Joe Strong, having checked his rapid, head-first and head-on slide down the slanting wire by grasping it in his gloved hands, gave a "flip-flop" and stood up, bowing to the loud applause. Jim Tracy and some of the other circus employees surrounded the young man.
"Why didn't you tell us you were going to pull off something like this?" demanded the ringmaster.
"Because I wasn't sure until the last minute that I would do it," answered Joe. "I hadn't practiced it as much as I should have liked, but when I got up there on the platform I felt pretty sure I could do it. I wasn't running much risk anyhow, except that of failure. I knew I wouldn't fall, for I could have grabbed the wire in my hands if I had started to topple over."
"But how did you do it?" asked some one, who came up to join the wondering throng after Joe's feat had been performed. "I've seen you stand on your head before, but to slide down a wire—say, what sort of scalp have you, anyhow?"
Joe laughed and held out a close-fitting skull-cap of leather. Fastened to the leather was a small steel framework, and in this frame were two small grooved wheels, like the wheels of a trolley by means of which street cars receive the electric current from the wire. Joe put the cap on his head to show how it enabled him to do the trick. The big races were on now, as the close of the performance was close at hand, and the crowd was paying attention to the contests and not to the group of performers surrounding the young magician.
Once they had seen the cap with the grooved wheels on top placed on Joe's head, his friends understood how the trick was done. He had simply to balance himself on his head on the wire, a feat he had often performed before. The natural attraction of gravitation did the rest. He simply slid down on the wheels, his extended arms and legs steadying him.
"It's just as if you had a roller skate on your head," said Señorita Tanlozo, the snake charmer, who had strolled into the main tent after her act in the side show was over.
"Exactly," said Joe, with a smile. "Would you like to try it?"
"Not while my snakes are alive!" she assured him.
"Well, it's another drawing card for the Sampson Brothers' Show," said Jim Tracy that night when the receipts were being counted and preparations being made for moving on to the next city. "How long are you going to keep it up, Joe?"
"As to that, I can't say," was the answer. "But I like the game, and I want to see the circus a success."
"It's a big one now, thanks in a large part to you," observed the ringmaster. "But you'd better take a rest now, Joe, my boy. Don't try to pull off any more spectacular stunts."
"Oh, I haven't pulled off my big one yet," replied the young magician. "I mean the one with the fire. I'm working on that. If it comes out the way I think it will we'll have to give three performances a day instead of two."
"Oh, we can't do that!" protested Mr. Moyne, the treasurer. "It's hard enough keeping account of the money and tickets now, with two shows a day. If we have three—"
He paused, for it was very evident Joe was only joking, and there were smiles on the faces of the other circus folk.
"Don't worry!" said Joe to the treasurer. "I don't want to act three times a day any more than you want to count the tickets and cash. And, I suppose, if we could, by some means, give three performances, it would only give our swindling ticket friends more chance to work their scheme. By the way, there are no further signs of their putting bogus tickets on sale, are there?"
"Not since we started the detectives at work," the treasurer answered. "But I'm always on the watch, and so are the men at the entrances."
"It's about time those detectives got results, I think," declared Jim Tracy. "I wonder what they think we're paying them for?"
"It takes time for a thing like that to be cleaned up," said Joe.
"Well, I know what I'd do if I were detecting," half-growled the ringmaster.
"What?" inquired the treasurer.
"I'd round up and arrest a certain few worthless men I know who used to be in the circus business—some with this show!" declared Jim. "It's queer, but our outfit seems to be the only one that they pick on. That's what makes me think it was some one who used to work for us."
"Who?" the treasurer wanted to know.
"Well, I'm not mentioning any names," declared the ringmaster, as he prepared to divest himself of his dress suit in readiness for the trip to the circus train. "But I have my suspicions."
"What makes you say ours is the only circus to have lost money on bogus tickets?" asked Joe.
"Read it in Paste and Paper," was the answer. That was the name of the trade journal devoted to the interests of circus folk, tent shows, and the like. "The last number had a piece in it about our losing money on fake tickets," went on the ringmaster, "and it said it was the first case of its kind to appear in several years. There have been no complaints of circuses in other parts of the country being cheated that way, this article said. So I know it's some one picking specially on us."
"Well, perhaps you're right," assented Joe. "But as long as we have changed our style of tickets and they haven't tried their tricks again, maybe we've settled them."
"All the same I'm going to be on the watch," declared the treasurer.
