CHAPTER XV
A BIG CLIMB
The apparatus had been set up at the fair grounds in Lancaster, where Joe had his first engagement following his accident. He had received his new machine, and had given it a thorough test at the factory, that he might have any possible defects remedied. None of any moment developed, however, and Joe took the shiny machine away with him.
"But I need to try it on the wire before I ride in public in front of the crowd," he had said to his helpers, "so we'll have to get up early to-morrow morning, before the crowd arrives, and have a test."
Ryan and Jeroleman had decided this was a wise plan, consequently when it was still dark the three left their hotel and made their way to the fair grounds.
Joe still had a slight limp, but as he did not have to use the injured leg, the left, in starting his machine, he knew he could ride all right.
It was damp and rather misty that early morning when they reached the place where the high wire rose on its steel supports in the middle of the race-track oval.
"You'll have to wait until it's a bit lighter," suggested Ryan, as he and Jeroleman went carefully over the smoothed approach. Joe did not want to ride over any more stones, and this time the ground extending to and away from the place where the wire slanted into the ground, had been made as nearly like a table as possible.
"Yes, I'll need a little more light to see the chalk line plainly," Joe agreed. "But I'll start the motor and see how it works."
He brought his new machine out from the dressing tent where it had been over night in charge of a watchman. Steadying it on the rear supporting frame, the boy pushed over the starting lever. With a roar the motor-cycle was in action, though not moving.
"It works a whole lot easier than my big one," said Joe. "I only hope it doesn't prove too light for the act. It is possible there may not be weight enough to give the proper traction."
In anticipation of this possible difficulty, the young wire-rider had had the grooved wheels of his new machine made much rougher than those of his former one. He hoped this would offset any lack of weight in the small motor-cycle, which was many pounds lighter than the big roadster.
The noise of the motor attracted a few early arrivals at the fair grounds—men in charge of the live stock and exhibits—and they gathered about in a curious group to watch Joe's trial. But such a small audience as this did not annoy him.
"Does she go all right?" asked Ryan, coming back with Jeroleman after an inspection of the ground.
"Seems to be as true as a fiddle," Joe answered, shutting off the gasoline.
It was getting lighter now, and the young wire-performer went carefully over every bit of his apparatus, even though his two helpers had seen that it was in proper shape. Then, satisfied that all was right, and having seen that the life net was in place, Joe took his new motor-cycle to the end of the starting ground, and again set it in action.
Slowly the mists gave way before the rising sun. The chalk mark that was to be the guiding line for Joe stood out in bold relief on the brown earth.
"Well, here I go," he called to his helpers.
Joe pressed a spring on the frame in front of him, and this pulled up out of the way the support of the rear wheel. This spring was an improvement on the new motor-cycle, and made it unnecessary for Joe to kick up the support.
Then, as the clutch lever was pushed into place, the machine began to move. Faster and faster it went as the lad turned on more gasoline, until it was fairly flying over the ground.
Straight and true to the chalk mark the daring driver held his steed of steel, and then up the inclined wire it shot, and out upon the level stretch.
"Good!" exulted Joe to himself. "She works like a charm."
There was not the least slip, which might have been the case if the wheel had been too light.
"It goes even faster than my old one," the boy said to himself.
Almost before he knew it, Joe had reached the end and was going down. He rode nearly to the end of the far slope and then brought his machine to a stop.
"How about it?" called Ryan, running toward him.
"Couldn't be better! It's all right! We'll do the trick on schedule time!"
Joe went to his breakfast, secure in the knowledge that he could give such an exhibition as he desired.
There was a big crowd at the fair when the time came for Joe's high-wire act that morning. But the youth was used to big crowds, for he was a drawing card.
And, as usual, there came loud and long applause when he was high in the air, the sun flashing on his nickel-plated motor-cycle and on the shimmering spangles of his white suit. Below him the boy could hear the murmurs and yells of the startled audience.
Not a hitch occurred in the act, which went off as smoothly as it always did. More smoothly, in fact, for Joe had the lighter machine under better control, and it was speedier.
"I wish I could add a little more to the act," remarked Joe, as he was donning his street clothes in the dressing tent a little later. "If I could juggle three balls while riding across the wire it would make 'em sit up and take notice."
"Oh, you make 'em sit up enough as it is," said Ryan. "And I believe it would be risky taking your hands off the handle bars to do any juggling."
"I guess so," acquiesced Joe. "But never mind. I've something else in mind."
"The act is thrilling enough in itself," Jeroleman said. "You should hear the comments in the crowd."
"Well, I'm glad they like it," commented Joe. "It seems to me it's over too quickly. But I can't very well make the wire any longer."
"Nobody finds any fault," Ryan told him. "It's so thrilling that it seems longer than it really is. Don't get to worrying."
