out into a roar

of laughter.  In a moment he grew sober and stern again.



"Be good enough to tell me what led up to this assault.

What happened before that brought on the row?  I can depend

upon you to give me the facts.  I can't say as much for all

the others."



Phil did as the showman requested, beginning with the ducking of

Teddy by the men when the show was leaving Germantown, and ending

with Teddy's having emptied a pail of muddy water over Larry's

red head that morning.



He had only just finished his narration of the difficulty,

when who should appear at the entrance to the office tent but

Larry himself.  He was followed, a few paces behind, by Bad Eye.



Mr. Sparling's stern, judicial eyes were fixed upon them.

He demanded to hear from them their version of the affair,

which Larry related, leaving out all mention of his having

ducked Teddy.  His story agreed in the main details with what

Phil already had said, excepting that Larry's recital threw the

blame on Teddy and Phil.



Mr. Sparling took a book from his desk, making a

memorandum therein.



"Is that all, sir?" questioned Larry.



"Not quite.  If I hear of any further infraction of the rules of

this show on the part of either of you two, you close right then.

Understand?"



"Yes."



"That's not all; I'll have you both jailed for assault.  As it

is, I'll fine you both a week's pay.  Now get out of here!"



Larry hesitated, flashed a malignant glance at Phil Forrest;

then, turning on his heel, he left the tent.



"Don't you think you had better fine me, too, sir?" asked Phil.



"What for?"



"Because I shall have to do it again some of these days."



"What do you mean?"



"That fellow is going to be even with me at the very

first opportunity."



Mr. Sparling eyed the lad for a moment.



"I guess you will be able to give a good account of yourself

if he tries to do anything of the sort.  Let me say right here,

though you need not tell your friend so that I think Teddy

did just right, and I am glad you gave Larry a good drubbing.

But, of course, we can't encourage this sort of thing with

the show.  It has to be put down with an iron hand."



"I understand, sir."



"Mind, I don't expect you to be a coward."



"I hope not.  My father used to teach me not to be.

He frequently said, 'Phil, keep out of trouble, but if you

get into it, don't sneak out.' "



"That's the talk," roared Mr. Sparling, smiting his desk with

a mighty fist.  "You run along, now, and give your young friend

some advice about what he may expect if he gets into any

more difficulty."



"I have done that already."



"Good!  Tell it to him again as coming from me.  He's going to

make a good showman, though he came near putting this outfit out

of business with the fool mule this afternoon.  I would cut the

act out, but for the fact that it is a scream from start

to finish.  Feeling all right?"



"Yes, thank you.  I am perfectly able to go on in the ring act

tonight, if you think best."



"Wait until tomorrow; wait until tomorrow.  You'll be all the

better for it."



The cook tent was open, as Phil observed.  The red flag was

flying from the center pole of the tent, indicating that supper

was being served.  In a short time the tent would come down and

be on its way in the flying squadron to the next stand.



The show was now less than a day out, but many things

had happened.  Not a moment had been without its interest or

excitement, and Phil realized that as he walked toward the

cook tent.  He found Teddy there, satisfying his appetite, or

rather exerting himself in that direction, for Teddy's appetite

was a thing never wholly satisfied.



After supper Phil took the boy aside and delivered

Mr. Sparling's message.  Teddy looked properly serious,

but it is doubtful if the warning sank very deep into his mind,

for the next minute he was turning handsprings on the lot.



"Know what I'm going to do, Phil?" he glowed.



"There's no telling what you will do, from one minute to the

next, Teddy," replied Phil.



"Going to practice up and see if I can't get in the leaping act."



"That's a good idea.  When do you begin taking lessons?"



"Taking 'em now."



"From Mr. Miaco?"



"Yes.  I did a turn off the springboard this afternoon with the

'mechanic on,' " meaning the harness used to instruct beginners

in the art of tumbling.



"How did you make out?"



"Fine!  I'd have broken my neck if it hadn't been for

the harness."



Phil laughed heartily.



"I should say you did do finely.  But you don't expect to be able

to jump over ten elephants and horses the way the others do?"



"They don't all do it.  Some of 'em leap until they get half a

dozen elephants in line, then they stand off and watch the real

artists finish the act.  I can do that part of it now.  But I

tell you I'm going to be a leaper, Phil."



"Good for you!  That's the way to talk.  Keep out of trouble,

work hard, don't talk too much, and you'll beat me yet,"

declared Phil.  "And say!"



"What?"



"Be careful with that mule act tonight.  You know Mr. Sparling

will be in there watching you.  It wouldn't take much more

trouble to cause him to cut that act out of the programme,

and then you might not be drawing so much salary.  Fifty dollars

a week is pretty nice for each of us.  If we don't get swelled

heads, but behave ourselves, we'll have a nice little pile of

money by the time the season closes."



"Yes," agreed Teddy.  "I guess that's so; but we'll be losing a

lot of fun."



"I don't agree with you," laughed Phil.



The lads strolled into the menagerie tent on their way through to

the dressing tent.  The gasoline men were busy lighting their

lamps and hauling them on center and quarter pole, while the

menagerie attendants were turning the tongues of the cages about

so that the horses could be hitched on promptly after the show in

the big top began.



Some of the animals were munching hay, others of the caged beasts

were lying with their noses poked through between the bars of

their cages, blinking drowsily.