The city where the circus showed the following day and night was a large one. A new automobile industry employing many hands had located there within the last six months. It was decided to make a stay of two days in this place, since the advance agent reported that many of the men worked overtime and nights, and otherwise they could not see the performance.
"Well, I'm glad we're to be here two days," remarked Helen, as she passed Joe's private quarters, where he was going over some of his apparatus, costumes, and effects.
"Yes, we'll have a good night's rest," he agreed, though, truth to tell, the circus folk were so used to traveling that the train journey almost every night did not bother them. Still they always welcomed a stay in a city over night.
"You seem busy," remarked Helen, as she sat down on a box and watched Joe.
"Yes, I'm going to introduce a little novelty in the slide down the slanting wire," he answered. "I'm going to work in a fire stunt."
"A fire stunt!" exclaimed Helen. "Surely you aren't going to—"
"Oh, it won't be dangerous!" Joe assured her, guessing her thoughts. Helen had learned that the jump into Benny's tank the first time was due to an accident. "It's just a bit spectacular and will liven things up a bit, I think. If it goes well I have an idea you can work one of the features in your bareback act."
"Oh, Joe, I never could walk a wire, nor slide down on my head, the way you do. And I don't see how Rosebud could, either." And Helen gave a merry little laugh at the vision she raised.
"Oh, I'm not going to have your horse walk the tight rope nor the high wire!" laughed Joe. "It would be a corking good stunt if we could, though. No, this is simpler. I'll tell you about it later."
Mrs. Watson, wife of the veteran clown, called for Helen just then, asking her to go to see one of the women performers who was ill.
"I'll see you later, Joe," Helen called out, as she left him.
Joe was busy mixing up some chemicals in a pail on the ground outside his tent when he was accosted by a rather hoarse voice asking:
"Any chance for a job here, boss?" Joe looked up to see a somewhat disreputable figure of a man observing him. The fellow looked like the typical tramp, perhaps not quite so ragged and dirty, but still in that class. However, there was something about the man that attracted Joe's attention. As he said afterward, his visitor had about him the air of the "profesh."
Joe's first impulse was to say that he knew of no job, or else to refer his accoster to the head canvas man, who hired transient help in putting up the main top and in pulling or driving stakes. But as Joe observed the man curiously watching him, he had another idea. Before he could act on it, however, the man exclaimed:
"You do a fire-eating stunt, don't you?"
"Yes," Joe answered. And then it occurred to him to wonder how the man knew. True he might have observed Joe in some of the many performances, but the man did not look like one who would spend money on circus tickets. He might have crawled under the tent, but it did not seem exactly probable. And, of course, some of the circus employees plight have pointed Joe out to the man as the actor who handled fire. But, again, Joe did not believe this. So he asked:
"How did you know?"
For answer the man pointed to the pail of chemicals into which Joe was about to dip a suit of tights.
"Smelled the dope," was the brief answer. "You're using tungstate of soda, aren't you?"
"Yes," answered Joe, surprised that a man, evidently of such a class, should recognize the not very common chemical.
"We used to use alum in the old days," the man went on. "I guess the new dope's better, though I never tried it."
"Are you in the business?" asked Joe.
"Well, I—er—I used to be," and the man straightened himself up with an air of forgotten pride. "I was with a circus once—used to do a fire-eating act and jump into a fake bonfire. I doped my clothes with alum water though. That's great stuff for preventing the fire taking hold if you don't stay in the blaze too long. But, as I say, they've discovered something new."
"You used to be a fire-eater?" asked Joe curiously.
"Yes. And I was counted a pretty good one. But I lost my nerve."
"How?"
"Well—er—not to put too fine a point on it, I got too fond of the fire-water. Couldn't stay on the water-wagon long enough, got careless in my act, went down and out. Oh, it's the old story. You've probably heard it lots of times. But I would like a job now. I'm actually hungry, and I've seen the time I could blow the bunch to champagne and lobster."
Joe, on impulse, and yet, too, because he had an object, was just going to offer the man help when he saw Mr. Moyne coming across the lot toward him from the ticket wagon. The afternoon performance was about to start.
"They're here again!" cried the treasurer.
"Who?" asked Joe.
"The ticket swindlers!"
Instantly Joe Strong lost interest in the "tramp fire-eater," as he afterward came to call the man. All the attention of the young magician was centered on what the treasurer had said.
"Are you certain of this?" asked Joe.
"Positive!" was the answer. "We've been keeping careful watch, paying special attention to the red serial numbers, and some duplicates have been taken in at the main entrance. The swindlers are at work again."
