"No, ma'am, never," said Andy.
"And I believe you would be happy with us."
"Yes, I would," said Andy, with emotion. "I love the life here."
"Very well, go back to Fairview just as you have planned. Arrange your affairs just as a clear conscience dictates to you. If fate leads you back here, come to me directly. I will speak to the manager and ask him to take you on with the show."
Tears of longing and gratefulness came to Andy's eyes. He could not stop them.
"You are good, kind people," he said in a muffled tone. "If I never see you again I shall never forget you."
Stella Starr kissed Andy on the cheek in a motherly way. Marco followed the boy outside. He thumped him on the back with the farewell words, uttered with emphasis:
"Cut for it, kid. Take my advice—it's good. You've got the making of a first-class ringer in you. Don't waste your ability in that humdrum town of yours."
Andy started for Fairview in a daze. So much had happened since morning that he could recall it all only in a series of long mental pictures. The kindness and suggestions of his new-found friends kept him thinking deeply.
It was nearly dusk when Andy entered Fairview. He steered clear of old comrades and familiar haunts. When he reached home it was by way of the rear fence.
A light shone in the little kitchen. His aunt was bustling about in a brisk, jumpy way that told Andy she was full of excitement and bottled-up wrath.
"Here goes, anyway," he said finally, vaulting the fence and reaching the woodshed.
Andy took up a good armful of wood, marched right up to the back steps and through the open doorway. He placed his load behind the kitchen stove.
"You graceless wretch!" were Miss Lavinia's first words.
She had a cooking fork in her hand and with it she jabbed the air viciously.
"Go up stairs instantly," she commanded next.
"I'm not sleepy, and I'm hungry," said Andy respectfully enough, but firmly.
He walked over to the set table and picked up two biscuits from a plate.
"Put those down, you put those down!" screamed Miss Lavinia. "Will you mind me?"
Andy pocketed the biscuits. He was taking wise precautions in view of past experiences with his termagant relative.
The boy stood his ground, and his aunt stamped her foot. Then she reached behind the stove and took up a stick used as a carpet beater. Armed with this she advanced threateningly upon Andy.
"Don't strike me, Aunt Lavinia," said Andy quickly. "I am getting too big for that. I won't stand it!"
"You scamp! you disgrace!" shouted his irate relative, still advancing upon him.
She beat at Andy, who snatched the stick from her hand, broke it in two and threw it out through the open doorway.
"I will go to my room if you insist upon it," said Andy now. "I don't see the need of treating me like a dog, though."
"Don't you?" screamed Miss Lavinia. "Oh, you precious rascal! Here I've worked my fingers off to keep you respectable, and you go and disgrace me shamefully. Go to your room, Andy Wildwood. We'll attend to this matter of yours in the morning."
"What matter?" demanded Andy.
"Never mind, now. Do as I say. There's a rod in pickle for you, young man, that may bring you to your senses this time."
Andy preferred loneliness up stairs to nagging down stairs. He left the kitchen and reached his own room. He lit a candle and sat down on the bed.
There was a sharp click at the door almost immediately. His aunt had stolen silently up the stairs and had bolted him in.
"As if that would keep me if I wanted to get out very bad!" thoughtAndy, with a glance at the frail door. "Oh, but I'm tired of all this!I've made up my mind. I shall leave Fairview."
Andy went to a shelf, felt in an old vase, and took out a key.
He fitted it to the lower drawer of the bureau in the room. It was full of old clothes and papers that had belonged to his father.
Finally Andy unearthed a little wooden box, and lifted it to the light. It held a lot of trinkets, and from among them Andy selected a large silver watch and chain. He also took out a small box. It was made of some very dark smooth wood, and its corners and center were decorated with carved pieces of gold and mother of pearl.
"The watch and chain are solid silver," murmured Andy. "The box was given to father by his father. It is made of some rare wood that grows in the South Sea islands. The gold on it is quite thick. I am sure the bare metal on those things is worth more than thirty dollars."
Andy carefully stowed the watch and little box in an inner pocket. Then he lay down on the bed to think, but without removing any of his clothing.
He silently munched the biscuits. His face cleared as reflection led to determination. Andy planned to leave the house as soon as it was closed up for the night and Aunt Lavinia was asleep.
"I can't stand it," he decided. "She says I'm a burden to her. I've got a show to enjoy myself and maybe make some money. Yes, it's Centreville and the circus by morning."
Andy was more tired out than he had fancied. He fell asleep. As he woke up, he discovered that heavy footsteps tramping up the stairs had aroused him.
He had caught the echo of lighter feet. There was rustling in the narrow entry outside.
Andy sprang up and listened intently.
"Aunt Lavinia and some one with her," he reflected. "I wonder who it can be?"
Just then a gruff voice spoke out:
"Is the boy in that room, Miss Lavinia?"
"Yes," said Andy's aunt.
"Then have him out, and let's have this unpleasant duty over and done with."
The key turned in the lock. Andy's candle had remained lighted. As the door was pushed open Andy saw a big portly man standing behind his aunt.
"Put on your clothes, Andy Wildwood," began Miss Lavinia.
"I've got them on," answered Andy. "What do you want?"
"Ask me that," broke in the man, stepping into view. "Sorry, Andy, but it's me that wants you. You know who I am."
"Yes," nodded Andy, staring hard.
He recognized the speaker as Dan Wagner, the village constable. Instantly the truth flashed over Andy. He turned to his aunt with a pale, stern face.
"Are you going to let this man take me to jail?" he demanded.
"Yes, I am," snapped Miss Lavinia. "You've gone just a little too far this time, Andy Wildwood."
"What have I done that's so bad?" inquired Andy indignantly. "What is the charge against me?"
"That's so, Miss Lavinia," observed the constable with a laugh. "There's got to be a specific charge, as I told you."
"Charge!" sniffed Miss Lavinia scornfully. "I'll make a dozen of them.He's a bad, disobedient boy—"
"When did I ever disobey you?" interrupted Andy, calmly keeping his temper.
