"Robbed!" gasped the man. "Ha, I see—you are a burglar," he continued, turning fiercely on the astonished youth.
"Not me," dissented Andy vigorously.
"Yes, you are. All my coins and curios gone! Why, you young thief—"
"Hold on," interrupted Andy, resisting the savage jerk of his captor. "Don't you abuse me till you know who I am. Yes, your place has been burglarized—I see that, now."
"Oh, do you?" sneered the man. "Thanks."
"Yes, sir. I saw two men come out of the cellar here an hour ago. I didn't understand then, but I do now."
"From the cellar? Well, we'll investigate the cellar."
"Better not," advised Andy. "At least, not just yet."
"Well, you're a cool one! Why not?"
"Because there's a bear down there."
"A what?" cried the man, incredulously.
"A bear escaped from the circus. Say, I just thought of it. Have the burglars taken much?"
"Oh, you're innocent aren't you?" flared out the man.
"I certainly am," answered Andy calmly.
"Did they take much? My hobby is rare coins. With the missing curios, I guess they've got about two thousand dollars' worth."
"Would the stuff make quite a bundle?" asked Andy.
"With the curios—I guess! Five pound candlesticks. Two large silver servers. The coins were set on metal squares, and would make bulk and weight."
"I have an idea—" began Andy. "No, let me explain first. Please listen, sir. You will think differently about me when I tell you my story."
"Go ahead," growled his captor.
Andy recited his chase of the bear and its denouement. Then he added:
"If those two men were the burglars, they got in by way of the cellar. They came out through the cellar window. I theorize they came down into the cellar with their plunder. They disturbed the bear, and Big Bob went for them. When I saw them they were empty-handed. I'll bet they dropped their booty in their wild rush for escape."
"Eh? I hope so. Let's find out."
The man appeared to believe Andy. He released his hold on him. Just as they came out on the front porch Andy spoke up:
"There are the circus people. They'll soon fix Mr. Bear."
A boxed wagon had driven from the road into the yard. It held six men. The chief animal trainer jumped down from the vehicle, followed by the head hostler. Four subordinates followed, carrying ropes, muzzles, pikes, and one of them a stick having on its end a big round cork filled with fine needles.
"I'm glad you've come," said Andy, running forward to meet them. "BigBob is in there," he explained to the trainer, pointing to the cellar.
"You're a good one, Wildwood," commended the trainer in an approving tone. "How did you ever work it?"
Andy explained, while the trainer selected a muzzle for the bear and armed himself with the needle-pointed device. Then he went to the cellar door.
"Shut it quick after me," he said. "Come when I call."
Andy ran around to the broken window as soon as the trainer was inside the cellar.
He watched the man approach Big Bob. The bear snarled, made a stand, and showed his teeth.
One punch of the needle-pointed device across his nostrils sent him bellowing. A second on one ear brought him to the floor. The trainer pounced on him and adjusted the muzzle over his head. Then he deftly whipped some hobbles on his front paws.
He yelled to his assistants. They hurried into the cellar and soon emerged, dragging Big Bob after them.
The owner of the place had stood by watching these proceedings silently. While the others dragged the bear to the boxed wagon the trainer approached him.
"If there's any bill for damages, just name it," he spoke.
"I'll tell you that mighty soon," answered the man.
He dashed into the cellar and Andy heard him utter a glad shout. He came out carrying two old satchels. Throwing them on the ground he opened them.
They were filled with coins and curios. The man ran these over eagerly.He looked up with a face supremely satisfied.
"Not a cent," he cried heartily. "No, no—no damages. Glad to have served you."
"All right. Come on, Wildwood," said the trainer, starting for the wagon.
"One minute," interrupted the owner of the place, beckoning to Andy.
He drew out his wallet, fingered over some bank bills, selected one, and grasped Andy's hand warmly.
"You have done me a vast service," he declared. "But for you—"
"And the bear," suggested Andy, with a smile.
"All right," nodded the man, "only, the bear can't spend money. You can.I misjudged you. Let me make it right. Take that."
He released his grasp of Andy's hand momentarily, to slap into his palm a banknote.
"Now, look here—" began Andy, modestly.
"No, you look there!" cried the man, pushing Andy towards the wagon."Good bye and good luck."
Andy ran and jumped to the top of the wagon, which had just started up.
Settling himself comfortably, he took a look at the banknote. His eyes started, and a flush of surprise crossed his face.
It was a fifty dollar bill.
"From bad to worse," said the Man With the Iron Jaw.
