Phil struck the net with a violent slap that was heard outside the big top, though those without did not understand the meaning of it, nor did they give it heed.
Mr. Sparling was the first to reach him. The lad had landed on his shoulders and then struck flat on his back, the proper way to fall into a net. Perhaps it was instinct that told him what to do.
The lad was unconscious when the showman lifted him tenderly from the net and laid him out on the ground.
"Up with that peak!" commanded Mr. Sparling. "Get some water here, and don't crowd around him! Give the boy air! Tucker, you hike for the surgeon."
A shove started Teddy for the surgeon. In the meantime Mr. Sparling was working over Phil, seeking to bring him back to consciousness, which he finally succeeded in doing before the surgeon arrived.
"Did I fall?" asked Phil, suddenly opening his eyes.
"A high dive," nodded Mr. Sparling.
Phil cast his eyes up to the dome where he saw the canvas drawing taut. He knew that he had succeeded and he smiled contentedly.
By the time the surgeon arrived the boy was on his feet.
"How do you feel?"
"I'm a little sore, Mr. Sparling. But I guess I'll be fit in a few minutes."
"Able to walk over to my tent? If not, I'll have some of the fellows carry you."
"Oh, no; I can walk if I can get my legs started moving. They don't seem to be working the way they should this morning," laughed the lad. "My, that tent weighs something doesn't it?"
"It does," agreed the showman.
Just then the surgeon arrived. After a brief examination he announced that Phil was not injured, unless, perhaps, he might have injured himself internally by subjecting himself to the great strain of holding up the tent.
"I think some breakfast will put me right again," decided the lad.
"Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" demanded Mr. Sparling.
"No; I guess I've been too busy."
"Come with me, then. I haven't had mine either," said the showman.
Linking his arm within that of the Circus Boy, Mr. Sparling walked from the tent, not speaking again until they had reached the manager's private tent. This was a larger and much more commodious affair than it had been last year.
He placed Phil in a folding easy chair, and sat down to his desk where he began writing.
After finishing, Mr. Sparling looked up.
"Phil," he said in a more kindly tone than the lad had ever before heard him use, "I was under a deep obligation to you last season. I'm under a greater one now."
"I wish you wouldn't speak of it, sir. What I have done is purely in the line of duty. It's a fellow's business to be looking out for his employer's interests. That's what I have always tried to do."
"Not only tried, but have," corrected Mr. Sparling. "That's an old-fashioned idea of yours. It's a pity young men don't feel more that way, these days. But that wasn't what I wanted to say. As a little expression of how much I appreciate your interest, as well as the actual money loss you have saved me, I want to make you a little present."
"Oh, no no," protested Phil.
"Here is a check which I have made out for a hundred dollars. That will give you a little start on the season. But it isn't all that I am going to do for you—"
"Please, Mr. Sparling. Believe me I do appreciate your kindness, but I mustn't take the check. I couldn't take the check."
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't earned it."
"Haven't earned it? He hasn't earned it!"
"No, sir."
The showman threw his hands above his head in a hopeless sort of a way.
"I should not feel that I was doing right. I want to be independent, Mr. Sparling. I have plenty of money. I have not spent more than half of what I earned last summer. This season I hope to lay by a whole lot, so that I shall be quite independent."
"And so you shall, so you shall, my boy," Sparling exclaimed, rising and smiting Phil good naturedly with the flat of his hand.
Instead of tearing up the check, however, Mr. Sparling put it in an envelope which he directed and stamped, then thrust in his coat pocket.
"I—I hope you understand—hope you do not feel offended," said Phil hesitatingly. "I should not like to have you misunderstand me."
"Not a bit of it, my lad. I can't say that I have any higher opinion of you because of your decision, but—"
Phil glanced up quickly.
"I already have as high an opinion of you as it is possible for me to have for any human being, and—"
"Thank you. You'll make me have a swelled head if you keep on that way," laughed Phil.
"No danger. You would have had one long ago, if that was your makeup. Have you seen Mrs. Sparling yet?"
"No, and I should like to. May I call on her in your car?"
"Not only may, but she has commissioned me to ask you to. I think we had better be moving over to the cook tent, now, if we wish any breakfast. I expect the hungry roustabouts have about cleaned the place out by this time."
They soon arrived at the cook tent. Here Phil left Mr. Sparling while he passed about among the tables, greeting such of his old acquaintances as he had not yet seen that morning. He was introduced to many of the new ones, all of whom had heard pretty much everything about Phil's past achievements before he reached their tables. The people of a circus are much like a big family, and everyone knows, or thinks he knows, the whole family history of his associates.
Even Phil's plucky work in the big top, less than an hour before, had already traveled to the cook tent, and many curious glances were directed to the slim, modest, boy as he passed among his friends quietly, giving them his greetings.
Teddy, on the other hand, was not saying a word. He was busy eating.
"How's your appetite this morning, Teddy?" questioned Phil, sinking down on the bench beside his companion.
"Pretty fair," answered Teddy in a muffled voice. "I began at the top—"
"Top of what?"
"Top of the bill of fare. I've cleaned up everything halfway down the list, and I'm going through the whole bill, even if I have to get up and shake myself down like the miller does a bag of meal."
"Be careful, old chap. Remember you and I have to begin our real work today. We shall want to be in the best of shape for our ring act. You won't, if you fill up as you are doing now," warned Phil.
"Not going to work today."
"What's that?"
"No flying rings today."
"I don't understand."
"No flying rings, I said. Mr. Sparling isn't going to put on our act today."
"How do you know?" asked Phil in some surprise.
"Heard him say so."
"When?"
"Just now."
"Why, I came in with him myself less than ten minutes ago—"
"I know. He stopped right in front of my table here to speak to the ringmaster. Heard him say you were not to be allowed to go on till tomorrow. We don't have to go in the parade today if we don't want to, either. But you are to ride Emperor in the Grand Entry, and I'm to do my stunt on the educated mule."