"I'll not," promised the lad.
Joe finished out the week at Lancaster without any accident to mar it. His leg was completely healed now, and he felt in fine fettle. His nerves were not in the least shattered as the result of his fall, and he found himself better advertised than ever because of the accident, which had been written up in the papers of that part of the country.
Joe's inquiries as to the identity of the man who had spoken the name of Janet Willoughby were fruitless. There were no answers to his advertisements, and the high-wire rider had about given up hope of ever finding the unknown Englishman.
"And perhaps if I did it would amount to nothing," Joe reflected. "But, all the same, I would like to know just how much he knew of my mother."
Joe had written to Helen as soon as possible after the accident, making as light of it as he could, for he knew she would read of it in the papers, and he did not want her to worry. In reply he received a letter from her, begging him to be more careful. Then Joe told of his new wheel, which would, in a measure, make it safer for him. And Helen expressed her pleasure at this.
As the season wore on Joe fulfilled engagement after engagement, until a certain week found him on the outskirts of Jersey City, New Jersey, engaged for a week at a big fair.
Joe rode well there, and before larger crowds than had before greeted him, many coming over from New York City, just across the Hudson river, for Joe's fame was constantly spreading.
As the youth had plenty of time to himself, one day after his morning act he took a trip to the metropolis. It was not his first visit, for when in partnership with Professor Rosello he had gone to New York to see about having some trick apparatus made. Since then, too, when at times the circus had been laid up for the winter, Joe had visited the big city.
There was a fascination about the place for Joe, as for nearly every one else, and, having had his lunch, Joe strolled up Broadway marveling at the never ceasing throng that flowed in both directions.
Coming to the junction of Broadway and Fifth Avenue, where stands that peculiar structure known as the Flatiron Building, Joe saw a big crowd gathered on the Fifth Avenue side. A quick glance showed him some men with moving picture cameras, and as this always interested Joe he drew closer.
"Maybe they're staging a movie drama here," Joe reflected. "I may see the heroine tossed out of the nineteenth story window. Maybe I can catch her," he thought, with a little laugh.
Joe managed to work his way through the press of people to where the moving picture camera men stood. It was evident that something had gone wrong.
"Well, are you going to do it or not?" asked one of the men of a young fellow who was leaning against the building, smoking a cigarette. "We can't wait all day."
"Yes, I'll do it—in a few minutes," was the reply from the youth.
"No, you won't!" angrily exclaimed another camera operator. "You're stalling, that's what you're doing! You've lost your nerve! You're afraid to make the climb and there's no use in our wasting our time on you. You're afraid, and you might as well say so first as last!"
"Afraid? Afraid?" muttered the youth.
"Yes, afraid! I don't know that I blame you much," the camera man went on. "You said you'd make the climb, and now you're afraid to do it. Own up—you've lost your nerve, haven't you?"
The youth flicked the cigarette away, and it seemed for a moment as though he would denounce the speaker. Then his face paled as he glanced up the sides of the high building, and in a husky voice he said:
"Yes, I am afraid. I—I dare not make the climb."
"Was he going to climb up the Flatiron Building?" asked Joe of a camera man who had, as yet, said nothing.
"Yes. That's what he agreed to do. It's a movie stunt, but he backed down at the last minute. I can't blame him, but it knocks us out."
Joe looked at the tall building. It was of such a construction, with deep grooves in the stone work, that to climb it would not be difficult to one not afraid of dizzy heights. Firm fingers, and feet shod in rubber-soled shoes, would make the act possible if one's muscle and nerve held out.
"Come on, boys, there's no use in wasting any more time," said the angry camera man, who seemed to be in charge of the others. "He won't climb the Flatiron Building and he knows he won't."
The youth smiled in a sickly sort of way.
"I guess I have lost my nerve," he admitted.
"Come on," and the camera man started away with his machine.
"Wait a minute," said Joe. "What sort of a stunt is this, anyhow?"
"What do you want to know for—are you a reporter?" the man with the camera asked.
"No," answered Joe, with a smile, "I'm not a newspaper man. I'm a circus performer, a high-wire rider. If you want some one to climb up the side of that building, and you'll make it worth my while, rather than see you and the crowd disappointed, I'll do the trick for you."
"Will you?" eagerly cried the man. "Have you ever done it?"
"Well, I've done some stunts like it," said Joe. "I think I can manage it all right, if the police don't interfere."
"Oh, we've arranged for that. But it's a big climb."
"I know it. But get me a pair of rubber-soled shoes and I'll do it."
"Here, take mine," said the youth who had balked at the last minute. "I wish I had your nerve," he said admiringly.
Joe took the shoes and began removing his own.
"Get ready, boys," advised the head camera operator. "I don't know who he is, but I guess he'll make good."