"Oh, you! He's got himself expelled from school."
"That's no crime, 'cordin' to the statoots," declared the constable.
"I don't care!" cried the angry spinster. "My duty is to keep this boy from going to ruin. You do yours. I explained it all to the judge. He said that if I, as his guardian, swore Andy was an incorrigible, unmanageable boy, he would send him to the parental school at Byron till he was reformed."
Andy grew white to the lips. He fixed such a glance on his aunt that she quailed.
"Shame on you!" he burst forth. "You my guardian! What did you ever guard for me, except too little clothes and victuals? I'm never out of the house after dark. I never refuse to do your hardest work. I even scrub for you. Well, I won't any longer. I have made up my mind to go away."
"You hear that? you hear that?" cried Miss Lavinia. "He's going to run away from home!"
"Home!" retorted Andy scornfully. "A fine home this has been for me—snapped at, found fault with, treated like a charity pauper. Do your duty, Mr. Wagner. But I warn you that no law can send me to the reform school. This woman is not my legal guardian. She is not rightfully even a relative. I have friends in Fairview, I tell you, and they won't see me wronged. I wonder what my poor dead father would say to you for all this?"
Miss Lavinia gave a shriek. She fell into a chair and kicked her heels on the floor and went into hysterics.
The constable looked in a friendly way at Andy. He liked the lad's pluck and independence. He recalled, too, how Andy had once led him to a quiet haystack, where he had slept himself sober instead of risking his position and making a public show of himself on the streets of Fairview.
"See here, Miss Lavinia," he spoke, "I don't fancy treating Andy like a criminal. If I take him with me now I'll have to lock him up with two chicken thieves and a tramp. They're no good company for a homebred boy."
"He deserves a lesson," declared Miss Lavinia. "He shall have it, too!"
"Let him stay here till morning, then I'll come after him."
"He won't be here. Didn't you hear him say he was going to run away from home?"
"Haven't you got some safe place I can lock him up in?" suggested Wagner. "I've got to make you safe and sound, you know," observed the officer quite apologetically to Andy.
"Yes, there is," reported Miss Lavinia after brief thought. "You wait a minute."
She went away and returned with a bunch of keys. The constable beckoned to Andy to follow her, and he closed in behind.
A steep, narrow staircase led to an attic room at the extreme rear of the house. This, as Andy knew, was his aunt's strong room.
It had a heavy door secured by a padlock, and only one window. As Miss Lavinia unlocked the door and the candle illuminated the interior of the apartment, the constable observed grimly:
"I reckon this will keep him safe and sound."
Andy said nothing. He had made up his mind what he would do, and considered further talk useless.
The apartment was littered up with chests, barrels and old furniture. In one corner was a pile of carpets. Andy walked silently over to these, threw himself down, and found himself in darkness as the door was again stoutly padlocked on the outside.
"If anybody cared for me here it might be different," he observed. "As they don't, I must make friends for myself."
In about half an hour Andy went to the window, It was a small one-pane sash. Looking out, he could trace the reflection from a light in his aunt's room on the shrubbery.
Finally this light was extinguished. Andy waited a full hour. He heard the town bell strike twelve.
The lad took out his pocket knife, opened its big blade, and in a few minutes had pried off the strip lining the sash. He removed the pane and set it noiselessly on the floor.
As he stuck his head out through the aperture Andy looked calculating and serious.
It was fully thirty feet to the ground, and no friendly projection offered help in a descent.
It was furthermore a question if he could even squeeze through the window space.
Andy had nothing to make a rope of. The old pieces of carpet could not be utilized in any way. If he could force his body through the window head first, it was a dive to go feet first on a dangerous drop.
Andy investigated the aperture, experimented, took in the situation in all its various phases. Finally he decided what he would do.
He had unearthed a long ironing board from a corner of the room. He pulled a heavy dresser up to the window, and opened one of its drawers a few inches.
By slanting the ironing board, he managed to get its broad end out through the window. Then he dropped it flat, with its narrow end held firmly under the projecting drawer.
Andy got flat on the board, squirmed along it, and just managed to squeeze through the window space.
At the end of five minutes he found himself extended outside on the board. A touch might throw it out of position and drop him like a shot. Very carefully he arose to his feet and backed against the clapboards of the house.
Andy felt sideways and up over his head. He soon located what he knew to be there—two lightning rod staples. The rod itself had rusted away. The staples had been used to hold up a vine. This drew bugs, Miss Lavinia declared, and had been torn down.
Andy hooked his finger around one of the staples. He got one foot on the window sill clear of the board. The other foot he lifted in the air.
Stooping and getting a hold on the side of the ironing board, Andy gently slid it out from its holding place and upright.
He brought it and himself erect. Moving up his hand, he transferred its grasp to the second iron staple higher up the side of the house.
Now Andy rested the board on his toes. He clasped it like a shield against his body, its broad end nearest his face.
Beyond its edge he took a keen glance. The moon shone brightly. The nearest object it showed was a high, broad-branched thorn apple tree.
It stood about twelve feet from the house, and its top was perhaps as far below his foothold.
"It's my only show," said Andy. "I've got to coast it, or get all torn up."
He let go his hold of the staple. Instantly he had a hand firmly grasping either side of the ironing board Andy dropped to a past-centre slant.
Giving his feet a prodigious push against the window sill, he shot forward and downward.
For an instant Andy sailed through the air. He feared he might dive short of the tree. He hoped he would land flat.
The latter by luck or his own precision he did. The board struck the tree top.
There was a sliding swish, a vast cracking of branches.
His weight dropped one end of the ironing board. It landed against a big branch, and Andy found himself safely anchored in the tree top.
Looking back at the attic window, Andy Wildwood wondered how he had ever made the successful descent.
Any boy lacking his sense of athletic precision would have scored a dangerous fall. Andy now slowly worked his way down thrown the branches of the tree. He got a few sharp scratches, but was vastly pleased with himself when he landed safely on the ground.