"Pshaw, I can work today as well as I ever could," said Phil in a disappointed tone. "And I'm going on, too, unless Mr. Sparling gives me distinct orders to the contrary."
Phil got the orders before he had finished his breakfast.
"Believe me, Phil, I know best," said Mr. Sparling, noting the lad's disappointment. "You have had a pretty severe strain this morning, and to go on now with the excitement of the first day added to that, I fear might be too much for you. It might lay you up for some weeks, and we cannot afford to have that happen, you know. I need you altogether too much for that."
"Very well, sir; it shall be as you wish. I suppose I may go on in the Grand Entry as usual?"
"Oh, yes, if you wish."
"I do."
"Very well; then I'll let Mr. Kennedy know. You had better lie down and rest while the parade is out."
"Thank you; I hardly think that will be necessary. I feel fit enough for work right now."
"Such is youth and enthusiasm," mused the showman, passing on out of the cook tent, once more to go over his arrangements, for there were many details to be looked after on this the first day of the show's season on the road.
Phil called on Mrs. Sparling after breakfast, receiving from the showman's wife a most hospitable welcome. She asked him all about how he had spent the winter, and seemed particularly interested in Mrs. Cahill, who was now the legal guardian of both the boys. Mrs. Sparling already had a letter in her pocket, with the check for one hundred dollars which the showman had drawn for Phil. It was going to Mrs. Cahill to be deposited to the lad's credit, but he would know nothing of this until the close of the season. After he had gone home he would find himself a hundred dollars richer than he thought.
His call finished, Phil went out and rejoined Teddy. Together they started back toward the dressing tent to set their trunks in order and get out such of their costumes as they would need that afternoon and evening. Then again, the dressing tent was really the most attractive part of the show to all the performers. It was here that they talked of their work and life, occasionally practiced new acts of a minor character, and indulged in pranks like a lot of schoolboys at recess time.
As they were passing down along the outside of the big top, Phil noticed several laborers belonging to the show sitting against the side wall sunning themselves. He observed that one of the men was eyeing Teddy and himself with rather more than ordinary interest.
Phil did not give it a second thought, however, until suddenlyTeddy gave his arm a violent pinch.
"What is it?"
"See those fellows sitting there?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"One of them is the fellow who ducked me under the water tank back at Germantown."
"You don't say? Which one?"
"Fellow with the red hair. I heard them call him Larry as I passed, or I might not have noticed him particularly. His hair is redder than Rod Palmer's. I should think it would set him on fire."
"It certainly would seem so."
"Mister Larry has got something coming to him good and proper, and he's going to get it, you take my word for that."
Phil laughed good naturedly.
"Please, now, Teddy, forget it. Don't go and get into any more mix-ups. You'll be sending yourself back home first thing you know. Then it will be a difficult matter to get into any other show if you are sent away from this one in disgrace."
"Don't you worry about me. I'll take care of myself. I always do, don't I?"
"I'm afraid I can't agree to that," laughed Phil. "I should say that quite the contrary is the case."
Teddy fell suddenly silent as they walked on in the bright morning light, drinking in the balmy air in long-drawn breaths. Entering the paddock they turned sharply to the left and pushed their way through the canvas curtains into the dressing tent.
"Hurrah for the Circus Boys," shouted someone. "Hello Samson, are you the strong-armed man that held the tent up by your feet?"
"Strong-footed man, you mean," suggested another. "A strong-armed man uses his arms not his feet."
"Come over here and show yourself," shouted another voice.
Phil walked over and stood smilingly before them. Nothing seemed to disturb his persistent good nature.
"Huh, not so much! I guess they stretched that yarn," grunted a new performer.
"I guess not," interposed Mr. Miaco. "I happened to see that stunt pulled off myself. It was the biggest thing I ever saw a man—let alone a boy—get away with." Then Mr. Miaco went over the scene with great detail, while Phil stole away to his own corner, where he busied himself bending over his trunk to hide his blushes.
But Teddy felt no such emotion. Almost as soon as he entered the dressing tent he began searching about for something. This he soon found. It was a pail, but he appeared to be in a hurry. Picking up the pail he ran with it to the water barrel, that always stands in the dressing tent, filled the pail and skulked out as if he did not desire to attract attention.
Once outside the dressing tent Teddy ran at full speed across the paddock and out into the big top. A few men were working here putting up apparatus for the performers. They gave no heed to the boy with the pail of water.
Teddy ran his eye along the inside of the tent, nodded and went on to the middle section where he turned, climbing the steps to the upper row.
Arriving there he cautiously peered out over the top of the side wall. What he saw evidently was not to his liking, for once more he picked up the pail of water and ran lightly along the top seat toward the menagerie tent.
All at once he paused, put down his pail and peered out over the side wall again. Nodding with satisfaction he picked up the pail, lifted it to the top of the side wall, once more looked out measuring the distance well, then suddenly turned the pail bottom side up.
In his course through the big top Teddy had gathered up several handfuls of sawdust and dirt which he had stirred well into the water as he ran, making a pasty mess of it.
It was this mixture that he had now poured out over the side wall. Teddy waited only an instant to observe the effect of the deluge that he had turned on. Then he fled down the rattling board seats.
Outside a sudden roar broke the stillness. No sooner had he reached the bottom of the seats than several men raised up the side wall and came tumbling in, yelling like Comanche Indians. Teddy cast one frightened look at them, then ran like all possessed. What he had seen was a red-haired man in the lead, dripping wet with hair and clothes plastered with mud and sawdust. Larry was after the lad in full cry.
"Stop him!" howled Larry, as he, followed by half a dozen blue-shirted fellows, bolted into the arena in pursuit of the lad who had emptied the pail of muddy water over him.