"I'd hate to be him," announced Teddy with a comprehensive wave

of the hand as they passed the giraffe, which stood silent in his

roped enclosure, his head far up in the shadows.



"Why?"



"For two reasons.  Keeper tells me he can't make a sound.

Doesn't bray, nor whinny, nor growl, nor bark, nor--

can't do anything.  I'd rather be a lion or a tiger or

something like that.  If I couldn't do anything else, then,

I could stand off and growl at folks."



Phil nodded and smiled.



"And what's your other reason for being glad you are not

a giraffe?"



"Because--because--because when you had a sore throat think what

a lot of neck you'd have to gargle!"



Phil laughed outright, and as the giraffe lowered its head and

peered down into their faces, he thought, for the moment, that he

could see the animal grin.



After this they continued on to the dressing tent, where they

remained until time for the evening performance.  This passed off

without incident, Teddy and his mule doing nothing more

sensational than kicking a rent in the ringmaster's coat.



After the show was over, and the tents had begun to come down,

Phil announced his intention of going downtown for a lunch.



"This fresh air makes me hungry.  You see, I am not used to it

yet," he explained in an apologetic tone.



"You do not have to go down for a lunch, unless you want to,"

the bandmaster informed him.



"Why, is there a lunch place on the grounds?"



"No.  We have an accommodation car on our section."



"What kind of car is that?"



"Lunch car.  You can't get a heavy meal there, but you will

find a nice satisfying lunch.  The boss has it served at cost.

He doesn't make any money out of the deal.  You'll find it on

our section."



"Good!  Come along Teddy."



"Will I?  That's where I'll spend my money," nodded Teddy,

starting away at a jog trot.



"And your nights too, if they would let you," laughed Phil,

following his companion at a more leisurely gait.



As they crossed the lot they passed "Red" Larry, as he had now

been nicknamed by the showmen.  Larry pretended not to see the

boys, but there was an ugly scowl on his face that told Phil he

did, and after the lads had gone on a piece Phil turned, casting

a careless look back where the torches were flaring and men

working and shouting.



"Red" Larry was not working now.  He was facing the boys, shaking

a clenched fist at them.



"I am afraid we haven't heard the last of our friend, Larry,"

said Phil.



"Who's afraid?" growled Teddy.



"Neither of us.  But all the same we had better keep an eye on

him while we are in his vicinity.  We don't want to get into any

more trouble--at least not, if we can possibly avoid it."



"Not till Mr. Sparling forgets about today?  Is that it?"



"I guess it is," grinned Phil.



"He might take it seriously?"



"He already has done that.  So be careful."



Teddy nodded.  But the lads had not yet heard the last of

"Red" Larry.







CHAPTER XII



THE HUMAN FOOTBALL



"Ever try clowning, young man?" asked the Iron-Jawed Man.



Teddy Tucker shook his head.



"Why don't you?"



"Nobody ever asked me."



"Then you had better ask the boss to let you try it.  Tell him

you want to be a clown and that we will take you in and put you

through your paces until you are able to go it alone."



The show had been on the road for nearly two weeks now, and every

department was working like a piece of well-oiled machinery.

The usual number of minor disasters had befallen the outfit

during the first week, but now everything was system and method.

The animals had become used to the constant moving, and to the

crowds and the noise, so that their growls of complaint were few.



In that time Teddy and Phil had been going through their act on

the flying rings daily, having shown great improvement since they

closed with the show the previous fall.  Their winter's work had

proved of great benefit, and Mr. Sparling had complimented them

several times lately.



Teddy was now devoting all his spare time to learning to

somersault and do the leaping act from the springboard.

He could, by this time, turn a somersault from the board,

though his landing was less certain.  Any part of his anatomy

was liable to sustain the impact of his fall, but he fell in so

many ludicrous positions that the other performers let it go at

that, for it furnished them much amusement.



However, Teddy's unpopularity in the dressing tent had been

apparent ever since he and the educated mule had made their

sensational entry into that sacred domain, practically wrecking

the place.  Teddy and his pet had come near doing the same thing

twice since, and the performers were beginning to believe there

was method in Tucker's madness.



It had come to the point where the performers refused to remain

in the dressing tent while Teddy and the mule were abroad,

unless men with pike poles were stationed outside to ward off

the educated mule when he came in from the ring.  But Teddy

didn't care.  The lad was interested in the suggestion of the

Iron-Jawed Man.  Had he known that the suggestion had been made

after secret conference of certain of the performers, Tucker

might have felt differently about it.  There was something in the

air, but the Circus Boy did not know it.



"What kind of clown act would you advise me to get up?" he asked.



"Oh, you don't have to get it up.  We'll do that for you.

In fact, there is one act that most all clowns start with, and

it will do as well as anything else for you.  You see, you have

to get used to being funny, or you'll forget yourself, and then

you're of no further use as a clown."



"Yes, I know; but what is the act?"



"What do you say, fellows--don't you think the human football

would fit him from the sawdust up?"



"Just the thing," answered the performers thus appealed to.



Mr. Miaco, the head clown, was bending over his trunk, his sides

shaking with laughter, but Teddy did not happen to observe him,

nor had he noticed that the head clown had had no part in

the conversation.



"The human football?" questioned Teddy dubiously.



"Yes."



"What's that