"Good-bye to Fairview!" he spoke with a stimulating sense of freedom, waving his hand across the scene in general. "I may not come back rich or famous, but I shall have seen the world."
Andy did not turn in the direction of Centreville. He felt of the pocket containing his father's watch and the little box, and then headed straight for Millville.
That was where the big scholar, Graham, lived. It was five miles away.Graham boarded with the farmer who had bought Mr. Dale's cow and calf.
Andy had kept Graham in mind ever since he had agreed to pay for burning up the hay stack. It was about two o'clock when he reached his destination.
The night he and his school companions had restored the little calf to its frantic mother, Andy had seen Graham in the window of his room in the old farmhouse.
Andy now looked up at the window of this room. It was open. A trellis ran up its side. The house was dark and silent. He scaled the trellis and rested a hand on the window sill.
"Mr. Graham," he called out softly. Then he repeated the call several times, gradually raising his voice.
There was a rustle of bed clothes, a droning mumble. Andy called again.
"What is it? who is there?" questioned Graham's tones.
"It's me," said Andy. "Don't be disturbed. Just listen for a minute, will you?"
"Eh! Is that Andy Wildwood?" exclaimed Graham.
"Yes," answered Andy.
A white-robbed figure came to the window and sat down in a chair there. Graham rubbed his eyes and stared wonderingly at the strange midnight visitor clinging to the window sill.
"Why, what's the trouble, Andy?" he questioned in a tone of surprise.
"It's trouble, yes, you can make sure of that," responded Andy with a little nervous catch in his voice. "I'm having nothing but trouble, lately. There's so much of it around here that I've concluded to get out of it."
"How get out of it?" demanded Graham.
"I've left home—for good. I want to leave a clear record behind me, soI've come to you. You don't mind my disturbing you this way, I hope?"
"No—no, indeed," answered Graham promptly. "Run away, eh?"
"Yes, I've got to. Aunt Lavinia has had me arrested; she wants to send me to reform school."
"Why," exclaimed Graham indignantly, "that's a burning shame!"
"I thought so. The constable was around last evening. He locked me in the attic for safe keeping, but I got free, and here I am, on my way to—to—on my way to find work."
"Do you mean circus work?" guessed Graham quickly.
"Why, yes, I do. I don't mind telling you, for you have always been a friend to us smaller boys."
"Always will be, Andy."
"I believe that. We all like you. It's this way: I think I have a chance to join a show, and I want to, bad. I shall be paid something. When I am, I want to send it to you."
"To me? What for, Andy?"
"Well, I smashed the desk and pulled down the chimney at the schoolhouse, you know."
"Yes."
"I calculate that damage amounts to about ten dollars. I burned down a haystack belonging to farmer Dale yesterday. Twenty dollars, he says. I've agreed to pay him, and I want you to see the school trustees to-day and explain to them that I'll pay for the desk and the chimney. I told Mr. Dale I would give him my note. I can't just now, but I will mail one, signed, to you."
"Will Dale accept it?" asked Graham.
"Yes, if I secure it."
"Secure it, how?"
"That's why I came to see you," explained Andy. "I've got in my pocket a silver watch and chain and a box ornamented with gold. They were left to me by my father. I want you to take the articles. Explain to Mr. Dale and the school trustees about them—that you are to hold them for the benefit of my creditors, see?"
"That's quite business-like, Andy."
"I will certainly send you some money. As soon as I do, divide it up with the school and Mr. Dale. I will keep you posted as to my whereabouts, but keep it a secret. Will you do all this for me?"
"Gladly, Andy."
"Here are the things," continued Andy, handing over the contents of his pocket. "And thank you."
"Don't mention it. You're all right, Andy," declared Graham in a warm, friendly way. "I shan't encourage you to run away from home, but I won't try to stop you. Have you got any money?"
"Why, no," answered Andy.
"You wait a minute, then."
Graham took the watch and the box and retired from the window. As he returned he pressed a folded piece of paper between Andy's fingers.
"Take that," he said.
"What is it?" asked Andy.
"It's a five-dollar bill."
"Oh, Mr. Graham—"
"No nonsense, Andy. I know from practical experience what it is to start out in the world penniless. I have the money saved up for two years' board and schooling. I won't miss that little amount until way along next fall. You will have paid it back long before that, I'll warrant."
"You bet I will—and you're awful good to me!" declared Andy heartily.
"Just one more word, Andy," resumed Graham earnestly. "If you are determined to be a circus tumbler, be the best or nothing. If you like enjoyment, made it good, clean fun. I'm not afraid of you. I'm only giving the advice of a fellow older than you, who has learned that it pays to be right and do right in the long run."
When Andy once more stood in the road with his royal friend's "Good luck, old fellow!" still echoing in his ears, his heart was very full.
"It's mighty good of him," murmured Andy, safely stowing away the five-dollar bill. "I'll deserve his good opinion, see if I don't!"
Andy walked on a mile or two further. Climbing a fence he made a snug bed alongside a convenient haystack.
The sun was shining brightly when the lad awoke, refreshed and full of spirit and hope. He somehow felt as though he was beginning the most eventful day of his life.
Andy turned his face in the direction of Centreville. He had no idea of going direct there, however, that day.
He did not know how many people from Fairview might have seen him there the day previous. He did know that if Aunt Lavinia was determined to pursue him, the first thing she would think of was his circus predilections.
Andy planned cautiously and with wisdom. From watching the circus posters he knew it's route. Centreville was in another county from Fairview. But Clifton, the next point of exhibition, was in another state.
"That suits me," he murmured.
Andy had an idea that once safely over the state line the law could not reach him so readily as on home territory.
He knew the neighboring towns pretty fairly, and he fixed on Clifton as his destination. Clifton was about eight miles from Centreville.
Andy decided he would go there and put in the time until next morning.
At midnight the show would pull up stakes at Centreville. He would be on hand to welcome its arrival at Clifton.
"Then I will see Miss Starr and Mr. Marco," he thought. "If the circus manager will only take me on, I'll fall into great luck."