Teddy, still clinging to the pail, was sprinting down the concourse as if his very life depended upon it. A canvasman, hearing Larry's call, and suspecting the boy was wanted for something quite serious, rushed out, heading Teddy off. It looked as if the lad were to be captured right here.
But Teddy Tucker was not yet at the end of his resources. He ran straight on as if he had not observed the canvasman. Just as he reached the man, and the latter's hands were stretched out to intercept him, Teddy hurled the pail full in the fellow's face. Then the lad darted to one side and fled toward the paddock.
The canvasman had joined the procession by this time. Into the dressing tent burst the boy, followed by Larry, the others having brought up sharply just before reaching the dressing room, knowing full well that they had no business there and that their presence would be quickly and effectively resented. Larry, consumed with rage, did not stop to think about this, so he dashed on blindly to his fate.
At first the circus performers in the dressing tent could not imagine what was going on. Clotheslines came down, properties were upset and in a moment the tent was in confusion.
"Stop that!" bellowed an irate performer.
Larry gave no heed to the command, and Teddy was in too big a hurry to stop to explain.
Suddenly Phil Forrest, realizing that his little companion was in danger, gave a leap. He landed on Larry's back, pinioning the fellow's arms to his sides.
"You stop that now! You let him alone!" commanded Phil.
Before the canvasman could make an effort to free himself, Mr. Miaco, the head clown, took a hand in the proceedings. Throwing Phil from the tentman, Miaco jerked Larry about, and demanded to know what he meant by intruding on the privacy of the dressing tent in that manner.
"I want that kid," he growled.
"Put him out!" howled a voice.
"What do you want him for?"
"He—he dumped a pail of water over me. I'll get even with him.I'll—"
"How about this, Master Teddy?" questioned Mr. Miaco.
Teddy explained briefly how the fellow Larry and a companion had ducked him under the water tank, and had ruined his clothes, together with causing him to miss his train.
"This demands investigation," decided Mr. Miaco gravely."Fellows, it is evident that we had better try this man.That is the best way to dispose of his case."
"Yes, yes; try him!" they shouted.
"Whom shall we have for judge?"
"Oscar, the midget!"
The Smallest Man on Earth was quickly boosted to the top of a property box.
"Vot iss?" questioned the midget, his wizened, yellow little face wrinkling into a questioning smile.
"We are going to try this fellow, Larry, and you are to be the judge."
"Yah," agreed Oscar, after which he subsided, listening to the proceedings that followed, with grave, expressionless eyes. It is doubtful if Oscar understood what it was all about, but his gravity and judicial manner sent the whole dressing tent into an uproar of merriment.
After the evidence was all in, the entire company taking part in testifying, amid much merriment—for the performers entered into the spirit of the trial like a lot of schoolboys—Oscar was asked to decide what should be done with the prisoner Larry.
Oscar was at a loss to know how to answer.
"Duck him," suggested one.
This was an inspiration to Oscar. He smiled broadly.
"Yah, dat iss."
"What iss?" demanded the Tallest Man On Earth. "TalkUnited States."
"Yah," agreed Oscar, smiling seraphically. "Duck um."
"Larry, it is the verdict of this court that you be ducked, as the only fitting punishment for one who has committed the crime of laying hands on a Circus Boy. Are we all agreed on the punishment meted out by the dignified judge?"
"Yes, yes!" they shouted. "The rain barrel for him."
"Men, do your duty!" cried Mr. Miaco.
"I wouldn't do that," interposed Phil. "You haven't any more right to duck him than he had to put Teddy under the water tank. It isn't right."
But they gave no heed to his protests. Willing hands grabbed the red-headed tentman, whose kicks and struggles availed him nothing. Raising him over the barrel of water they soused him in head first, ducking him again and again.
"Take him out. You'll drown him," begged Phil.
Then they hauled Larry out, shaking the water out of him. As soon as his coughing ceased, he threatened dire vengeance against his assailants.
Four performers then carried their victim to the opening of the dressing tent and threw him out bodily.
Instantly Larry's companions saw him fall at their feet, and heard his angry explanation of the indignities that had been heaped upon him. There was a lively scrambling over the ground, and the next instant a volley of stones was hurled into the dressing tent.
Phil was just coming out on his way to the main entrance as the row began. A stone just grazed his cheek. Without giving the least heed to the assailants, he turned to cross the paddock in order to slip out under the tent and go on about his business. Most lads would have run under the circumstances. Not so Phil. His were steady nerves.
"There he is! Grab him!" shouted Larry, catching sight of Phil and charging that Phil had been one of those who had helped duck him.
Such was not the case, however, for instead of having taken part in the ducking, Phil Forrest had tried to prevent it.
Larry and another man were running toward him. The lad halted, turned and faced them.
"What do you want of me?" he demanded.
"I'll show you what I want of you. You started this row."
"I did nothing of the sort, sir. You go on about your business and I shall do the same, whether you do or not."
Phil raised the canvas and stepped out. But no sooner had he gotten out into the lot than the two men burst through the flapping side wall.
The boy saw them coming and knew that he was face to face with trouble.
He adopted a ruse, knowing full well that he could not hope to cope with the brawny canvasmen single handed and alone. Starting off on a run, Phil was followed instantly, as he felt sure he would be, but managing to keep just ahead of the men and no more.
"I've got you!"
The voice was almost at his ear.
Phil halted with unexpected suddenness and dropped on all fours.
The canvasman was too close to check his own speed. He fell overPhil, landing on his head and shoulders in the dirt.
The lad was up like a flash. Larry was close upon him now, and with a snarl of rage launched a blow full at Phil Forrest's face. But he had not reckoned on the lad's agility, nor did he know that Phil was a trained athlete. Therefore, Larry's surprise was great when his fist beat the empty air.
Thrown off his balance, Larry measured his length on the ground.