"Correct, Marco," assented Billy Blow dejectedly.
It was three weeks after the start of the southern tour of the circus.
Marco, the clown, Midget, Miss Stella Starr, Andy and about a dozen others were seated or strolling around the performers' tent about the middle of the afternoon.
Every face in the crowd looked anxious—some disheartened and desperate.
Bad luck attended the southern trip of the show. They had reached Montgomery in the midst of a terrific rain storm. Two animal cars had been derailed and wrecked on the route.
Three days later a wind storm nearly tore the main top to tatters. Some of the performers fell sick, due to the change of climate. Others foresaw trouble, and joined other shows in the north.
The season started out badly and kept it up. The attendance as they left the big cities was disastrously light.
They had to cut out one or two towns here and there, on account of bad roads and accidents. Now the show had reached Lacon, and after more trouble found itself stalled.
To be "stalled," Andy had learned was to be very nearly stranded. No salaries had been paid for a full fortnight. Some of the performers had gotten out executions against the show.
Aside from this, on account of the absence of many attractions advertised in the show bills, disappointed audiences were showing an ugly spirit.
The show was tied up by local creditors, who would not allow it to leave town until their bills were paid.
To make matters worse, Sim Dewey, the treasurer of the show, had run away with eleven thousand dollars two days before.
This comprised the active capital of the show. Not a trace of the whereabouts of the mean thief had been discovered.
All these facts were known to the performers, and over the same they were brooding that dismal rainy afternoon, awaiting the coming of the manager.
"Here he is," spoke an eager voice, and Mr. Scripps bustled into the tent.
He rubbed his hands briskly and smiled at everybody, but Andy saw that this was all put on. Lines of care and anxiety showed about the plucky manager's eyes and lips.
"Well, my friends," he spoke at once. "We've arrived at a decision."
"Good," commented Marco. "Let's have it."
"I have had a talk with the lawyers who hold the executions against the show, I have suggested four nights and two matinees at half-price, papering four counties liberally. We'll announce only the attractions we really have, so there can be no kicking. What is taken in the treasurer is to hand over to the sheriff. He is to pay fifty per cent on claims against us. The balance, minus expenses, is to go for salaries. I should say that we can pay each performer a full half salary. There's the situation, friends. What do you say?"
"Satisfactory," nodded Marco.
"Billy Blow?"
"I've got pretty heavy expenses, with a wife in the hospital," said the clown in a subdued tone, "but I'll try and make half salary do."
"Miss Starr?"
The kind-hearted equestrienne smiled brightly.
"Take care of the others first, Mr. Scripps," she said. "While I have these, we won't exactly starve."
Miss Stella Starr shook the glittering diamond pendants in her pretty pink ears.
"Thank you," bowed the manager, choking up a trifle. "Andy Wildwood?"
"I'm a mere speck in the show," said Andy, "but I'll stick if there isn't a cent of salary. It's the last ditch for my good, true friends, Mr. Scripps."
The manager turned aside to hide his emotion.
"Friends," he resumed an instant later, "you break me all up with this kind of talk. You're a royal, good lot. I've wired Mr. Harding that he must help us out. Stick to your posts, and no one shall lose a dollar."
There was not a dissent to his proposition as he completed calling the list of performers. Andy's action shamed some into coming into the arrangements. The manager's words encouraged others. While some few answered grudgingly, the compact was made unanimous.
"There's a crowd of hard roughs trying to make trouble," concluded Mr. Scripps. "Leave that to the tent men. Give the best show you know how, try and please the crowds, and I guess we'll win out."
Every act went excellently at the evening performance up to about the middle of the programme.
Andy did his level best. He won an encore by a trick somersault oldBenares had taught him.
Billy Blow was at his funniest. He had the audience in fine, good humor.Little Midget over-exerted himself to follow in his father's lead.
Marco was a pronounced success. Miss Stella Starr made one of her horses dance a graceful round to the tune of "Dixie," and the audience went wild.
Andy, in street dress, came into the canvas passageway near the orchestra as the trick elephants were led into the ring. The manager nodded to him. Andy saw that he was pleased the way things were going.
For all that, he observed that Mr. Scripps kept his eye pretty closely on a rough crowd occupying seats near the entrance.
They seemed to be of a general group. They talked loudly and passed all kinds of comments on the various acts.
Finally one of their number shied a carrot into the ring, striking the elephant trainer.
The latter caught his cue instantly at a word from the ringmaster. He picked up the vegetable, made a profound bow to the sender, juggled it cleverly with his training wand, one-two-three, and turned the tables completely as the smart baby elephant caught it on the fly.