"But our new tickets!" exclaimed Joe. "The new style of paper and the precautions we have taken! What of that?"
In answer Mr. Moyne held out two tickets, both bearing the same serial number in red ink.
"Which is the bogus and which is the genuine?" he asked.
Joe looked carefully at the two. He examined them for a full minute.
"I can't tell!" he admitted.
"And no one else can, either," declared the treasurer. "We're up against it again! Those fellows are too clever for us. Now we'll lose a lot of money!"
"Well, it won't break us," said Joe easily. "Though, of course, no one likes to be cheated. The only thing to do is to get the detectives busy. Let them know the new turn affairs have taken, and I'll send these two tickets to our chemist friend. He can tell which is printed from our regular stock, and which is the counterfeit.
"Then, too, it ought to be easier to catch the rascals now than it was at first. You see, we didn't know how long the old tickets had been counterfeited. Now we're warned, first shot out of the box, about the new ones. And since the paper mill hasn't been supplying our printer with the new kind of paper very long, it ought to be easy to trace where the new and clever counterfeit supply is coming from."
"Well, I hope they can catch the scoundrels," said Mr. Moyne. "I certainly hate to see money lost."
Mr. Moyne was an ideal treasurer. He always had the interests of the circus at heart, and one would think that the money came out of his own pocket to hear him talk about the counterfeit tickets. In a way he did lose, personally, since he was one of the owners of the show, and the less money that came in the less his stock dividends would amount to.
"I'll write to Mr. Waldon to-night," said Joe, as he took the two tickets. "And we'll notify the detectives. Now I must get ready for my act. That can't be dropped."
"Having trouble, eh?" asked the tramp, who had moved a little to one side.
"Oh, well, just a little," admitted Joe, who was not altogether pleased that this talk should have been overheard by a stranger.
"Did you say there was any chance for a job?" asked the ragged man.
"Well, I don't know," said Joe, rather doubtfully. "Is that straight goods, about your being a fire-eater?"
"I was once. But I'm not looking for that kind of a job now," was the quick answer. "I lost my nerve, I tell you. Handling stakes or driving a wagon would be my limit."
"What sort of an act in the fire line did you have?" asked Joe, for a certain idea was beginning to form in his mind.
"It was a good act!" was the response, and again the spark of pride seemed about to be fanned into a flame. "Got any old-timers in this here circus of yours?"
"Yes," answered Joe. "There's Jim Tracy and Bill Watson and—"
"Bill Watson who used to clown it?" cried the man eagerly.
"He clowns it yet."
"Old Bill!" murmured the tramp. "Him still making good in the business, and me a bum! Well, it's all my own fault. If I'd stuck to the fire-eating and not drinking fire-water I'd be somewhere to-day. Just ask Bill Watson what sort of an act Ham Logan had—'Coal-fire Logan!'" exclaimed the man. "That was my title. Hamilton Logan is my name, but I haven't told any one in—not in a long time," he added, and he looked away. "But ask Bill Watson about me."
"Here he comes now," said Joe, as he observed the veteran clown approaching. "Suppose you ask him yourself."
For an instant Ham Logan hesitated. Then he stepped forward and confronted the old clown. The latter paid no attention at first, evidently thinking the man one of the many hangers-on about a circus ground.
"Joe," began Bill Watson, "Helen sent me to ask you if you have any ammonia in your kit—I mean the kind they give the ladies when their hearts are weak, or something like that. One of the girls has some kind of a little spell, and we can't find the doctor."
"Yes, I have some ammonia," said Joe. "I'll get it."
Ham Logan looked Bill Watson in the face, and asked:
"Don't you remember me?"
"Can't say that I do," was the somewhat cool response of the veteran clown. "Is there any reason why I should?"
"Do you remember Coal-fire Logan?"
Bill Watson started, looked more closely at the man, and then slowly asked:
"Are you Ham Logan?"
"What's left of me—yes."
"Well, I'll be gum swizzled!" exclaimed Bill. "Say, did the elephant step on you or one of the tent wagons roll over you?"
"Neither one. I'm down and out, that's all—and it's enough, too."
"Well, that's enough, I should say," commented the clown, as he took the bottle of stimulant Joe handed him. "Last I heard of you you'd gone on a theater circuit. That was just after you'd quit the Dobling show."
"Yes, I did do a theater circuit," admitted Ham Logan. "But it didn't last. Or rather, I didn't last. I was just asking the young man here for a job. I said you'd remember me."