"I advise you to let me alone," warned Phil coolly, as the tentman was scrambling to his feet. Already Larry's companion had gotten up and was gazing at Phil in a half dazed sort of way.
"Get hold of him, Bad Eye! What are you standing there like a dummy for? He'll run in a minute."
Phil's better judgment told him to do that very thing, but he could not bring himself to run from danger. Much as he disliked a row, he was too plucky and courageous to run from danger.
Bad Eye was rushing at him, his eyes blazing with anger.
Phil side-stepped easily, avoiding his antagonist without the least difficulty. But now he had to reckon with Larry, who, by this time, had gotten to his feet.
It was two to one.
"Stand back unless you want to get hurt!" cried Phil, with a warning glint in his eyes.
Larry, by way of answer, struck viciously at him. Phil, with a glance about him, saw that he could not expect help, for there was no one in sight, the performers being engaged at that moment in driving off the angry laborers, which they were succeeding in doing with no great effort on their part.
The lad cleverly dodged the blow. But instead of backing away as the canvasman's fist barely grazed his cheek, Phil, with a short arm jolt, caught his adversary on the point of his chin. Larry instantly lost all desire for fight. He sat down on the hard ground with a bump.
Now Bad Eye rushed in. Again Phil sidestepped, and, thrusting a foot between the fellow's legs, tripped him neatly.
Half a dozen men came running from the paddock. They were the fellows whom the performers had put to rout. At that moment the bugle blew for all hands to prepare for the parade.
"I guess I have done about enough for one day," decided Phil."And for a sick man it wasn't a half bad job."
With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped under and disappeared within.
"Tweetle! Tweetle!"
Two rippling blasts from the ringmaster's whistle notified the show people that the performance was on. In moved the procession for the Grand Entry, as the silken curtains separating the paddock from the big top slowly fell apart.
Phil, from his lofty perch on the head of old Emperor, peering through the opening of the bonnet in which he was concealed, could not repress an exclamation of admiration. It was a splendid spectacle—taken from a story of ancient Rome— that was sweeping majestically about the arena to the music of an inspiring tune into which the big circus band had suddenly launched.
Gayly-caparisoned, nervous horses pranced and reared; huge wagons, gorgeous under their coat of paint and gold, glistened in the afternoon sunlight that fell softly through the canvas top and gave the peculiar rattling sound so familiar to the lover of the circus as they moved majestically into the arena; elephants trumpeted shrilly and the animals back in the menagerie tent sent up a deafening roar of protest. After months of quiet in their winter quarters, this unusual noise and excitement threw the wild beasts into a tempest of anger. Pacing their cages with upraised heads, they hurled their loud-voiced protests into the air until the more timid of the spectators trembled in their seats.
It was an inspiring moment for the circus people, as well as for the spectators.
"Tweetle! Tweetle!" sang the ringmaster's whistle after the spectacle had wound its way once around the concourse.
At this the procession wheeled, its head cutting between the two rings, slowly and majestically reaching for the paddock and dressing tent, where the performers would hurry into their costumes for their various acts to follow.
This left only the elephants in the ring. The huge beasts now began their evolutions, ponderous but graceful, eliciting great applause, as did their trainer, Mr. Kennedy. Then came the round-off of the act. This, it will be remembered, was of Phil Forrest's own invention, the act in which Phil, secreted in the elephant's bonnet, burst out at the close of the act, and, by the aid of wires running over a pulley above him, was able to descend gracefully to the sawdust arena.
He was just a little nervous in this, the first performance of the season, but, steadying his nerves, he went through the act without a hitch and amid thunders of applause. As in the previous season's act, old Emperor carried the lad from the ring, holding Phil out in front of him firmly clasped in his trunk. No similar act ever had been seen in a circus until Phil and Emperor worked it out for themselves. It had become one of the features of the show last year, and it bade fair to be equally popular that season. Phil had added to it somewhat, which gave the act much more finish than before.
"Very good, young man," approved Mr. Sparling, as the elephant bore the lad out. Mr. Sparling was watching the show with keen eyes in order to decide what necessary changes were to be made. "Coming back to watch the performance?"
"Oh, yes. I wouldn't miss that for anything."
As soon as the lad had thrown off his costume and gotten back into his clothes, he hurried into the big top, where he found Teddy, who did not go on in his bucking mule act until later.
"How's the show, Teddy?" greeted Phil.
"Great. Greatest thing I ever saw. Did you see the fellows jump over the herd of elephants and horses?"
"No. Who were they?"
"Oh, most all of the crowd, I guess. I'm going to do that."
"You, Teddy? Why, you couldn't jump over half a dozen elephants and turn a somersault. You would break your neck the first thing."
"Mr. Miaco says I could. Says I'm just the build for that sort of thing," protested the lad.
"Well, then, get him to teach you. Of course we can't know how to do too many things in this business. We have learned that it pays to know how to do almost everything. Have you made friends with the mule since you got back?"
"Yes. He spooned over me and made believe he loved me like a brother."
Teddy paused reflectively.
"Then what?"
"Well, then he tried to kick the daylight out of me."
"I thought so," laughed Phil. "I'm glad I chose an elephant for my friend, instead of an educated mule. When are you going to begin on the springboard—begin practicing, I mean?"
"Mr. Miaco says he'll teach me as soon as we get settled—"
"Settled? I never heard of a show getting settled—that is, not until the season is ended and it is once more in winter quarters. I suppose by 'settled' he means when everything gets to moving smoothly."
"I guess so," nodded Teddy. "What are you going to do?"
"The regular acts that I did last year."
"No; I mean what are you going to learn new?"
"Oh! Well, there are two things I'm crazy to be able to do."
"What are they?"
"One is to be a fine trapeze performer," announced Phil thoughtfully.
"And the other?"
"To ride bareback."