Cat calls rang out derisively from a lot of boys, directed at the group of rowdies from the midst of whom the carrot had been thrown.
Then a man arose unsteadily from that mob and stumbled over the ring ropes.
The ringmaster, his face very stern and very white, stepped forward to intercept him.
"What do you want?" he demanded.
"Man insulted me. Going to lick him," hiccoughed the rowdy, his eyes fixed on the elephant trainer.
"Leave the ring," ordered the ringmaster.
"Me? Guess not! Will I, boys?" he demanded of his special crowd of cronies.
"No, no! Go on! Have it out!"
A good many timid ones arose from their seats. The ringmaster scented trouble.
Stepping squarely up to the drunken loafer, his hand shot out in a flash and caught the fellow squarely under the jaw. He knocked him five feet across the ropes, where he landed like a clod of earth in a heap.
Instantly there was an uproar. The orchestra stopped playing. The manager ran forward and put up his hand.
"We will have order here at any cost," he shouted. "Officer," to the guard at the entrance, "call the police."
With wild yells some fifty of the group from which the drunken rowdy had come sprang from the benches. They jumped over the ropes, crowding into the ring and making for the manager.
Half-a-dozen ring men ran forward to repel them. Fists brandished, and cudgels, too. The circus men went down among flying heels.
Then arose a cry, heard for the first time by the excited Andy—never later recalled without a thrill as he realized from that experience its terrific portent.
"Hey, Rube!"
It was the world-wide rallying cry of the circus folk—the call in distress for speedy, reliant help.
As if by magic the echoes took up the call. Andy heard them respond from the farthest haunts of the circus grounds.
From under the benches, through the main entrance, under the loose side flaps, a rallying army sprang into being.
Stake men, wagon men, cooks, hostlers, candy butchers, came flying from every direction.
Every one of them had found a weapon—a stake. Like skilled soldiers they grouped, and bore down on the intruders like an avalanche.
Women were shrieking, fainting on the benches, children were crying. The audience was in a wild turmoil. Some benches broke down. The scene was one of riotous confusion.
Suddenly a shot rang out. Then Andy had a final sight of crashing clubs and mad, bleeding faces, as some one pulled the centre-light rope. The big chandelier came down with a crash, precipitating the tent in semi-darkness.
So excited was Andy, that, grasping a stake, he was about to dash into the midst of the conflict. The manager pushed him back.
"Get out of this," he ordered quickly. "Look to the women and children.Our men will see to it that those low loafers get all they came for."
"Wildwood," spoke Marco rushing up to Andy just here, "they have cut the guy ropes of the performers' tent. I must get to my family. Look out for Miss Starr. Here she is."
The young acrobat turned in time to see the performers' tent wobble inwards. Miss Starr, quite flustered, ran rapidly to escape being caught in its drooping folds.
Following her, looking worn out and anxious, carrying Midget in his arms, was Billy Blow.
"Get them out of this!" cried Marco, holding up the flap of the canvas passage way.
"Here, let me take him," directed Andy. "You're not equal to the heavy load."
He removed Midget from the clown's arms, and led the way to the outer air.
Yells and shots sounded from the main tent. Outside there was a swaying, excited mob. Andy evaded them, leading the way to the street lining the circus grounds at one side.
"Look there," suddenly exclaimed the clown in a gasping tone.
The main tent was on fire. A mob was trying to pull down the menagerie tent.
"Hi!" yelled the leader of a gang of boys rushing past them and halting, "here's some show folks."
"Pelt them!" cried another voice. "They won't pay my father his feed bill."
An egg flittered towards the fugitives. It struck Miss Starr on the back, soiling her pretty dress.
Andy ran back, Midget held on one arm. He let drive with his free hand and knocked the egg thrower head over heels.
This was the signal for a wild riot. The crowd of young hoodlums pressed close on Andy, and he retreated to the others.
"Take him, Miss Starr," he said quickly, placing Midget in her arms."Hurry to the lighted street yonder."
A rain of stones came towards them. Andy ran back at the crowd. In turn he sent four of them reeling with vigorous fisticuffs. Then he rejoined his friends.
A trolley car stood at one side of the street. The boys had yelled for help from others of their kind and their numbers increased dangerously. The motorman of the trolley car had neglected his duty and joined a gaping crowd at a corner. Riot and enmity to the circus people was in the air. Andy formed a speedy decision.