Andy got to Clifton about noon. He changed the five-dollar bill, buying a cheap but big dinner, for he was nearly famished.
He learned where the circus was to exhibit, and went to the spot. Some workers were already there, digging trenches, distributing sawdust and the like.
Andy volunteered to help them. It would be good practice in the way of experience, he told himself. Until four o'clock in the afternoon he was quite busy about the place.
He had heard so much circus talk during his free labors that his mind was more full of the show than ever.
Andy had heard one of the workers describe to a new hand all the excitement, bustle and novelty attending a jump from one town to another.
He strolled about the place but grew restive. Just before dusk he bought some crackers and cheese, filled his pockets with the eatables, and started down the road leading towards Centreville.
Andy met an advance guard of the circus about two miles out of Clifton. Some wagons carried the cooking camp outfit. A little farther on he was met by some menagerie wagons.
"They'll come in sections," ruminated Andy.
"The big tent people won't make a start till after the evening performance. I won't risk going any farther. There's an open barn near the road. I'll take a little snooze, and wake up in time to join the procession of big loads."
Andy secured his little cash reserve in a marble bag. He ate some lunch and made for the open structure he had observed.
It was an old doorless barn near a hay press. A great many bales were stack up at one side. Climbing among these Andy found a cozy boxed in space, carried some loose hay to it, and composed himself for sleep.
"Twenty cents a day is pretty economical living," he reflected, as he studied the stars visible through a chink in the roof. "I wonder what the circus people pay a beginner?"
Wondering about this, and a variety of similar themes, Andy dozed, but was suddenly awakened by the sharp snap of a match and a brief flare.
He got up and peered over the edge of the bales of hay that enclosed his resting place.
The moon was shining brightly. Outlined at the open doorway of the barn was a man. He leaned against a post, had just lit a cigar, and was looking intently down the road in the direction of Centreville.
Some wagons rattled by and the man drew inside the barn out of view. Andy made out that he was well-dressed and very active and nervous in his manner.
"That man is waiting for some one," decided Andy, getting interested—"yes, and he belongs to the show, I'll bet."
Andy reasoned this out from the facility with which the man hummed out a tune he had heard the circus orchestra play.
The man paced restively to and fro. He went out into the road and looked far down it. He returned to the barn and resumed his impatient pacing to and fro.
Nearly an hour went by in this fashion. Andy began to consider that he had become curious without much reason. He was about to drop back again to his cozy bed when he heard the man utter an exclamation of satisfaction.
He rubbed his hands and braced up, and as a new figure turned from the road spoke in a cautious but distinct tone.
"That you, Murdock?"
"It's me, sure enough, Daley," came the reply.
"S—sh—don't use my name here. You know—"
"All right. No one likely to hear us in this lonely spot, though," spoke the newcomer addressed as Murdock.
"Well, what have you to report?" questioned Daley eagerly.
"It's all right."
"You've fixed it?"
"Snug and sure. The show will have a big sensation to-night not down on the bills."
The listening Andy heard the man called Daley utter a gratified chuckle.
"Good," he said.
"And there'll be a vacancy on the Benares Brothers' team to-morrow," added Daley, "so give me the twenty dollars."
Andy pricked up his ears with a good deal of animation. The jubilant statement of the fellow called Murdock did not sound honest.
"I'm taking your word for it," spoke Daley.
He had drawn something from his pocket, evidently a roll of bills, for as he extended it Murdock said eagerly.
"Twenty dollars?"
"Yes. Tell me how you fixed it."
"Why," answered Murdock with a cruel laugh, "you was laid off as one of the Benares Brothers up at the show on account of drinking, wasn't you?"
Daley moodily nodded his head.
"They put on Thacher in your place. You and him are probably the only two men in the profession who can do the somersault trapeze act with old Benares. That puts you out of a job, for you're no good single."
"I guess that is right. Thacher takes the bread out of my mouth, sink him!"
"You say, 'twenty dollars' if I fix Thacher so he can't act well," declared Murdock in a cold-blooded way that made Andy shiver, "he won't act for a spell after to-night, I'm thinking."
"Come to the point—what did you do?"
"Why, after doing their regular stunt on a separate trapeze, Thatcher somersaults and catches a bar swing from centre. He hangs by his knees and Benares swings from aloft and catches his hands in his dive for life. Well, the minute Thacher lands on the centre trapeze to-night down he goes forty feet head-first. It's broken limbs or nothing, for I cut the bar free first thing after the afternoon performance. It's held in place now by only two little pieces of thread that a child's finger could break."
"Um!" remarked Daley. "I guess I'll cut for it. They think I'm a hundred miles away. It mustn't be known that I was this near the circus or they'd suspect me. I presume they'll be wiring for me to come back now."
"Oh, sure. They won't suspect me, either. I sneaked in the big tent and fixed the trapeze when no one was about. See here, Daley, if you do get your job back you'd ought to give me an extra ten."
"I'll see about it," said Daley.
The two worthies walked from the place. Andy watched them cross fields away from the main road and away from both Clifton and Centreville.
Little thrills of horror ran all over the boy. This was his first view of the dark, plotful side of circus life, and it appalled him.
"Why," he exclaimed, "it may be murder. Oh, those wretches! The Benares Brothers. I saw them yesterday. I remember the dive for life. I had to hold my breath when one man made that somersault, away up at the top of the tent. It was more than thrilling when he caught the other trapeze with his knees. It was curdling when his partner made his dive for life. One second over time, one miss of an inch, and it looked sure death. And now that trapeze has been tampered with, and—"
The excited Andy did not finish the sentence. He forgot all his own plans and the possible danger of arrest at Centreville.
He jumped down from the hay bales and dashed out of the barn. Andy sped along the highway circus-ward at the top of his speed.
The situation had appealed to him in a flash. The two plotters had talked in plain English. There was no misunderstanding their motives and acts.
Andy had a vivid picture in his mind—the big circus tent four miles away. He could recall just where the Benares Brothers act came on the programme.