"Want to be the whole thing, don't you?" jeered Teddy.
"No; not quite. But I should like to be able to do those two things, and to do them well. There is nothing that catches the audiences as do the trapezists and the bareback riders. And it fascinates me as well."
"Here, too," agreed Teddy.
"But there is one thing I want to talk with you about—to read you a lecture."
"You needn't."
"I shouldn't be surprised if there was some sort of an inquiry about the row in the dressing tent. You know Mr. Sparling won't stand for anything of that sort."
"He doesn't know about it," interposed Teddy.
"But we do. Therefore, we are just as much to blame as if he did know. And I am not so sure that he doesn't. You can't fool Mr. Sparling. You ought to know that by this time. There isn't a thing goes on in this show that he doesn't find out about, sooner or later, and he is going to find out about this."
"I didn't do anything. You did, when you had a scrap with those two fellows out on the lot."
"You forget that you started the row by emptying a pail of water on Larry's head. Don't you call that starting doing anything? I do."
Phil had to laugh at the comical expression on his companion's face.
"Well, maybe."
"And we haven't heard the last of those fellows yet. They're mad all through. I am sorry I had to hit them. But they would have used me badly had I not done something to protect myself. I should tell the whole matter to Mr. Sparling, were it not that I would get others into trouble. That I wouldn't do."
"I should think not."
"By the way, Teddy, there come the bareback riders. Don't you follow after their act?"
"My! That's so. I had forgotten all about that. Thought I was watching the show just like the rest of the folks."
"Better hustle, or you won't get into your makeup in time to go on. There'll be a row for certain if you are late."
But Teddy already had started on a run for the dressing tent, bowling over a clown at the entrance to the paddock and bringing down the wrath of that individual as he hustled for the dressing tent and began feverishly getting into his ring clothes. These consisted of a loose fitting pair of trousers, a slouch hat and a coat much the worse for wear. A "Rube" act, it was called in show parlance, and it was that in very truth, more because of Teddy's drollery than for the makeup that he wore.
Phil quickly forgot all about the lecture he had been reading to his companion as the bareback riders came trotting in. His eyes were fixed on a petite, smiling figure who tripped up to the curbing, where she turned toward the audience, and, kicking one foot out behind her, bowed and threw a kiss to the spectators.
Phil had walked over and sat down by the center pole right near the sawdust ring, so that he might get a better view of the riding.
The young woman who so attracted his attention was known on the show bills as "Little Miss Dimples, the Queen of the Sawdust Arena." Phil, as he gazed at her graceful little figure, agreed that the show bills did not exaggerate her charms at all.
Little Dimples, using the ringmaster's hand as a step, vaulted lightly to the back of the great gray ring horse, where she sat as the animal began a slow walk about the ring.
Phil wondered how she could stay on, for she appeared to be sitting right on the animal's sloping hip.
The band struck up a lively tune, the gray horse began a slow, methodical gallop. The first rise of the horse bounded Little Dimples to her knees, and the next to her feet.
With a merry little "yip! yip!" she began executing a fairy-like dance, keeping time with her whip, which she held grasped in both hands.
"Beautiful!" cried Phil, bringing his hands together sharply. In fact, he had never seen such artistic riding. The girl seemed to be treading on air, so lightly did her feet touch the rosined back of the ring horse.
Little Dimples heard and understood. She flashed a brilliant smile at Phil and tossed her whip as a salute. Phil had never met her, but they both belonged to the same great family, and that was sufficient.
His face broke out into a pleased smile at her recognition and the lad touched his hat lightly, settling back against the center pole to watch Dimples' riding, which had only just begun. It made him laugh outright to see her big picture hat bobbing up and down with the motion of the horse.
"Works just like an elephant's ear when the flies are thick," was the lad's somewhat inelegant comparison.
But now Dimples removed the hat, sending it spinning to the ringmaster, who, in turn, tossed it to an attendant. The real work of the act was about to start. Phil never having seen the young woman ride, did not know what her particular specialty was. Just now he was keenly observing, that he might learn her methods.
Dimples' next act was to jump through a series of paper hoops. This finished, she leaped to the ring, and, taking a running start, vaulted to the back of her horse.
"Bravo!" cried Phil, which brought another brilliant smile from the rider. She knew that it was not herself, but her work, that had brought this expression of approval from the Circus Boy, whom she already knew of by hearing some of the other performers tell of his achievements since he joined the circus less than a year ago.
"The ring is rough. I should have thought they would have leveled it down better," Phil grumbled, noting the uneven surface of the sawdust circle with critical eyes. "I'll bet Mr. Sparling hasn't seen that, or he would have raised a row. But still Dimples seems very sure on her feet. I wonder if she does any brilliant stunts?"
As if in answer to the lad's question, the "tweetle" of the ringmaster's whistle brought everything to a standstill under the big top. Even the band suddenly ceased playing. Then Phil knew that something worthwhile was coming.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" announced the ringmaster, holding up his right hand to attract the eyes of the spectators to him, "Little Miss Dimples, The Queen of the Sawdust Arena, will now perform her thrilling, death-defying, unexcelled, unequaled feat of turning a somersault on the back of a running horse. I might add in this connection that Little Miss Dimples is the only woman who ever succeeded in going through this feat without finishing up by breaking her neck. The band will cease playing while this perilous performance is on, as the least distraction on the part of the rider might result fatally for her. Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce to you Little Miss Dimples," concluded the ringmaster, with a comprehensive wave of the hand toward the young woman and her gray ring horse.
Dimples dropped to the ring, swept a courtesy to the audience, then leaped to the animal's back with a sharp little "yip! yip!"
During the first round of the ring she removed the bridle, tossing it mischievously in Phil's direction. He caught it deftly, placing it on the ground beside him, then edged a little closer to the ring that he might the better observe her work.