"Quick!" he ordered, "get into that car."
A brickbat knocked off his hat. A second smashed a window in the car asMiss Starr and the others got aboard.
Two big fellows pounced upon Andy. He met one with a blow that laid him flat. With a trick leap he landed his feet against the stomach of the other, sending him reeling back, breathless.
Andy made a jump over the front railing of the car. Another deluge of missiles struck the car. He noticed that his friends were safely aboard. Andy noticed, too, that the crank handle of the motor box was in place.
"Anywhere for safety from that mob," he thought.
Grr-rr-whiz-z! The car started up. Shouts, missiles, running forms pursued it. Andy stopped for nothing. He put on full speed.
As he turned a sharp corner, Andy caught sight of a mass of light flames shooting upward. A crowd was in pursuit of the car. Shouts, shots and the roars of the animals in the menagerie caused a wild din. His inclinations lured him back to the scene of the excitement. His duty, however, seemed plain; to follow out Marco's instructions and convey his charges to a place of safety.
At a cross street some one hailed the car. Andy simply shot ahead the faster. Soon they reached the limits of the town. Andy bent his ear, and caught the distant clang of the trolley wagon.
He had stolen a car, and they were in pursuit. The general temper was adverse to the circus folks. Andy kept the car going.
Miss Starr came to the front door of the car and stepped out on the platform beside Andy.
"Brave boy," she said simply.
"Miss Starr, what are your plans?" he asked.
"Anything to get away from this horrid town," she said. "I am not afraid but what our tent men will teach that mob a lesson. They always do, in these riots. I have seen a dozen of them in my time. The police, too, will finally restore order. As to the show, though—the southern trip is over."
"Then you don't want to go back to Lacon?"
"Why should we? Our traps are probably burned, or stolen. If not, they will be sent on to us on direction. The show can't possibly survive. Billy and his boy couldn't stand the strain of any more trouble. No," sighed the equestrienne, "it is plain that we must seek another position."
Andy again heard the gong of the repair wagon. He thought fast. Putting on renewed speed, he never halted until they had covered about four miles. Here was a little cluster of houses. He stopped the car.
"Come with me, quick," he directed his friends, entering the car and taking up Midget in his arms.
Andy had been over this territory the day previous doing some exigency bill-posting service.
He led the way down a quiet street. After walking about four squares they reached railroad tracks and a little station. This was locked up and dark within. On the platform, however, was a box ready for shipment, with a red lantern beside it.
"I hope a train comes soon," thought Andy quite anxiously, as he caught the echo of the repair wagon gong nearer than before.
"There's a whistle," said little Midget.
"That's so," responded Andy, bending his ear. "Going north, too. I hope it's a train and I hope it comes along in time."
"In time for what?" inquired Midget.
Andy did not reply. He could estimate the progress of the pursuing wagon from gong sounds and shouts in the distance. He traced its halt, apparently at the stranded car. Then the gong sounded again.
Andy glanced down the street they had come. Two flashing, wobbling lights gleamed in the distance, headed in the direction of the railway station.
"They've guessed us out," said Andy. "Of course they can only delay us, but that counts just now. If the train—"
"She's coming!" sang out Midget in a nervous, high-pitched voice.
Andy's nerves were on a severe strain. A locomotive rounded a curve. The trolley wagon was still a quarter-of-a-mile distant.
The engine slowed down to a stop, the repair rig with flying horses attached less than a square away.
The baggage coach door opened. A man jumped out and started to put the box aboard.
"Hold on—through train," he yelled at Andy.
"That's all right. Quick, get aboard," he urged his companions.
Andy glanced from the windows of the coach they entered as the train started up with a jerk.
He saw the trolley wagon dash up to the platform. A police officer and some company men jumped off.
"Just in time," murmured Andy with satisfaction, as the station flashed from view.
The coach was nearly empty. He found a double seat. Miss Starr uttered a great sigh of relief. Poor Billy Blow sank down, thoroughly tired out. Midget laughed.
"I hope it's a long ride," he said.
"I'm afraid," spoke Miss Starr, "it won't be, Midge. See," and she opened a little purse, showing only a few silver coins. "I have some money in a bank in New York, but that does not help us at the present moment."
"I sent all I had to my poor wife," announced the clown dejectedly.
"That's all right," broke in Andy cheerily. "Here's a route list," and he picked up a timetable from the next seat. "Can you tell me where this train is bound for?" he inquired politely of a gentleman occupying the opposite seat.
"Baltimore."