"It was about ninth down the list yesterday afternoon," he mused, softly. "They begin the show about eight o'clock. It's now about nine. I calculate the Benares Brothers come on this evening at about a quarter to ten. Four miles. I can run that in half an hour. Yes, I shall be in time."
Andy pressed his arms to his sides, took breath to conserve his staying powers, and maintained a steady, telling pace.
The lights of Centreville began to show nearer. He heard a town bell strike the half-hour as he came in sight of the grounds and the illuminated big tent of the show.
The band inside was blaring away. The side shows were not doing much business. Some were getting ready for the removal. There were not many people around the main entrance. Andy, quite breathless, rushed up to the ticket taker there.
"I want to go in for just a minute," he said—"I must see the manager."
"Cut for it—no gags go here," retorted the man rudely.
"It's pretty important. Here," began Andy. Then he paused in dismay. "Oh dear!" he spoke to himself, "I never put on my coat, that I used as a pillow back in that barn."
In the hurry and excitement of the occasion Andy had left the coat among the hay bales. Just before arranging his bed he had stowed the marble bag containing the balance of Graham's five dollars in a pocket of the garment.
He could not therefore pay his fare into the show. Only for an instant, however, was Andy daunted.
He suddenly realized that he could get more promptly to the manager or the ringmaster from the rear.
He ran around the big white mountain of canvas till he reached the performers' tent. Patrolling outside of it was a club-armed watchman.
"Please let me in," said Andy hurriedly. "I want to see the manager, quick."
"Yes, they all do. G'wan! Games don't go here."
"No, no, I'm not trying to dead-head it," cried Andy. "Please call Mr.Marco or Miss Starr. They know me—"
"G'wan, I tell you. I'm too old a bird to get caught by chaff.Get—now."
The watchman struck Andy a sharp rap over the shoulders. Andy was in desperation. He was started to run around to some other of the minor tents, when a shifting slit in the canvas gave him a momentary view of the interior of the big circus tent.
"Oh," cried Andy, wringing his hands, "the very act is on—the BenaresBrothers! I must act at once!"
Andy made a rush, intent on getting under the canvas at all hazards. He checked himself. If he succeeded in eluding the watchman outside, he would have difficulty in getting to the manager. He might be captured inside at once. He stood staring at the tent top in extreme anxiety and suspense.
Shadows aloft enlightened him as to-what was going on. The Benares Brothers were mounting aloft. He made them out bowing gracefully, pulled up on the toe coils. He saw their outlines, trapeze-seated. The orchestra struck up a new tune. The act was about to commence.
"I must stop them—I will warn them!" panted Andy with resolution. "If I got to the manager he might not understand me or believe me. It might be too late—there is not a minute to spare."
Andy was quivering with excitement, his eyes flashing, his face flushed.
He ran towards a guy rope, sprang up, caught at it, and hand over hand rapidly ascended it.
Where it tapped the lower dip of the upper canvas, he transferred his grasp.
A seam was here, held together by hook and ring clear to the gap at the centre pole. This seam, Andy discerned, ran right over to the trapezes.
Andy scaled the course of the seam with the agility of a monkey, hooking the rings with his fingers and pulling himself up. The canvas quivered, shook and gave, but he did not heed that.
He came to the open gap around the centre pole, seized the bound edge of the canvas, and gazed down.
Ten feet across was old Benares, just getting ready for some evolutions.Directly under Andy was the trapeze holding the man he supposed to beThacher. Over his head swung a smaller trapeze.
Andy lay flat along the sloping canvas and stuck his head further down.
"Mr. Thacher! Mr. Thacher!" he shouted.
"Eh, why, hello! Who are you?"
In wonderment the trapezist gazed up at the earnest, agitated face gazing down at him.
At that juncture there was an ominous rip. Andy's weight it seemed had pressed too forcibly down upon a rotted section of the canvas.
A strip about a foot wide tore free, binding and all, from the edge nearest the centre pole. It split six feet sheer. Andy's feet went over his head, but he kept a tight grip on the end of the strip.
Dangling in mid air sixty feet above the saw-dust ring, Andy swung in space dizzy-headed, his first appearance before the circus public.
Andy stared down at a sea of faces. They seemed far away. The circus manager had stepped briskly out into the ring.
In great wonderment he stood gazing aloft. The audience swayed, and a general murmur filled the air. Many pointed upwards. Some arose from their seats, craning their necks in excitement.
The orchestra dropped the music to low, undecided notes. Puzzled spectators wondered if the strange appearance above was part of some new novelty change in the programme.
Andy clung to the dangling strip of canvas for dear life. The trapezist, Thacher, stared at him in profound astonishment. He was about to speak, to demand an explanation, when there was a second ripping sound.
"Look out!" cried Thacher sharply.
Andy saw what was happening. The canvas strip that had torn free lengthwise was now splitting its breadth.
In another moment a mere filament of cloth would hold Andy suspended. He must act, and act quickly, or take a plunge sixty feet down.
Andy did not lose his presence of mind. Just the same as if he was on the rafters of the old barn at home, or practicing on a rope strung from two high tree tops, as had been many a time the case, he calculated his chances and set his skill at work.
He ventured a brief swing on the frail strip of canvas. As it finally tore free in his hand, Andy dropped it. He had got his momentum, however. It was to swing sideways and down. The next instant Andy was at the side of Thacher. One hand caught and held to a rope of the trapeze. There Andy anchored, resting one knee on the edge of the performing bar.
"You're a good one!" muttered the trapezist in wonder. "Don't get rattled, now."
"Not while I've got my grip. Say," projected Andy, "I'm sorry to interrupt the performance, but it's a matter of life or death."
"Eh?" uttered Thacher in a puzzled way. "What's up?"
"Do you know a man named Murdock?"
"Ring man, fired last week. Yes. What of it?"
"Do you know a man named Daley?"
"Fired, too—for drinking. I took his place on this team."
"They hate you. They have plotted to disable you. The trapeze yonder—Murdock has cut the ropes, secured the bar with thread, and the slightest touch will send a performer to the ring with broken limbs."