The ring horse started off at a lively gallop, the rider allowing her elbows to rise and fall with the motion of the horse, in order that she might the more thoroughly become a part of the animal itself—that the motion of each should be the same.
Suddenly Dimples sprang nimbly to her feet, tossing her riding whip to the waiting hands of the ringmaster.
Phil half scrambled to his feet as he saw her poise for a backward somersault. He had noted another thing, too. She was going to throw herself, it seemed, just as the horse was on the roughest part of the ring. He wondered if she could make it. To him it was a risky thing to try, but she no doubt knew better than he what she was about.
The ringmaster held up his hand as a signal to the audience that the daring act was about to take place.
Phil crept a little nearer.
All at once the girl gracefully threw herself into the air. He judged she had cleared the back of the animal by at least three feet, a high jump to make straight up with unbent knees.
But just as she was leaving the back of the horse, the animal suddenly stumbled, thus turning her halfway around, and for the instant taking her mind from her work. Dimples already had begun to turn backward, but he noted that all at once she stopped turning.
Phil knew what that meant. As show people term it, she had "frozen" in the air. She was falling, head first, right toward the wooden ring curbing.
"Turn! Turn!" cried Phil sharply.
The girl was powerless to do so, while the ringmaster, being on the opposite side of the ring, could be of no assistance to her.
"Turn!" shouted Phil, more loudly this time, giving a mighty spring in the direction of the falling woman.
The audience had half risen, believing that the girl would surely be killed. It did seem that it would be a miracle if she escaped without serious injury.
But the Circus Boy, his every faculty centered on the task before him, proposed to save her if he could.
He sprang up on the ring curbing, stretching both hands above his head as far as he could reach, bracing himself with legs wide apart to meet the shock.
It is not an easy task to attempt to catch a person, especially if that person be falling toward you head first. But Phil Forrest calculated in a flash how he would do it. That is, he would unless he missed.
It all happened in much less time than it takes to tell it, of course, and a moment afterwards one could not have told how it had occurred.
The Circus Boy threw both hands under Dimples' outstretched arms with the intention of jerking her down to her feet, then springing from the curbing with her before both should topple over.
His plan worked well up to the point of catching her. But instantly upon doing so he realized that she was moving with such speed as to make it impossible for him to retain his balance.
Dimples was hurled into his arms with great force, bowling Phil over like a ninepin. Yet, in falling, he did not lose his presence of mind. He hoped fervently that he might be fortunate enough not to strike on a stake, of which there were many on that side of the ring.
"Save yourself!" gasped the girl.
Instead, Phil held her up above him at arm's length. When he struck it was full on his back, the back of his head coming in contact with the hard ground with such force as to stun him almost to the point of unconsciousness. As he struck he gave Dimples a little throw so that she cleared his body, landing on the ground beyond him.
The girl stretched forth her hands and did a handspring, once more thorough master of herself, landing gracefully on her feet. But Phil had undoubtedly saved her life, as she well knew.
Without giving the slightest heed to the audience, which was howling its delight, Dimples ran to the fallen lad, leaning over him anxiously.
"Are you hurt?" she begged, placing a hand on his head.
"I—I guess not," answered Phil, pulling himself together a little. "I'll get up or they'll think something is the matter with me."
"Let me help you."
"No, thank you," he replied, brushing aside the hand she had extended to him. But his back hurt him so severely that he could only with difficulty stand upright.
Phil smiled and straightened, despite the pain.
At that Dimples grasped him by the hand, leading him to the concourse facing the reserved seats, where she made a low bow to the audience; then, throwing both arms about Phil, she gave him a hearty kiss.
Thunders of applause greeted this, the audience getting to its feet in its excitement. Had it been possible, both the boy and Miss Dimples would have been borne in triumph from the ring.
"Come back and sit down while I finish my act," she whispered.
"You're not going to try that again, are you?" questioned Phil.
"Of course I am. You'll see what a hit it will make."
"I saw that you came near making a hit a few moments ago," answered the lad.
"There, there; don't be sarcastic," she chided, giving him a playful tap. "If you feel strong enough, please help me up."
Phil did so smilingly; then he retired to his place by the center pole, against which he braced his aching back.
"Turn after you have gotten over the rough spot," he cautioned her.
Dimples nodded her understanding.
This time Phil held his breath as he saw her crouching ever so little for her spring.
Dimples uttered another shrill "yip!" and threw herself into the air again.
He saw, with keen satisfaction, that this time she was not going to miss. Dimples turned in the air with wonderful grace, alighting far back on the broad hips of the gray horse with bird-like lightness.
Phil doffed his hat, and, getting to his feet, limped away, with the audience roaring out its applause. They had forgotten all about the boy who but a few moments before had saved Little Dimples' life, and he was fully as well satisfied that it should be so.
Just as he was passing the bandstand the educated mule, with Teddy Tucker on its back, bolted through the curtains like a projectile. The mule nearly ran over Phil, then brought up suddenly to launch both heels at him. But the Circus Boy had seen this same mule in action before, and this time Phil had discreetly ducked under the bandstand.
Then the mule was off.
"Hi-yi-yi-yip-yi!" howled Teddy, as the outfit bolted into the arena. The old hands with the show discreetly darted for cover when they saw Teddy and his mule coming. Like Phil Forrest, they had had experience with this same wild outfit before. There was no knowing what the bucking mule might not do, while there was a reasonable certainty in their minds as to what he would do if given half a chance.
"Hi! Hi! Look out!" howled Teddy as they neared the entrance to the menagerie tent, where a number of people were standing. The boy saw that the mule had taken it into his stubborn head to enter the menagerie tent, there to give an exhibition of his contrariness.
In they swept like a miniature whirlwind, the mule twisting this way and that, stopping suddenly now and then and bracing its feet in desperate efforts to unseat its rider.