"That sounds good," said Miss Starr. "There was a show there last week. The season's broken, we can't hope for a star engagement, but we might get in for a few weeks."
"I haven't the money to chase up situations all over the country," lamented the clown.
"Don't worry on that score," put in Andy briskly. "You people find out where you want to go. I'll take care of the bills."
"You, Andy?" spoke Miss Starr, with a stare.
"Yes, ma'am. You see, I've got my savings—"
"Ho! ho!" laughed Billy Blow bitterly. "Savings! Out of what? You haven't drawn one week's full salary since you joined us."
"Remember the needle and thread you loaned me on the train when we were going south, Miss Starr?" asked Andy.
"Why, yes, I think I do," nodded the equestrienne.
"Well, I wanted it to sew up a fifty dollar bill for safe-keeping. Here it is."
Andy with his knife ripped open a fob pocket and produced the bank note in question.
"Our common fund," he cried, waving it gaily. "Mr. Blow, designate your terminus. We'll not be put off the train, while this lasts."
Billy Blow choked up. He directed one grateful glance at Andy. Then he snuggled Midget close, and hid his face against him.
Miss Starr put a trembling hand on Andy's arm. A bright tear sparkled in her eye.
"Good as gold!" she said softly, "and true blue to the core!"
"Thank you. I think I'll get a drink of water," said Andy, covering his own emotion at this display of others by a subterfuge.
He went to the end of the car. At the moment he put out his hand for the glass under the water tank, a person from a near seat put out his also.
"Excuse me," said Andy, as they joggled.
"Certainly—you first," responded a pleasant voice.
"Hello!" almost shouted Andy Wildwood, starting as if from an electric shock. "Why, Luke Belding!"
"Eh? Aha! Andy Wildwood. Well! well! well!"
It was the ambitious lion tamer of Tipton—Luke the show boy, the owner of the famous chicken that walked backwards.
They shook hands with shining faces, forgetting the water, genuinely glad at the unexpected reunion.
"What are you ever doing here?" asked Andy.
"Me?" responded Luke, drawing himself up in mock dignity, yet withal a pleased pride in his eye. "Well, Wildwood, to tell you the truth I've got up in the world."
"Glad of it."
"And I am on my way to join the Greatest Show on Earth."
"The Greatest Show On Earth?" repeated Andy wonderingly. "You don't mean—"
"I do mean," nodded Luke vigorously. "The one—the only. Is there more than one? I'm on my way to join it."
"You're lucky," commented Andy.
"And ambitious, and tickled to death!" cried Luke effusively. "My! WhenI think of it, I imagine I'm dreaming. And say—I'm a capitalist."
"Well!" smiled Andy.
"Yes, sir—see?" and Luke spun round, exhibiting his neat apparel. "I'm an independent gentleman."
"You do look prosperous," admitted Andy.
"Living on my royalties."
"Royalties? How's that?"
"You remember the chicken?"
"That walked backwards. I'll never forget it."
"Well, sir," asserted Luke, "it took. When we left you, we struck a brisk show. Big business and the chicken a winner from the start. Another side showman offered me a big salary, and my boss got worried. He agreed to pay me ten per cent gross receipts for Bolivar. I knew he had a brother who was chief animal trainer with the Big Show. I took him up on condition that he got me a place there. He wrote to his brother, and I'm his assistant. On my way to Baltimore now. The show is on its way through Delaware."
"Wait here a minute," spoke Andy, and he went back to his friends.
Andy told them of meeting Luke, and the whereabouts of the Big Show. Just then the conductor came into the car, and they had to make a rapid decision.
"Let us get to Baltimore, anyway," suggested the clown. "It's nearer home—and my wife."
Andy paid their fares. Miss Starr briefly told the conductor of their mishaps at Lacon. Her eloquent, sympathetic eyes won Midget a free ride.
Andy got pillows for his three friends, and some coffee and pie from the adjoining buffet car.
He saw them comfortably disposed of for the night; and then went back toLuke.
They sat down close together, two pleased, jolly friends. Andy interested Luke immensely by reciting his vivid experiences since they had parted.
"By the way, Luke," he observed at last, "there's something I missed hearing from you at Tipton. Remember?"
"Let's see," said Luke musingly. "Oh, yes—you mean about your being an heir?"
"That's it."
Luke became animated at once.
"I've often thought about that," he said. "You know I was all struck of a heap when you first told me your name!"
"Yes."
"And asked if you was Andy Wildwood, the heir? Do you remember?"
"Exactly."