"What! Are you crazy or fooling? Doped the rigging? Why, that's murder, kid!"
"They have done it just the same. Listen."
Faster than he had ever talked before Andy told of the conversation he had overheard in the old hay barn. He hurriedly recited his failure in reaching the manager. He told of his rapid ascent of the top canvas. The present denouement had resulted.
Under his face rouge Thacher showed the shock of vivid emotions. The murmur below was increasing. The manager was looking up impatiently.
Old Benares, across on his trapeze, regarded his partner in bewilderment.
Suddenly Thacher shot out some words towards him. It was a kind of circus gibberish, mixed with enough straight English to enlighten Andy that his story was being imparted to Old Benares.
"You must get me out of this," said Andy. "The audience is becoming restive."
Thacher extended his hand, the back showing, in the direction of the orchestra. The band, at this signal, struck up a quick, lively tune.
"Get clear on the bar," directed Thacher rapidly, giving Andy more room. "Say," he added, in some surprise at Andy's cleverness, "you seem at home all right. Performer?"
"Oh, no—only a little amateur practice."
"It's given you the right nerve. Now then, you can't get up again, you've got to go down. Want to do it gracefully?"
"Sure," smiled Andy, perfectly calm and collected.
The situation rather delighted him than otherwise. He had supreme confidence in his companion, and felt that he was in safe hands.
"Are you grit for a swing?" pursued Thacher.
"Try me," said Andy.
Thacher called over some further words to old Benares. The latter at once swung down from his trapeze, holding on by his knees, both hands extended towards his partner.
"Do just as I say," directed Thacher to Andy. "Let me get you under the arms. Double your knees up to your chin. Can you hold yourself that way?"
"Yes," assented Andy.
"Now!" spoke Thacher sharply.
The next instant the performer had dropped Andy in his clasp. He had slipped an ankle halter to one of his own limbs.
This alone held him. Head downward, he lightly swung Andy to and fro.Andy rolled up like a ball ready for the next move.
All this had consumed less than two minutes. Now the audience believed Andy's sensational appearance a regularly arranged feature of the performance.
The oddity of a boy in ordinary dress coming into the act, as Andy had done, excited the profoundest interest and attention.
The manager in the ring below stood like one petrified, puzzled beyond all comprehension.
The orchestra checked its music. An intense strain pervaded. The audience swayed, but that only. There was a profound silence.
"One, two, three," said Thacher, at intervals.
"Come," answered old Benares.
At the end of a long, swift swing of his body, Thacher let go of Andy, who spun across a ten feet space that looked twenty to the audience below. Andy felt a light contact, old Benares' double grip caught under his arms.
The act was the merest novice trick analyzed by an expert, but it set the audience wild.
A prodigious cheer arose, clapping of hands, juvenile yells of admiration. The band came in with a ringing march. Old Benares righted himself, Andy with him.
"Su-paarb!" he said. "Can you hold on alone—one little minute?"
"Sure," said Andy.
The trapezist reached up and untied the descending rope, secured it to the bar, and shouted to those standing below.
Two ring hands ran out into the sawdust, caught the other end, and held it perfectly taut.
"Can you slide down it?" asked Benares.
Andy's eyes sparkled.
"Say, Mr. Benares," he replied, "if I wasn't rattled by all that crowd, I could do it head first. I've done the regular, one leg drop, fifty times."
"You are admirable—an ex-paart!" declaimed old Benares. "Who are you, anyway?"
"Only Andy Wildwood. Do you think I could ever do a real circus act?"
"Do I think—hear them yell! You have made a hit. Good boy. Be careful.Go."
Andy essayed an old rope performance he had seen done once, and had many times practiced.
This was to secure one leg around the rope, throw himself outwards, fold his arms, and wind round and round the rope, slowly descending.
The orchestra caught the cue, and kept time with appropriate music. A second hush held the audience. Without a break, Andy descended the forty odd feet of cable.
Nearing its end, he caught at the rope to steady himself. Then he gracefully leaped free of it to the sawdust, and made a profound bow to the audience amid wild thunders of applause.
The circus manager followed Andy, as the latter darted past the band stand and into the passageway leading to the performers' tent.
His face was a blank of wonderment. The ringmaster joined him, and so did one or two others as he hurried after Andy.
They found the latter holding to a guy rope, Andy's head was spinning. The reaction from intense excitement made him weak and breathless for some moments.
The audience was still in a pleasant flutter of commotion over the unique act that had caught their fancy.
The Benares Brothers went on with their performance, They cut out "the dive for life," but they made up for it by some dazzling aerial evolutions that thrilled the spectators, and everybody seemed satisfied.
Five minutes later they joined the group crowding around Andy. The manager had just finished questioning the lad as to details of the remarkable story he had told.
His face was stern and angry as he uttered some quick words to the ringmaster. Then the latter, taking a weighted coiled-up toe rope in his hand, went out into the ring.
From where he was Andy could see this flung aloft. It caught across the bar of the "doped" trapeze.
At a touch this latter came hurtling to the ground. Old Benares, watching also, trembled with intense anger.
"It is infamoos!" he declared. "Where should my partner be, but for this boy?"
The ringmaster examined the loosened trapeze bar. Just as Andy had stated, two slight threads alone had held it to the supporting ropes.
Thacher laid a friendly, grateful hand on Andy's shoulder. He was too full of emotion to speak. Andy looked up and smiled brightly.
"Good thing I was around, wasn't it?" he said carelessly. "Oh, there'sMr. Marco."
The Man with the Iron Jaw came up to the group at this juncture.
"You, Andy Wildwood!" he said. "I heard of the trapeze. So it is you again? Come with me. No, don't keep him," continued Marco to Thacher in a hurried way that made Andy curious. "You can see him again. Come, lad."
"What's the trouble, Mr. Marco?" asked Andy.
Marco did not answer. He kept hold of Andy's arm and led him to the rear. About to enter the performers' tent he dodged back.
"Keep close to me," he directed in a tone of suppressed excitement."Quick, Wildwood—out this way. Hurry, now."