But Teddy held on grimly. This rough riding was the delight of his heart, and the lad really was a splendid horseman, though it is doubtful if he realized this fact himself.
A man was crossing the menagerie tent with a pail of water in each hand. The mule saw him. Here was an opportunity not to be lost.
Teddy's mount swept past the fellow. Then both the beast's heels shot out, catching both the pails at the same time. The two pails took the air in a beautiful curve, like a pair of rockets, distributing water all the way across the tent, a liberal portion of which was spilled over the water carrier as the pails left his hands.
The man chanced to be Larry, Teddy's enemy. Teddy was traveling at such a rapid rate that he did not recognize the fellow, but Larry recognized him, and thereby another account was charged up against the Circus Boy.
But the mule, though the time limit for his act had expired, had not quite satisfied his longing for excitement. Whirling about, he plunged toward the big top again.
"Whoa! Whoa!" howled Teddy, tugging at the reins. But he might as well have tried to check the wind. Nothing short of a stone wall could stop the educated mule until he was ready to stop. The ringmaster had blown his whistle for the next act and the performers were running to their stations when Teddy and his mount suddenly made their appearance again.
"Get out of here!" yelled the ringmaster.
"I am trying to do so," howled Teddy in a jeering voice."Can't go any faster than I am."
"Stop him! You'll run somebody down!" shouted Mr. Sparling, dodging out of the way as the mule, with ears laid back on his head, dashed straight at the showman.
"Can't stop. In a hurry," answered Teddy.
On they plunged past the bandstand again, the mule pausing at the paddock entrance long enough to kick the silk curtains into ribbons. Next he made a dive for the dressing tent.
In less time than it takes to tell it, the dressing tent looked as if it had been struck by a cyclone.
Clubs and side poles were brought down on the rump of the wild mule, most of which were promptly kicked through the side of the tent. Teddy, in the meantime, had landed in a performer's trunk, smashing through the tray, being wedged in so tightly that he could not extricate himself. Added to the din was Teddy's voice howling for help.
The performers, in all stages of dress and undress, had fled to the outside.
Then, the mule becoming suddenly meek, pricked forward his ears, ambled out into the paddock and began contentedly nibbling at the fresh grass about the edges of the enclosure.
About this time Mr. Sparling came running in. His face was red and the perspiration was rolling down it.
"Where's that fool boy?" he bellowed. "Where is he, I say?"
"Here he is," answered the plaintive voice of Teddy Tucker.
"Come out of that!"
"I can't. I'm stuck fast."
The showman jerked him out with scant ceremony, while Teddy began pulling pieces of the trunk tray out of his clothes.
"Do you want to put my show out of business? What do you think this is—a cowboy picnic? I'll fire you. I'll—"
"Better fire the mule. I couldn't stop him," answered the boy.
By this time the performers, after making sure that the mule had gone, were creeping back.
"I'll cut that act out. I'll have the mule shot. I'll— Get out of here, before I take you over my knee and give you what you deserve."
"I'm off," grinned Teddy, ducking under the canvas.
He was seen no more about the dressing tent until just before it was time to go on for the evening performance.
"Where's that boy?"
"He'll catch it if he ever dares show his face in this dressing tent again."
This and other expressions marked the disapproval of the performers of the manner in which their enclosure had been entered and disrupted.
"Don't blame him; blame the mule," advised Mr. Miaco, the head clown.
"Yes; Teddy wasn't to blame," declared Phil, who had entered at that moment. "Did he do all this?" he asked, looking about at the scene of disorder.
"He did. Lucky some of us weren't killed," declared one. "If that mule isn't cut out of the programme I'll quit this outfit. Never safe a minute while he and the kid are around. First, the kid gets us into a scrimmage with the roustabouts, then he slam bangs into the dressing tent with a fool mule and puts the whole business out of the running."
"Was Mr. Sparling—was he mad?" asked Phil, laughing until the tears started.
"Mad? He was red headed," replied Miaco.
"Where's Teddy?"
"He got stuck in the strong man's trunk there. The boss had to pull him out, for he was wedged fast. Then the young man prudently made his escape. If the boss hadn't skinned him we would have done so. He got out just in time."
"Are you Phil Forrest?" asked a uniformed attendant entering the dressing tent.
"Yes; what is it?"
"Lady wants to see you out in the paddock."
"Who is it?"
"Mrs. Robinson."
"I don't know any Mrs. Robinson."
"He means Little Dimples," Mr. Miaco informed him.
"Oh."
Phil hurried from the tent. Dimples was sitting on a property box, industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at her admiringly.
Dimples glanced down with a smile.
"Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That's what I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every week during the show season. I don't know what I'll do with them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would rather I did not."
Phil nodded.
"I don't like to be thanked. It makes me feel—well, awkward,I guess. You froze, didn't you?"
"I did," and Dimples laughed merrily.
"What made you do so—the horse?"
"Yes. I thought he was going to fall all the way down, then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn't turn to save my life. I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn't. But let's talk about you. You hurt your back, didn't you?"
"Nothing to speak of. It will be all right by morning. I'm just a little lame now. Where were you—what show were you with last year?"
"The Ringlings."
"The Ringlings?" marveled Phil. "Why, I shouldn't think you would want to leave a big show like that for a little one such as this?"
"It's the price, my dear boy. I get more money here, and I'm a star here. In the big shows one is just a little part of a big organization. There's nothing like the small shows for comfort and good fellowship. Don't you think so?"
"I don't know," admitted Phil. "This is the only show I have ever been with. I 'joined out' last season—"
"Only last season? Well, well! I must say you have made pretty rapid progress for one who has been out less than a year."
"I have made a lot of blunders," laughed Phil. "But I'mlearning.I wish, though, that I could do a bareback act one quarter aswellas you do. I should be very proud if I could."
"Have you ever tried it?"
"No."