"Well, I certainly do," returned the old clown, who was not to do his act until later in the day.
"And I'm sorry to see you in this state, Ham. You did me a good turn once, and I haven't forgotten. Stick around a while, and I'll see you as soon as I play first-aid. Joe, if it isn't asking too much, will you look after Ham for a while? He used to be a good sort, and—"
"Better say too much of a 'good sport'" paraphrased the man.
"I'll take care of him," promised Joe. "Did you say you were hungry?" asked the young magician, as the old clown turned and hurried away with the ammonia.
"You said it! But I'm not altogether a grafter. I can work for what I eat." And again there was a flash of pride.
"We'll talk of that later," said Joe. "Just now I want to get you something to eat. Here, take that over to the dining tent," and he scribbled a few words on one of his cards. "After you've eaten all you want, and after the show this afternoon, look me up."
"Do you think you can give me work?" asked the man eagerly. "I don't mean to act," he hastened to say. "I'm past that—down and out. But I'm strong. I can pull on the ropes or drive stakes."
"We'll talk of that later," replied Joe gently. "Go and eat now."
"Well, I sure can feed my face!" exclaimed the man. "I—I don't know how to thank you. Bill will tell you that I wasn't a bad fellow in my day. I just lost my nerve—that's all. False friends and fire-water—"
"See me later," said Joe, with a friendly wave of his hand. And the man hurried toward the dining tent, next to the cook wagons. Already he seemed imbued with more hope and pride, something that filled Joe with pleasure.
Joe busied himself with mixing the chemicals in the pail. As Ham Logan had guessed, the young fire-eater was mixing up a solution of tungstate of soda. This chemical is a salt, made by roasting wolfram with soda ash, and wolfram is a native tungstate of iron and manganese. This soda preparation is used commercially in making garments fire-proof, and Joe had learned this from Mr. Herbert Waldon, the chemist. He had decided to use this instead of an alum solution, which is credited with great fire-resisting qualities. It has them, too, to a certain extent, but by experimenting Joe had found the tungstate of soda best.
It was the evening of the circus in the city in which the show was to remain two days. Ham Logan had returned to Joe after having eaten a good meal, and later Bill Watson formed the third member of a trio that talked for some time in a corner of Joe's tent.
As already said, it was the evening performance, and as Helen finished her act on Rosebud she looked over toward the place where Joe was preparing to do his slide down the slanting wire.
"I wonder what he had in mind as a new act for me," mused Helen. "I do hope it isn't anything to do with fire. That sort of stunt creates a sensation, but it's dangerous, in spite of what Joe does to himself. I don't like it! Not after what happened to Joe that day!"
She had seen that Rosebud was given in charge of the groom who always looked after the clever steed, and now Helen moved over where she could watch Joe's comparatively new wire act.
As she approached this part of the circus tent Helen was startled to see several men carrying large hoops on long poles, take their positions on either side of the slanting wire down which the daring performer was soon to slide on his head, by means of the wheeled cap.
"That's something new!" exclaimed Helen, as she saw the men with the big hoops. "I wonder if Joe is going to jump through them, as I jump through the paper hoops from Rosebud's back?"
Joe was up on the little platform now, having finished his wire act. He was adjusting to his head the leather cap.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" began Jim Tracy in his sonorous voice, as he pointed to Joe on his high perch, thus calling attention to the performer.
All eyes were turned in his direction. Then, as Joe stooped over and stood on his head, preparatory to sliding down the wire, the hoops, which the men held over the cable by means of long poles, suddenly burst into flame. Held over the wire, down which Joe would in a moment slide, was a row of fiery circles!
Helen held her hand over her lips to stifle a scream.
So still was it in the big circus tent after the band stopped playing, while Joe prepared to do his head slide, that the whirr of the steel wheels in his leather cap could plainly be heard as he slid down the wire.
And as Helen and the others watched, the intention of the daring young performer became evident.
He was going to coast through the blazing hoops of fire which the men held in such a position that Joe could slide through them without touching them. Though they were called "hoops," in reality they were not completely closed, there being a slight opening to enable them to be slipped over the slanting wire. If a gigantic letter "C" with a long pole fastened to the lower curved part, can be imagined, it; will give an exact idea of what is meant.
As to the fire itself, it was caused by blazing bits of tow fastened to the circumference of the big wire hoops. And thus through the blazing circles Joe Strong slid down the slanting wire on his head. At the lower end of the wire, where it was fast to a stake in the ground, he caught hold of the cable in his gloved hands and so slowed his speed. Then he leaped to his feet and bowed in acknowledgment of the applause.
