As he neared the village Phil began to shout and wave his hat. After a time his
shouts attracted the attention of some of the people on the circus lot, which
was on his side of the village.
“It’s Emperor coming back!” cried someone.
“There’s somebody on him,” added another.
“I’ll bet the day’s receipts that it’s that rascally
Phil Forrest,” exclaimed Mr. Sparling, examining the cloud of dust with
shaded eyes. “How in the world did it ever happen? I’ve been
hunting all over the outfit for that boy this morning. Young Tucker said he
thought Phil had remained behind, and I was afraid something had happened to
the boy or that he had skipped the show. I might have known better.
What’s that back of him?”
“Somebody chasing them, boss,” a tentman informed him.
“And they’re going to catch old Emperor sure.”
“Not if I know it,” snapped Mr. Sparling. “Hey,
Rube!” he howled.
Canvasmen, roustabouts, performers and everybody within reach of his voice
swarmed out into the open, armed with clubs, stones and anything they could lay
their hands upon.
“There’s a posse trying to catch Phil Forrest and old Emperor. Get
a going! Head them off and drive them back!”
Every man started on a run, some leaping on horses, clearing the circus lot,
riding like so many cowboys. As they approached the lad perched on the bobbing
head of the elephant the showmen set up a chorus of wild yells, to which Phil
responded by waving his hat. He tried to stand up on Emperor’s head,
narrowly missing a tumble, which he surely would have taken had not the
elephant given him quick support with the ever-handy trunk.
“They’re shooting at me,” cried Phil, as he swept by the
showmen.
“Line up!” commanded Mr. Sparling.
His men stretched across the highway, with the mounted ones in front, his
infantry behind. Soon the horsemen of the pursuing party came dashing up and
brought their horses to a sudden stop.
“What do you want?”
“We demand the turning over of the elephant which one of your men stole
from us. They’ve wrecked the blacksmith shop and there’ll be a
pretty bill of damages to pay! Come now, before we take you back with
us.”
Mr. Sparling grinned.
“Perhaps you don’t know that you are in the State of Ohio at the
present moment, eh? If you’ll take my advice you’ll turn about and
get home as fast as horseflesh will carry you. My lawyer will be in your town
today, and he will arrange for the payment of all just damages. We decline to
be robbed, however. We’ve got the elephant and we’re going to keep
him.”
“And we’re going to have the boy that broke in and released
him.”
“Ho, ho, ho!” laughed Mr. Sparling jovially. “I guess
you’ll have the liveliest scrimmage you ever had in all your lives if you
attempt to lay hands on that boy. Come, now, get out of here! If you attempt to
raise the slightest disturbance I’ll have the bunch of you in the cooler,
and we’ll be the boys to put you there if the town officials don’t
act quickly enough.”
“Boys, I guess it’s up to us,” decided the leader of the
party.
“Looks that way.”
“Then what do you say if we stop and see the show?”
“Good idea!”
“I don’t care how many of you go to the show; but, mark me, it will
cost you fifty cents a head, and at the first sign of disturbance you’ll
see the biggest bunch of trouble headed your way!”
“It’s all right, Mr. Sparling. We admit we’ve been
done.”
And that was the end of it. Mr. Sparling’s lawyer visited the town where
the disturbance had occurred on the previous day, and at his client’s
direction made a settlement that should have been wholly satisfactory to the
injured parties. Ordinarily the showman would not have settled the case, in
view of the fact that neither he nor any of his employees was directly
responsible for the series of disasters. He did it almost wholly on account of
Phil Forrest, who had asked him to.
“Well, young man, I’ve paid the bills,” announced Mr.
Sparling that afternoon before the evening performance.
“Thank you,” glowed Phil.
“Stop that! If there’s any thanks in it, they’re coming to
you. Between you and the elephant we’ll have another turn-away today. You
have already put a good bit of money in my pocket, and I’m not forgetting
it. I have made definite arrangements for you and your chum to have a berth in
a closed wagon after this. You will be good enough to offer no objections this
time. What I say goes.”
“I hope I did not do anything wrong in taking Emperor away. I’m
afraid my conscience has troubled me ever since. But I didn’t intend to
do anything wrong or to cause any further damage than already had been
done.”
“You did perfectly right, Forrest. That was a stroke of genius. As for
damage, I tell you I have settled all of that. One of these days you come in
when I’m not busy and we’ll talk about next season. I want you to
stay with me.”
Phil left his employer, the lad’s face flushed and his eyes sparkling.
Altogether, he was a very happy boy. The only real cloud that had darkened his
horizon was that anyone should feel such an enmity toward him as to desire to
take his life; or, at least, to cause him so serious an injury as to put an end
to the career that now seemed so promising.
“I know why, of course,” mused the lad. “It was jealousy. I
am more sure than ever as to the identity of the man who did it. When I get a
good opportunity I am going to face him with it. I’m not afraid of the
man. As it is, he might try it again; but if he understands that I know he will
not dare try it, fearing I may have told someone else.”
Having come to this wise conclusion, Phil proceeded to the big top, where he
and Teddy Tucker were to take their afternoon practice on the flying rings,
pausing on the way to pass a handful of peanuts to Emperor, who was again in
his place, and give the elephant’s trainer a happy nod.
“I’ve noticed of late that Signor Navaro acts rather grouchy over
you boys working on his apparatus. You want to look out for these foreigners.
Some of them are revengeful,” cautioned Mr. Miaco.