"Why don't you learn, then? You'd pick it up quickly."
"For the reason that I have never had an opportunity—I've had no one to teach me."
"Then you shall do so now. Your teacher is before you."
"You—you mean that you will teach me?"
"Of course. What did you think I meant?"
"I—I wasn't sure. That will be splendid."
"I saw your elephant act. You are a very finished performer— a natural born showman. If you stay in the business long enough you will make a great reputation for yourself."
"I don't want to be a performer all my life. I am going to own a show some of these days," announced the boy confidently.
"Oh, you are, are you?" laughed Dimples. "Well, if you say so, I most surely believe you. You have the right sort of pluck to get anything you set your heart on. Now if my boy only—"
"Your boy?"
"Yes. Didn't you know that I am a married woman?"
"Oh my, I thought you were a young girl," exclaimed Phil.
"Thank you; that was a very pretty compliment. But, alas, I am no longer young. I have a son almost as old as you are. He is with his father, performing at the Crystal Palace in London. I expect to join them over there after my season closes here."
"Is it possible?"
"Yes, and as my own boy is so far away I shall have to be a sort of mother to you this season. You have no mother, have you?"
"No. My mother is dead," answered the lad in a low voice, lowering his eyes.
"I thought as much. Mothers don't like to have their boys join a circus; but, if they knew what a strict, wholesome life a circus performer has to lead, they would not be so set against the circus. Don't you think, taking it all in all, that we are a pretty good sort?" smiled Dimples.
"I wish everyone were as good as circus folks," the boy made answer so earnestly as to bring a pleased smile to the face of his companion.
"You shall have a lesson today for that, if you wish."
"Do I?"
"Then run along and get on your togs. As soon as the performance is over we will get out my ring horse and put in an hour's work."
"Thank you, thank you!" glowed Phil as Mrs. Robinson rolled up her work. "I'll be out in a few moments."
Full of pleasurable anticipation, Phil ran to the dressing tent and began rummaging in his trunk for his working tights. These he quickly donned and hurried back to the paddock. There he found Dimples with her ring horse, petting the broad-backed beast while he nibbled at the grass.
"Waiting, you see?" she smiled up at Forrest.
"Yes. But the performance isn't finished yet, is it?"
"No. The hippodrome races are just going on. Come over to this side of the paddock, where we shall be out of the way, and I'll teach you a few first principles."
"What do you want me to do first?"
"Put your foot in my hand and I will give you a lift."
The lad did as directed and sprang lightly to the back of the gray.
"Move over on the horse's hip. There. Sit over just as far as you can without slipping off. You saw how I did it this afternoon?"
"Yes—oh, here I go!"
Phil slid from the sloping side of the ring horse, landing in a heap, to the accompaniment of a rippling laugh from Dimples.
"I guess I'm not much of a bareback rider," grinned the lad, picking himself up. "How do you manage to stay on it in that position?"
"I don't know. It is just practice. You will catch the trick of it very soon."
"I'm not so sure of that."
"There! Now, take hold of the rein and stand up.Don't be afraid—"
"I'm not. Don't worry about my being afraid."
"I didn't mean it that way. Move back further. It is not good to stand in the middle of your horse's back all the time. Besides throwing too much weight on the back, you are liable to tickle the animal there and make him nervous. The best work is done by standing over the horse's hip. That's it. Tread on the balls of your feet."
But Phil suddenly went sprawling, landing on the ground again, at which both laughed merrily.
Very shortly after that the show in the big top came to a close. The concert was now going on, at the end nearest the menagerie tent, so Phil and Dimples took the ring at the other end of the tent, where they resumed their practice.
After a short time Phil found himself able to stand erect with more confidence. Now, his instructor, with a snap of her little whip, started the gray to walking slowly about the ring, Phil holding tightly to the bridle rein to steady himself.
"Begin moving about now. Tread softly and lightly. That's it.You've caught it already."
"Why not put a pad on the horse's back, as I've seen some performers do?" he questioned.
"No. I don't want you to begin that way. Start without a pad, and you never will have to unlearn what you get. That's my advice. I'm going to set him at a gallop now. Stand straight and lean back a little."
The ring horse moved off at a slow, methodical gallop.
Phil promptly fell off, landing outside the ring, from where he picked himself up rather crestfallen.
"Never mind. You'll learn. You are doing splendidly," encouraged Dimples, assisting him to mount again. "There's the press agent, Mr. Dexter, watching you. Now do your prettiest. Do you know him?"
"No; I have not met him. He's the fellow that Teddy says blows up his words with a bicycle pump."
"That's fine. I shall have to tell him that. Remember, you always want to keep good friends with the press agent. He's the man who makes or unmakes you after you have passed the eagle eyes of the proprietor," Dimples laughed. "From what I hear I guess you stand pretty high with Mr. Sparling."
"I try to do what is right—do the best I know how."
She nodded, clucking to the gray and Phil stopped talking at once, for he was fully occupied in sticking to the horse, over whose back he sprawled every now and then in the most ridiculous of positions. But, before the afternoon's practice had ended, the lad had made distinct progress. He found himself able to stand erect, by the aid of the bridle rein, and to keep his position fairly well while the animal took a slow gallop. He had not yet quite gotten over the dizziness caused by the constant traveling about in a circle in the narrow ring, but Dimples assured him that, after a few more turns, this would wear off entirely.
After finishing the practice, Dimples led her horse back to the horse tent, promising Phil that they should meet the next afternoon.
Phil had no more than changed to his street clothes before he received a summons to go to Mr. Sparling in his private tent.
"I wonder what's wrong now?" muttered the lad. "But, I thinkI know. It's about that row we had this morning out on the lot.I shouldn't be surprised if I got fined for that."
With a certain nervousness, Phil hurried out around the dressing tent, and skirting the two big tents, sought out Mr. Sparling in his office.