He had darted towards the bottom of the canvas strip siding the passageway. Lifting this up, he thrust Andy under it. Crawling after him and arising to his feet, he again grasped Andy's arm.
Headed for the open space the main entrance faced, Marco suddenly jerked Andy to one side. He now made swiftly for some small tents abutting the performers' tent.
"Hey! hi! hello!" some one had yelled out at them, and Andy saw two skulking forms making towards them.
A third figure joined them. Andy discerned evident pursuit in their manner and actions.
"Keep with me. Run in," directed Marco.
He had thrust Andy into one of the little tents the boy recognized as a dressing room. Marco dropped the flap and stood outside.
"Where's the boy gone to?" puffed out a labored voice.
"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy, under cover, but with a gasp of sheer dismay. "I understand now."
Andy recognized the tones of this last speaker. They belonged to Wagner, the village constable of Fairview.
"He's in that little tent," spoke another voice.
"Surround it," ordered Wagner. "Here, you stand aside. The boy I've been looking for all day is in that tent. I want him."
"Hold on," retorted Marco. "This is private circus property."
"Yes, and I'm a public officer, I'd have you know!" said Wagner. "No use. Don't interfere with the course of justice, or you'll get into trouble."
There was no light in the tent. The many flaring gasoline torches outside, however, cast a radiance that enabled Andy to pretty accurately make out the situation.
He traced two shadowy figures making a circuit of the tent. He could seeMarco push back Wagner.
The latter was unsteady of gait and voice. Andy theorized that he had been commissioned by his aunt to pursue him.
Wagner had come down to Centreville with two assistants. Their expenses were probably paid in advance, and they had made a kind of individual celebration of the trip.
"I've been looking for that boy all day," now spoke Wagner.
"I know you have," answered Marco, standing like a statue at the door of the tent.
"He's a fugitive from justice. I'm bound to have him. I'm an arm of the law."
"What's he done?" inquired Marco.
"He's nearly broken his poor old aunt's heart."
"I didn't ask about his aunt's heart. What's he done?"
"Oh, why—hum, that's so. Well, he's been expelled from school because of his crazy circus capers."
"Indeed. I'm a circus man. Do you observe anything particularly crazy about me?" demanded Marco. "Say, my friend, you get out of this. I'm Marco, the Man with the Iron Jaw. It won't be healthy for me to tackle you, and I will if you make yourself obstreperous. You won't get that boy until you show me convincingly that you have a legal right to do so."
"Legal right? Why!" cried Wagner, drawing out a paper, "there's my warrant."
"Let me look at it, please. Oh," said Marco, examining the document."Issued in another county. We're pretty good lawyers, us show folks, andI can tell you that you will have to get a search warrant issued in thiscounty before you dare set a foot in that tent."
The Fairview constable was nonplussed. Marco was right, and Wagner knew it. He threshed about, fumed and threatened, and finally said:
"All right. I guess you know the law. We may have no right to enter that tent without a local search warrant, but the minute we get the boy outside we can take him on sight."
"You won't have the chance," observed Marco.
"We'll see. Hey," to his two assistants, "keep a close watch. I'm going for a local search warrant. Don't let Andy Wildwood leave that tent. The minute he does, nab him. Mister, I hereby notify you that these two men are my regularly appointed deputies."
"All right," nodded Marco calmly.
"Watch out, boys. I won't be gone half-an-hour."
At that moment a waddling man came up smoking an immense pipe.
"Ha," he said to Mr. Marco, "I vant mine drums."
"Wait a minute, Snitzellbaum," directed Marco.
Marco held the newcomer at bay until Wagner had disappeared in the direction of the town.
Then, leaning over, he whispered in the ear of the rotund musician.
"Ha! ho! hum! vhat? ho—ho! ha—ha!"
"Hush!" warned Marco, with a quick glance at the constable's deputies patrolling up and down. "Will you do it?"
"Vill I—oh, schure! Ha-ha! ho-ho! Mister Marco, you are von chenyus."
"Want your drum, eh?" spoke Marco in a loud tone. "Well, go in and get it."
Andy knew something was afoot from what he observed. He hoped it was in the line of preventing his return to Fairview.
In about five minutes the fat German came out of the tent, lugging his big bass drum with him.
"I put him on dot vagon," he puffed. "Good night, Mr. Marco. Vat dey do mit dot poy in dere, hey?"
"Oh, I'll attend to him," declared Marco.
Another half-hour went by. At its end Wagner came hurrying up to the spot. He had a companion with him, a keen-eyed, shrewd-faced fellow, evidently a local officer.
"I have a search warrant here," said the latter.
"All right," nodded Marco accommodatingly, "go on with your search."
"Told you I'd get that boy," announced Wagner, with a chuckle lifting the flap of the tent. "Say! How's this? Andy Wildwood is gone!"
"Come oud!" said Hans Snitzellbaum.
"I'm glad to," answered Andy Wildwood.
He took a long, refreshing draught of pure air, and stood up and stretched his cramped limbs with satisfaction.
When the Man with the Iron Jaw had whispered to the fat musician outside the dressing tent guarded by Wagner's assistants, he had asked him to get Andy out of the clutches of the constable.
The fat sides of Hans Snitzellbaum shook with jollity, and his merry eye twinkled at the hint conveyed by Andy's staunch friend.
When Hans came inside the tent, a whispered word to Andy was sufficient to make the young fugitive understand what was coming.
Hans removed the top head of his big bass drum. Andy snuggled along the rounded woodwork of the instrument, and the drum head was replaced.
The double load was a pretty heavy one for the portly musician to handle, but all went well.
He got away from the dressing tent without arousing the suspicions of the constable's assistants. The drum was hoisted to the top of a moving wagon at some distance. Andy was rather crowded and short of breath, but he lay quiet and serene as the wagon started up.
They must have traveled four miles before the musician's welcome invitation to "come oud" followed a second removal of the drum head.
Andy looked about him. They were slowly traversing the main road leading from Centreville to Clifton.