"Oh!" murmured Helen, as she watched. "It was only another of his sensational acts. When I first saw the blazing hoops I half thought that some one was trying to injure Joe, as they did when the acid was used on his high trapeze. Oh, it was only a trick!"
And so it was. Joe had planned it that day after meeting Ham Logan. The latter, talking about the time when he, too, had been a fire-eater, had mentioned an act where a performer leaped through blazing hoops, and Joe determined to use the idea, varying it to suit his purpose. That it was effective was evidenced by the long-continued applause.
"But, Joe," asked Helen, when the performance was over and she and Joe had received another ovation at the conclusion of the box mystery and the vanishing lady trick, "wasn't there danger of setting your clothes on fire when you went through the blazing hoops?"
"None at all," Joe assured her. "I have been planning a stunt like this for some time, and my garments were fire-proofed. Of course I wouldn't have done it otherwise. Look here!"
He took up a fancy jacket he had worn in his wire slide. Taking a match Joe lighted it and held it against the cloth. It did not take fire.
"There was that day—"
"But I have perfected the act since then, Helen. Of course the tungstate of soda that I soaked the clothes in wouldn't keep them from catching fire if I put the suit in a furnace. But the solution will make cloth resist a blaze temporarily, as will alum under some circumstances. I use alum on the suit I wear when I pretend to set myself on fire and then jump into the tank of water," went on Joe. "But after this I'm going to use the soda. It's more certain."
Joe worked the trick of seeming to set himself ablaze in this way. As he said, his suit was made as nearly fireproof as possible. Then on the back of his jacket were placed some bunches of tow saturated with alcohol. When this tow was set on fire it burned quickly, but Joe knew the flame would not last long. And the fact that the garments on which the burning material was fastened were as nearly fireproof as was possible to make them gave him additional safety. He really ran little risk, as the fire was at his back, and, as he ran toward the tank, his speed carried the flames away from him.
Joe, and all others who do a fire-eating act, calculate to a nicety just how long a certain fire will burn. And they do not place the blazing material into the mouth until the flames are almost on the point of going out of themselves. This, added to the fact that a chemical solution protects the tongue and lips, makes the act comparatively safe. But one word of caution. Do not try to fire-proof the mouth with tungstate of soda. This warning cannot be made too strong!
In fact, it is well not to try any fire-eating at all. It is too risky unless one is a professional.
"Well, Joe," remarked Jim Tracy, later that night when most of the circus folk were asleep, "if you want to add this fellow to our show, go ahead. You have the say, you know."
"Well, I don't want to do it in just that way," replied the young fire-eater. "Bill Watson says that Ham Logan was once a good man. He is down and out now, but he knows a lot about circus life and this handling of fire. I believe I can work him up into something useful—use him in a new act I'm thinking of putting on. If we can only keep him away from intoxicants he'll be all right, and I'd like to give him a chance."
"Well, Joe, as I said, it's up to you. Go to it! But remember, while he means all right, he may not have the spunk to keep his promise not to drink."
"I think he'll keep it," said Joe. "Anyhow, I'd like to give him a trial. He helped me with that fire hoop stunt, and it would be an act of charity to give him work."
"All right—you can be the charity," said the ringmaster. "What do you say, Bill Watson?"
"Oh, give him a chance," replied the old clown good-naturedly. "We all have our troubles. He can't do much harm, anyhow."
"I don't know about that," said Jim, with a shake of his head. "This playing with fire by a man who can't keep away from fire-water, is risky."
"Well, I'll take the chance," said Joe. And that was characteristic of him—taking chances.
Ham Logan was deeply grateful to Joe for what the young performer did. That is, he hired the former fire-eater as a sort of handy man in the circus, Ham to be subject to Joe's direction day and night.
"And let the fire-water alone!" demanded Joe. "I will! I really will!" said the old circus performer. He seemed to mean it.
Joe advanced him money enough to get some better clothes, to have a bath and be shaved, and it was quite a different person who appeared at the tent the following day, ready to help Joe. As Ham knew more about fire than any assistant Joe had yet been able to train, the new man was given charge of the various apparatus Joe used in his sensational acts, including the one of sliding down the wire on his head through the blazing hoops.
One matter bothered Joe and his friends, in spite of the great success the circus was having, and this was the bogus tickets. Several hundred of them were presented at the performances in the city where the two-day stay was made—the city already mentioned as being the location of a big automobile industry. And where the tickets came from remained a mystery. They were so nearly like the ones issued from the ticket wagon that not until duplicate numbers had been observed could the fraud be detected.