Signor Navaro was the leading performer in the flying-rings act. With him was
his young son, Rodney Palmer and a young girl performer, whose father was a
clown in the show.
Phil shot a sharp glance at Mr. Miaco, then dropped his eyes.
“I guess nobody would be jealous of me,” laughed the lad.
“I’m only a beginner, and a clumsy one at that. All I can do is to
ride an elephant and fall off, nearly killing myself.”
“Nevertheless, you take my advice.”
“I will, thank you.”
The boys began their work after putting on their working clothes, consisting of
old silk undershirts and linen trunks. This left them free for the full play of
their muscles, which, by this time, were of exceptionally fine quality. Not big
and bunchy, but like thin bands of pliable steel. Both Phil and Teddy appeared
to have grown half a head taller since they joined out with the circus.
“Put a little more finish in that cutoff movement,” directed their
instructor. “The way you do it, Teddy, you remind me of a man trying to
kick out a window. There, that’s better.”
And so it went on. Days came and went and the steady practice of the two circus
boys continued, but if Mr. Sparling knew what they were doing he made no
reference to it. He probably did know, for little went on in the Sparling
Combined Shows that he was not aware of.
Nothing out of the routine occurred, until, late in the season, they pitched
their tents in Canton, Ohio, when something happened that brought to a climax
the certainty of the careers of the circus boys.
All day long the clouds had been threatening. But, though keen eyes were
watching the scudding clouds, no apprehension was felt, as it was believed to
be but a passing thunderstorm that was coming up.
The storm did not break until late in the afternoon when the show was more than
half over. Phil had made his grand entry on Emperor, and Teddy had nearly sent
the spectators into hysterics by his funny antics on the back of Jumbo, the
educated mule.
All at once the circus men glanced aloft as the shrill whistle of the boss
canvasman trilled somewhere outside the big top. The audience, if they heard,
gave no heed. They were too much interested in the show.
To the showmen the whistle meant that the emergency gang was being summoned in
haste to stake down emergency ropes to protect the tent from a windstorm that
was coming up.
Phil took a quick survey of the upper part of the tent. Two acts were just
beginning up there. A trapeze act was on, and the four performers were swinging
out on the flying rings.
Both sets of performers were in rather perilous positions were the wind to blow
very hard, as Phil well understood. He stepped off until he found a quarter
pole at his back against which he leaned that he might watch the better the
lofty performers.
All at once there was a blast against the big top that sounded as if a great
blow had been delivered. The audience half rose. The tent shook from end to
end.
“Sit down!” bellowed the ringmaster. “It’s only a puff
of wind.”
Before the words were out of his mouth a piercing scream roused the audience
almost to the verge of panic.
Phil, whose attention had been drawn to the people for the moment, shot a swift
glance up into the somber haze of the peak of the big top.
Something had happened. But what?
“They’re falling!” he gasped.
The blow had loosened nearly every bit of the aerial apparatus under the circus
tent.
“There go the trapeze performers!”
Down they came, landing with a whack in the net with their apparatus tumbling
after them. But they were out of the net in a twinkling, none the worse for
their accident. Almost at the same moment there were other screams.
“There go the rings!”
There was no net under the flying ring performers. Two of them shot toward the
ground. When they struck, one was on top of the other. The man at the bottom
was Signor Navaro, his son having fallen prone across him. The two other
performers in the act had grabbed a rope and saved themselves.
Men picked the two fallen performers up hastily and bore them to the dressing
tent, where Phil hastened the moment he was sure that all danger of a panic had
passed. The gust of wind had driven the clouds away and the sun flashed out
brilliantly.
A moment later the performance was going on with a rush, the band playing a
lively tune.
Phil, when he reached the dressing tent, learned that Signor Navaro was
seriously hurt, though his son was suffering merely from shock. The father had
sustained several broken bones.
Phil approached the injured performer and leaned over him. The man was
conscious.
“I’m sorry, very sorry, sir,” breathed the boy
sympathetically.
“You needn’t be. You’ll get what you want,” murmured
the circus man.
“I don’t understand,” wondered Phil.
“You’ll get my act.”
“Is that what you think I have been working for?”
Signor Navaro nodded.
“You are mistaken. Of course, if you are not able to perform any more
this season I shall try to get it, but when you are able to go to work I shall
give it up willingly, even if I succeed in getting it during that time. Is that
why you played that trick on me?” demanded the lad.
“You know?” questioned Signor Navaro, with a start.
Phil gave a slight nod.
“Why did you put the file in my trunk—the file you cut the wire
with?”
“I thought I dropped it in my own trunk. Somebody surprised me and I was
afraid they would catch me with it in my hand and suspect.”
“That’s what I thought.”
“You are sharp. And you told no one?”
“No. But I had made up my mind to tell you. I didn’t think it would
have to be this way, though. I’m sorry it is.”
“Well, I have my punishment. It served me right. I was crazed with
jealousy. I—how is the boy?”
“Not badly hurt, I believe. He will be all right in a few days, and I
hope you will be able to join out in a short time.”
Signor Navaro extended a feeble hand, which Phil pressed softly.
“Forgive me, boy. Will you?”
“Yes,” whispered Phil.
“And you will tell no—”
“There is nothing to tell, Signor Navaro. If there is anything I can do
for you, tell me, and I shall have great happiness in doing it,” breathed
the lad.
A final grip of the hands of the boy and the injured performer followed, after
which Phil Forrest stepped back to make way for the surgeon, who had hurried to
a wagon to fetch his case.