There was bright moonlight, and the general view was interesting and picturesque. Ahead and behind a seemingly interminable caravan was in motion.
Chariots, cages, vehicles holding tent paraphernalia, a calliope, ticket wagons, horses, mules, ponies, seemed in endless parade. Performers and general circus employees thronged the various vehicles.
That in which Andy now found himself was a wagon with high, slatted sides, piled full of trunks, mattresses, seat cushions and curtains.
The fat musician reclined in a dip in the soft bedding; his bulky body had formed. Over beyond him lay a sad-faced man in an exhausted slumber, looking so utterly done out and ill that Andy pitied him.
A boy about Andy's own age, and two men whose attire and general appearance suggested side show "spielers," or those flashily dressed fellows who announce the wonders on view inside the minor canvases, lay half-buried among some gaudy draperies.
The two men lay with their high silk hats held softly by both hands across their breasts. The circus tinge was everywhere. One of them in his sleep was saying: "Ziripa, the Serpent Queen. Step up, gentlemen. Eats snakes like you eat strawberry shortcake. Eats 'em alive! Bites their heads off!"
As the wagon jolted on Hans comfortably smoked a pipe fully four feet long. His twinkling little eyes fairly laughed at Andy as the latter stepped out of the drum.
"Hey, you find him varm, hey?" he asked.
"I'd have smothered if I hadn't kept my mouth close to that vent hole," explained Andy. "Is it all right for me to show myself now?"
"Yaw," declared the fat musician. "You see dot sign?"
He pointed back a few yards. Andy recognized the four-armed semaphore set where a narrow road intersected the highway they were traversing.
"Oh, yes," said Andy quickly, "that shows the State line."
"Yaw, dot vas so. No one can arrest you now, Marco says, and Marco vas like a lawyer, hey?"
"Will I see Mr. Marco soon again?" asked Andy.
"For sure dot vas. He toldt me vot to do. Vhen we reach dot Cliftons, you vill go mit Billy Blow. He vill takes care of you till morning. Den you goes to dot Empire Hotel und sees Miss Stella Starr."
"Oh, I understand," exclaimed Andy brightly and hopefully. "And who isBilly Blow, please?"
"Him," explained Hans, pointing to the sleeping man with the sad, tired face—"dot is Billy Blow, the clown."
"Eh, what—clown? Not the one who rides the donkey and tells such funny stories?"
"Oh, yaw," declared the musician in a matter-of-fact way.
Andy was naturally surprised. He could hardly realize that the person he was looking at could ever make up as the mirth-provoking genius who was the life and fun of the big circus ring.
"Poor Billy!" said Hans, shaking his head solemnly. "First his vife falls from a horse. She vas in dot hospitals. Den his little poy, Midget, is sick. Poor Billy!"
Andy suddenly remembered something. He craned his neck and looked steadfastly along the road.
"I want to leave the wagon when we get a little further along," he said.
"I likes not dot," answered Snitzellbaum. "Maybe you gets in droubles, so?"
"No, it's when we reach an old barn," explained Andy. "I left something there earlier in the evening. I won't be a minute getting it."
In about half-an-hour, as they approached the hay barn where Andy had overheard the conversation between Daley and Murdock, he slipped down from the wagon. He ran ahead, went up among the hay bales, found the coat containing the marble bag holding his little stock of money, and speedily rejoined the musician.
Hans finished his pipe and sank into a doze. Andy could not sleep. He had gone through too much excitement that day to readily compose himself.
He lay listening dreamily to the jolty clatter of the wagons, the shouts of the drivers, and the commotion of the animals in the menagerie cages. Meanwhile he was thinking ardently of the next day. It would decide his fate. He felt hopeful that the show would take him on from the fact that Miss Stella Starr had required his presence the next morning.
"Hey," spoke a sudden voice, "give us a chaw, will you?"
Andy with a start turned to face the boy he had noticed asleep. The latter had rudely knocked his shoulder. He had looked mean to Andy while slumbering. He looked tough as he fixed his eyes on Andy, wide open.
"I don't 'chaw,'" said the latter.
"Teeth gone?" sneered the other.
"No, that's why I don't care to lose them," retorted Andy.
"Huh! Say, Snitzellbaum, loan me a little tobacco, will you?"
The speaker had nudged the musician. The latter eyed him with little favor.
"You vas a kid," he observed, stirring up. "Vhen you grow up, maybe. Not now."
The boy let out a string of rough expletives under his breath. Then fixing his eye on Andy curiously, he demanded:
"Who's the kindergarten kid? Trying to break into the show?"
"I may," answered Andy calmly.
"Oho!" chuckled the other, with a wicked grin—"we'll have some fun with you, then."
"Maybe not," broke in the musician. "Dot poy has a pull."
"Oh, has he?" snorted the other.
"Yaw. Maybe you don't know, hey, Jim Tapp? You hear about dot cut trapeze? Aha! It vas dis poy who discovered dot in time."
"Eh!" ejaculated young Tapp, with a prodigious start. "Yes," he continued very slowly, viewing Andy with a searching, hateful look. "I heard of it. Says Murdock put up the job to break Thacher's neck."
"Dot vas so."
"How does he know it?"
"He overheardt dose schoundrels tell dot."
"Maybe he's lying."
"Did dot cut trapeze show if he vas, hey?"
"Then he's a spy. Sneaking in on gentlemen's private affairs. Bah!" cried Tapp, with a venomous stare at Andy, "I wouldn't train with you two at a hundred per week!"
He crawled over to the edge of the wagon preparatory to leaving the vehicle and seeking more congenial company.
"Hey, you, Jim Tapp," observed Snitzellbaum, "you vas a pal of Daley, hey? You see him? Vell, you tell him ve hang him up by dose heels, und Murdock mit him, vonce ve catch dem. See you?"
Tapp disappeared over the edge of the wagon into the road.
"Mein friend," remarked the musician to Andy, "you vatch oud for dot poy."
Andy Wildwood recalled the solemn warning before the next day was over.