And as the men at the main entrances had no time in the rush to compare serial numbers, there seemed no way of stopping the cheating. It was impossible to see to it that every one who came to the show purchased admission tickets at the wagon. The surging crowds around prevented this.
Men engaged by the circus circulated through the throngs about the tent, seeking to learn whether any unauthorized persons were selling bogus tickets. But none was seen.
"It is evident," said Mr. Moyne, "that the counterfeiters get a bunch of the fake tickets and sell them in large lots to some men. These men, in turn, dispose of them at reduced prices to others, and perhaps the persons who use the tickets do not know they are counterfeits. I believe the swindlers go to the big factories and stores, and sell the tickets at a slightly lower price than we ask."
"We ought to be able to put a stop to that," said Joe.
"We'll try it!" said the treasurer. "It seems the only way—that and having the detectives stop the fraud at the source. You see, we can't tell which are the counterfeit tickets until after we check up the serial numbers—that's what makes it so hard."
And so, in spite of the success of Joe's acts and The success of the show in general, there was this element of annoyance. Joe wished the mystery could be cleared up. He had received back from the chemist the two tickets sent on last, and the counterfeit was marked. This was sent to the paper mill and the detectives notified. That was all that could be done for the present.
"Well, how's Coal-fire Logan making out?" asked Bill Watson of Joe one day, just before an afternoon performance.
"Very good," was the answer. "He's faithful and steady, and he's good help to me. He certainly knows the fire-eating stunt."
"Well, as long as he doesn't do any fire-drinking maybe he'll be all right," said the old clown.
"I haven't noticed any lapse," said Joe. "I have great hopes of him."
But that very afternoon, during the performance, Joe felt doubt beginning to creep over him. He caught Ham in several mistakes—slight ones—but enough, if not noticed in time, to have spoiled the act.
"I wonder what the matter is with him?" mused Joe. "He doesn't seem to have been drinking, and yet he acts queer. I wonder if he can be using drugs."
It was at the close of the act and the wind-up of the circus for the afternoon that Joe told Ham to put away some of the apparatus until evening. Joe was called away from his dressing room for a moment and when he came back he saw Ham hastily throw away a dark brown bottle which struck on a stone and broke. Immediately a queer odor filled the air.
"I wonder if that was liquor he was taking, and if he threw away the empty bottle," thought Joe quickly. "I'm going to find out, I've got to stop this thing at the start."
He hurried to the place where Ham had tossed the bottle. The fragments lay there, and the queer odor was more pronounced.
"Don't touch that! Let that bottle alone!" suddenly cried Ham Logan, as he became aware of Joe's intention. "Don't touch it!"
Joe Strong was in two minds as he heard this warning and observed the face of the man he was befriending. His first thought was that Ham had broken his promise and was indulging in intoxicants. Naturally the man would want to conceal this as long as possible. The other thought was that the tramp fire-eater was up to some trick—perhaps he was jealous of Joe's success and his own failure and wanted to spoil some of Joe's apparatus. Yet Joe did not recognize as any of his property the brown bottle, which when broken emitted such a queer smell.
Joe decided to investigate further, and so, not heeding the warning call of the former circus star, he walked closer to the broken flask.
"Keep away from that!" cried Ham sharply. "Keep away!"
"Why?" asked Joe, with equal insistence.
"Because it's dangerous," was the answer. "Very dangerous."
"Dangerous for you or me?" Joe wanted to know. "Look here, Ham," he said earnestly, "are you up to—any of your old tricks? You know what I mean. Are you?"
The man flushed. Then, looking Joe straight in the face, he said:
"You have a right to ask that, and I'll answer you as straight. I haven't broken my promise—that is, only the times you know about. I haven't broken it this time. I found that bottle in among your things, and I was mighty sure it didn't belong there."
"What's in the bottle?" asked Joe, for, though he had dabbled in chemistry, he did not recognize the queer odor.
"A combination of the strongest acids ever known!" was the answer of Ham Logan. "A drop of it makes a terrible burn, and it will eat through solid steel and iron. I knew that if it broke where it was, among your trick things, a lot of them would be ruined. And I knew you couldn't have left the bottle there by mistake, as it wasn't there the last time I packed away your duds. And I knew if you knew what it was you wouldn't have left it around in that careless way. So, taking no chances, I threw it away, and I meant to break the bottle. That acid is awful stuff. It's best to let it soak into the ground. Come over and see what it does even to earth and stones."