"Well, it was funny, but early on the day I came to the circus I was tramping it along a creek. About three miles out of town I should think, I lay down to rest among some bushes. Ten minutes after I'd got there a boat rowed by some persons came along. They beached it right alongside the brush. Then one of them, a boy, lifted a mail bag from the bottom of the skiff."
"A mail bag—- a boy?" repeated Andy, with a start of intelligence. "Did you hear his name?"
"Yes, in a talk that followed. The man with him called him Jim."
"Jim Tapp," murmured Andy.
"He called the man Murdock."
"I thought so," Andy said to himself. "They put up that mail robbery."
"They cut open the bag and took out a lot of letters," continued Luke. "A few of them had money in them. This they pocketed, tearing up the letters and throwing them into the creek. There was one letter the boy kept. He read it over and over. When they had got through with the letters, he said to the man that it was funny."
"What was funny?" asked Andy.
"Why, he said there was a letter putting him on to 'a big spec.,' as he called it. He said the letter told about a secret, about a fortune the writer had discovered. He said the letter was to a boy who would never know his good luck if they didn't tell him. He said to the man there was something to think over. He chuckled as he bragged how they would make a big stake juggling the fortune of the heir, Andy Wildwood."
"I don't understand it at all," said Andy, "but it is a singular story, for a fact."
"Well, that's all I know about it. The minute I heard your name, of course I recalled where I had heard it before."
"Of course," nodded Andy thoughtfully.
After that the conversation lagged. Luke soon fell asleep. For over two hours, however, Andy kept trying to figure out how he could possibly be an heir, who had written the letter, and to whom it had been addressed.
The next day they arrived at Baltimore. A morning paper contained a dispatch from Lacon.
The circus men had nearly killed half-a-dozen of the mob of roughs. The police had restored order, but fire and riot had put the show out of business.
Miss Starr wired to the town in Delaware where the Big Show was playing.Luke had gone on to join it. By noon she received a satisfactory reply.Then she telegraphed to Lacon about their traps, directing the managerwhere to send them.
That evening, after a long talk over their prospects, the four refugees took the train for Dover.
The next morning Miss Starr, Billy, Midget and Andy went to the headquarters of The Biggest Show on Earth.
Andy had a chance to inspect it while waiting for Bob Sanderson, the assistant manager, who was a distant relative of Miss Stella Starr.
Its mammoth proportions fairly staggered him. Its details were bewildering in their system and perfection. Alongside of it, the circus he had recently belonged to was merely a side show.
Sanderson was a brisk, business-like fellow. He soon settled on an engagement for Miss Starr and Billy and Midget for the rest of the season.
"I don't think I can use the boy, though," he said, glancing at Andy.
"Then you can't have us," said the equestrienne promptly. "Bob, you and I are old friends, but not better ones than myself and Andy Wildwood. He stood by us through thick and thin, he makes a good showing in the ring. Why, before the Benares Brothers left us, they were training him for one of the best acts ever done on the trapeze."
"Is that so?" spoke Sanderson, looking interested. "The Benares Brothers joined us only last week. Here, give me five minutes."
"Miss Starr, you mustn't let me stand in your way of a good engagement," said Andy, as the assistant manager left the tent.
"It's the four of us, or none," asserted the determined little lady.
Sanderson came bustling in at the end of five minutes.
"All right," he announced brusquely, "I'll take the boy on."
"You'll never regret it," declared Stella Starr positively.
"Bravo!"
"Clever!"
Amid deafening applause, old Benares and Thacher retired from the sawdust ring, bowing profusely with a deep sense of pride and satisfaction.
Between them, hands joined in the group of three, Andy Wildwood imitated their graceful acknowledgment of the plaudits of the vast concourse in the great metropolitan amphitheatre.
"Wildwood," declared Thacher, as they backed towards the performers' room, "you've made a hit."
"It is so!" cried old Benares, with sparkling eyes. "We are a three now—The Three Benares Brothers."
Andy was dizzy with exultation and delight. It was the first night of the Biggest Show on Earth in New York City.
For a week he had been in training for the fantastic trapeze act which had won thunders of approbation.
The Benares Brothers had appeared in the amphitheatre dome on a double trapeze.
After several clever specialties, the ringmaster suddenly stepped forward. He lifted his hand. The orchestra stopped playing.
Raising a pistol, the ringmaster directed it aloft. Bang! Crash! went the orchestra, and from a box suspended over the trapezes the bottom suddenly dropped out.