He led the way to where the fluid had escaped from the broken flask, the fragments of which were scattered about. The odor was less strong now, as the acid was soaking into the earth. But there was a fuming and bubbling at the spot, and the very stones and earth seemed to be burning up in a small area.
"Don't step in it!" warned Ham Logan. "It will eat right through your shoes. Glass is the only thing it won't hurt—glass and porcelain. They mix it in porcelain retorts. I'll throw some loose earth over this place. The effects of the acid will soon be lost, but while it's active it's terrible stuff, believe me!"
"And you say you found that bottle in my baggage?" asked Joe.
"Yes," answered Ham Logan. "And am I right in saying you didn't know it was there?"
"I certainly didn't," declared Joe. "Who in the world could have put it there?"
"Have you any enemies?" asked Ham. "I mean some one who would like to see your circus acts spoiled, or even see you laid up for a while?"
"Well, I guess perhaps there are some I've made enemies of by having to discharge them, or something like that," admitted Joe, his thoughts going naturally to Bill Carfax. "There's one man, but he hasn't been seen around for a good while."
"That doesn't count. He may have gotten some one to do his trick for him," asserted Ham. "You'd better look out, Mr. Strong."
"I will!" declared Joe. "And thank you for your watchfulness. As you say, I didn't know that bottle was there, and I might have broken it by accident or have opened it and spilled some out. How did you come to discover it?"
"Just by accident. The smell is something you never forget. It comes up even around the glass stopper. As soon as I began overhauling your things, as you told me to, I smelled the stuff and I went on a still hunt for it.
"I was careful, too. I knew what it meant to get any of that acid on you, or on any of the things about you. I used to work in the chemical plant where they made the stuff—that was after I left the circus. Well, it can't do any harm now," he said as he got a shovel and covered with clean earth the bits of broken glass and the still fuming drops of add.
"Thank you," said Joe fervently.
He went into his private tent. Presently he came out with a bit of wire cable, such as is used in making circus trapezes. One end was blackened and partly fused, as though it had been in the fire. Joe held out this bit of wire rope. It was part of the trapeze he used in his big swing.
"What would you say had eaten through these strands?" he asked.
Ham Logan looked carefully at the cable. He sniffed it cautiously. He held it up to the light and again smelled it.
"It was this same acid that ate those strands," he declared. "I know how it used to eat metal out at the chemical works, and it does so in a queer way. This wire rope is eaten through just like that. There isn't any odor left, though sometimes it lasts a long time. But I'm sure the same kind of acid was used. You don't mean to tell me you have been experimenting with it!" and he looked in surprise at Joe.
"No indeed!" and the young fire-eater shook his head. "I never handle the acid. And the fact that the cable was eaten through nearly caused an accident." He then explained how he had discovered the partly severed wire rope just in time.
"They must have put on a weak solution of the acid," declared Ham. "Otherwise it would have eaten the rope through in jig time. So that's the game, is it? Well, they may have been trying it on a larger scale. Did you find out who doped the rope?"
"There was a man who might have done it," said Joe, thinking of Harry Loper. "But I don't believe he did."
"Is he still with the show?"
"Yes. I'll tell you all the circumstances," which Joe did, mentioning Loper by name.
"Well, we won't say anything," declared Ham Logan; "but I'll just keep my eyes on this Loper. As you say, he may not have done it, but he may know who did. I'll keep my eyes on him. Meanwhile be careful in overhauling your things. Look out for bottles that smell as this one did."
"I will!" promised Joe. "I guess I won't forget that odor. I can't tell you how I thank you, Ham. You've done me a good turn!"
"Well, you did me one," was the answer. "I was down and out when you gave me work, and I won't forget that in a hurry."
Joe pondered over what had happened as he performed his circus acts the remainder of that day and evening. He shuddered at the narrow escape he had had, and, when he had a chance, he carefully noted the conduct of Harry Loper. But that young fellow did not seem at all to act like one who had tried to do a dastardly trick. He was jolly and good-natured, as he always was, albeit somewhat of a weak character.
The circus performances went off well, Joe and the other actors receiving wild applause as they did their specialties. Joe's fire-eating was eagerly watched, and when he slid down the rope on his head, through the blazing hoops, the crowd went wild, as they did when, seemingly all afire, he leaped into the tank.
"When you going to spring that sensation you've been talking of, Joe?" asked Jim Tracy, at the conclusion of one afternoon show.