Following, an agile youthful form shot down through space. Quick as lightning the Benares Brothers swung by their feet, joined hands in mid-air, and the descending form—Andy Wildwood—catching at the wrists of Thacher, was swung back in a twenty foot circle. Crash! again the orchestra. Andy was flung through space across to old Benares, a plaything in mid-air, Benares catching at the feet of Thacher, Andy tailing on in a graceful descent, thrilling the delighted audience.
The act was not so difficult, but it was neat, rapid, unique. AndyWildwood felt that at last he was a full-fledged acrobat.
The manager came back to compliment him. Billy Blow looked delighted.Miss Stella Starr said:
"Andy, we are all proud of you."
The next morning's papers gave him special notice. Luke Belding whispered to him to demand double salary.
Andy walked from his boarding house the next morning feeling certain that he had made very substantial progress during his sixty days of circus life.
He was passing a row of houses on a side street when a cab drove up to the curb. Andy casually glanced at the passenger as he crossed the sidewalk. Then he gave a great start.
"It can't be!" he ejaculated. Then he added instantly: "Yes, I'd know him among a thousand—Sim Dewey."
The man entered an open doorway, and Andy ran after him. He heard the fellow ascend a pair of stairs and knock at a door.
"Oh, good morning, Mr. Vernon."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy—"Aunt Lavinia!"
Here was a stirring situation. There could be no mistake. Despite a false moustache and a pair of dark eyeglasses, Andy had recognized the defaulting cashier of the disbanded circus. Beyond dispute he had recognized the welcoming tones above as belonging to his aunt, Miss Lavinia Talcott.
"It's like dreaming," mused Andy. "All this happening together, and here in New York City! Why, what ever brought Aunt Lavinia here? Where did she ever get acquainted with that scamp?"
Andy felt that he had an urgent duty to perform. Here was a mystery to explore, a villain to capture.
He went softly up the stairs. The place was a respectable boarding house, he concluded. Stealing softly past a door, he went half-way up a second pair of stairs.
Not five feet away from an open transom, Andy could now look into a room containing three persons.
A motherly, dignified old woman sat in a big arm chair. Near her was Andy's aunt, smiling and simpering up at Dewey. The latter, dressed "to kill," was bowing like a French dancing master.
Dewey sat down. The chaperone, who seemed to be the landlady, did not engage in a brief conversation that ensued within the room.
At its conclusion Andy saw his aunt hand Dewey a folded piece of paper. The defaulting circus cashier gallantly bowed over her extended hand and came out of the room.
"Hold on, Mr. Sim Dewey," spoke Andy, down the stairs in a flash, and seizing Dewey's arm on the landing.
"Eh? Hello—Wildwood!"
"Yes, it's me," said Andy. "A word with you, sir, as to what business you have with my aunt. Then—the stolen eleven thousand dollars, if you please."
Dewey had turned deadly white. He glared desperately at Andy, and tried to wrench his arm free.
"Shall I arouse the street?" demanded Andy sternly. "It's jail for you—"
Crack! The treacherous Dewey had slipped one hand behind him. He had drawn a slung shot from his pocket. It struck Andy's head, and he went down with a sense of sickening giddiness.
"Stop him!" shouted Andy, half-blinded, crawling across the landing.
Dewey made a leap of four steps at a time.
"Out of my way!" he yelled at some obstacle.
"Hold on, mister!"
Andy arose to his feet with difficulty. He clung to the banister, descending the stairs as a frightful clatter rang out.
A boy about his own age, coming up the stairs, had collided with Dewey.Both tripped up and rolled to the front entry.
The boy got up, unhurt. Dewey, groaning, half-arose, fell back, and lay prostrate, one limb bent up under him.
Andy was still weak and dizzy-headed, but he acted promptly for the occasion.
He saw that Dewey had broken a limb, and was practically helpless. He glanced out at the driver of the cab. He was an honest-faced old fellow. Andy ran out to him and spoke a few quick words.
With Dewey writhing, moaning and resisting, this man, Andy and the strange boy carried him to the cab. Andy directed the boy to get up with the driver, He got inside the cab with Dewey.
A hysterical shriek rang out at the street doorway. Andy saw his aunt wildly wringing her hands. The maiden lady was held back from pursuing the cab by the landlady.
Within ten minutes the cab delivered Dewey at a police station, and Andy told his story to the precinct captain.
They found in a secret pocket on the defaulting cashier certificates of deposit to the amount of ten thousand dollars, issued in a false name. The amount was a part of the stolen circus funds.
In another pocket was discovered a draft for three thousand dollars, made over to the same false name by Miss Lavinia Talcott on the bank at Fairview.
The police at once locked the prisoner up in a cell, sent for a surgeon, and asked Andy to telegraph to Mr. Giles Harding, the circus owner, at once.
When Andy came out of the police station, he found the boy who had assisted him waiting for him.
He was a bright-faced, pleasant-mannered lad, but his appearance suggested hard luck.
Andy gave him a dollar, and got his name. It was Mark Hadley. Andy was at once interested when the boy told him that his dead father had been a professional sleight-of-hand man in the west.
Mark Hadley had come to New York on the track of an old circus friend of his father. This man, it turned out, was a relative of Dewey, masquerading now under the name of Vernon.
The man had told him that Dewey could help him out. He did not know where Dewey was living, but understood he was about to marry a lady living at the boarding house where Mark had gone, to meet the fellow in a most sensational manner, indeed.
Andy invited Mark to call upon him later in the day, gave the youth his present address, and proceeded back to the boarding house to find his aunt.
The hour that followed was one of the strangest in Andy's life.
There were reproaches, threats, cajolings, until Andy found out the true state of affairs.
It was only after he had proven to his humiliated and chagrined aunt that Dewey was a villain, that Miss Lavinia broke down and confessed that she had been a silly, sentimental woman.
It seemed that the letter Jim Tapp and Murdock had secured was from Mr.Graham, back at Fairview.
Graham had discovered in a secret bottom of the box Andy had left with him, a paper referring to a patent of Andy's father.
As time had brought about, this paper entitled the heirs of the old inventor to quite large royalties on a new electrical device which had come into practical use after Mr. Wildwood's death.
The plotters had gone at once to Miss Lavinia. Her cupidity was aroused. She quieted her conscience by giving Andy ten dollars at Tipton, and deciding to take charge of the royalty money "till he was of age."
This was her story, told amid contrite tears and shame as Andy proved to her that Dewey was after her three thousand dollars, and would have escaped with it only for his decisive action.
Murdock had introduced her to Dewey. The latter had pretended to be in love with her, had promised to marry her, and that day had induced the weak, silly old spinster to trust him with her little fortune.
"I have been a wicked woman!" Miss Lavinia declared. "I will make amends, Andy. You shall have your rights. Come home with me."
"Not till my engagement is over, aunt," replied Andy, "and then only for a visit, if you wish it. I love the circus life, and I seem to find just as many chances there to be good and to do good as in any other vocation."
Miss Lavinia was given back her three thousand dollars the next day, andSim Dewey was sent to prison on a long term.
Mr. Harding came on to the city the following day. He recovered all except a trifle of the stolen circus money. That evening he sent a sealed envelope by special messenger to Andy. It contained five one hundred dollar bills—Andy's reward for capturing the embezzling circus cashier.
The next afternoon Andy invited five of his special friends and several of his acquaintances to a little dinner party.
Miss Starr, Billy Blow the clown, Midget, old Benares, Thacher, LukeBelding and Mark Hadley were his guests of honor.
Andy had found a starting place in the circus for Mark, whose ambition was to become a great magician.
They were a merry, friendly party. They jollied one another. They saw nothing but sunshine in the sawdust pathway before them.
"You are a grand genius!" declared old Benares to Andy. "My friends, one thought: in six weeks up from Andy the school boy, to Andy the acrobat."
"Hold on now, Mr. Benares," cried Andy, smilingly. "That was because of my royal, good friends like you."
"And your own grit," said Marco. "You assuredly deserve your success."
And the other circus people agreed with Marco.
For the time being Andy heard nothing more of Tapp, Murdock and Daley. The days passed pleasantly enough. He did his work faithfully, constantly adding to his fame as an acrobat.
Between Andy and Luke Belding a warm friendship sprang up. Luke had much to tell about himself. As time passed the lad who loved animals had many adventures, but what these were I must reserve for another volume, to be named, "Luke the Lion Tamer; or, On the Road with a Great Menagerie," In that we shall not only follow brave-hearted Luke but also Andy, and see what the future held in store for the boy acrobat.
"Andy, are you glad you joined the circus?" questioned Luke, one day, after a particularly brilliant performance in the ring.
"Glad doesn't express it," was the quick answer. "Why, it seems to be just what I was cut out for."
"I really believe you. You never make work of an act—like some of the acrobats."
"It must be in my blood," said Andy, with a bright smile. "Anyway, I expect to be Andy the Acrobat for a long while to come."
And he was.