"Oh, pretty soon now," was the reply. "Ham Logan and I are working on it."
"Ham Logan! Is he going to be in it with you?" asked the ringmaster in some surprise.
"Of course!" answered Joe. "It's partly his idea. He's an old fire-actor, you know, and he's given me some good suggestions. Yes, he's going to help me. I think we'll put the act on next week. We've got to train some new performers first."
"New performers! Say, what are you going to do, Joe, take a troupe of fire-eating actors out on the road?"
"Something like that, yes," answered the young magician, with a laugh. "You'll see."
Joe Strong varied his acts in the circus tent Sometimes he would omit the "vanishing lady" act, as Helen wanted to put through some extra work with Rosebud, and there was not time for both. Again he would leave out some of his acrobatic work, or perhaps not do the trick of seeming to catch fire and extinguishing the flames in Benny Turton's tank. Once in a while he would omit the ten thousand dollar mystery box trick.
But on the day when he had the above conversation with Jim Tracy they were showing in a large factory town. There had been good business in the afternoon, and Joe had not done the box trick. But just before the evening show Jim came to Joe and said:
"There've been several requests, Joe, that you put the box trick on to-night."
"Requests from whom?" Joe asked.
"One of the newspaper men was telling me they received a lot of telephone calls to-day asking if the box trick would be done and the reward paid in case some one discovered the way it was done."
"What did you say?"
"I said I thought you'd put the trick on in that case. Don't you think you'd better? We didn't advertise it specially for to-night, but there might be a lot of sore-heads if we don't pull it off."
"Oh, I'll do it all right!" declared Joe. "I thought it was getting a bit stale. But if the crowd wants to see it I'll do it."
"I guess it will be better," said the ringmaster.
Accordingly, at the proper time, Joe, in his dazzling white suit, took his place in the silk-curtained enclosure. Helen, in her black dress, was ready to help him. The fireman, with his gleaming ax, ready to chop Joe out of the box in case anything should go wrong, was also on the stage.
As has been related in the other book, this last was done only for effect. Joe well knew that he could get out of the box. The manager made the usual offer of ten thousand dollars to be paid to any one who would disclose how the trick was done.
"You will all be given a chance to claim the reward under the usual conditions after the trick has been performed by Professor Strong," was the announcement made.
As the description of the manner in which Joe and Helen did the trick is given in all its details in the volume preceding this, suffice it here to say that Joe got into the box, which was locked and roped, and, at the proper time, he appeared outside.
"Is there any one who can tell how the trick was done, and so earn the ten thousand dollar reward?" asked the manager. He had made this announcement many times. Seldom, of late, had any one come forward. But now, somewhat to the surprise of Joe and his friends, a man's voice called from a location near the platform:
"I can tell how it was done!"
"Will you please come forward," invited Joe, now taking charge of the proceedings.
A fairly well-dressed man stepped across the arena and approached the stage. Joe and Jim Tracy and the others vitally interested looked closely at him. He was not Bill Carfax—that was certain. And Joe did not know the man, nor, as Jim Tracy admitted afterward, did he.
"You say you can tell how I get out of the box?" asked Joe, and the audience listened intently.
"Yes. I know the secret."
"Are you willing to post a hundred dollars to be forfeited to the Red Cross in case you fail?" went on the young magician.
"I am. Here is the money!" was the cool response. This quick compliance with the terms of the offer rather staggered Joe. But he had no fear as to the outcome.
"Very well," went on the originator of the box trick. "The ringmaster will hold your money. If you are successful in telling how I get out of the box the cash will be handed back to you, and you will receive, in addition, a check for ten thousand dollars. Now then, how do I get out of the box? Tell the audience."
There was a moment of suspense, and then the man, with an air of confidence, stepped close to the big, heavy box and, pointing to a certain corner, said:
"Right there is a secret panel. You slip it back and get out that way!"
The man seemed so triumphantly confident and so sure of his statement, that several in the audience cried:
"Is that right? Is that how you do the trick? If it is pay him the ten thousand dollars!"
Joe looked at Jim Tracy. This was the first time any one had ever come so close to the truth. Helen, standing at one side of the stage, began to be fearful that, after all, Joe's secret was discovered. It would mean an end of the box trick.
Then Joe smiled, and stepped forward. And there was something in the smile that reassured Helen.
"Has he guessed it?" she asked in a low voice, as Joe passed her.
"No. But it was a narrow escape," was the answer.