"Now I wonder," mused Joe as he leaped out of the net, "what they said to each other. I'm sure it was about me. Well, let it go. I did the trick, and I guess he won't pull his legs away again. If he does he'll have to pull 'em so far that it will be noticed all over, and he can't say it was an accident. I'll take care to make a high jump."
Joe practised the trick again and again, until he felt he was perfect in it. Tonzo seemed to have given up the idea of spoiling it, if that had been his intention, and he and Joe worked at it until they could do it smoothly.
"When are you going to put it on?" Jim Tracy inquired, when told there was a new feature to the Lascalla Brothers' act.
"Oh, in a couple of nights now," Joe answered.
"You sure are making good, all right," the ring-master informed him. "I didn't make any mistake booking you. I didn't know whom to turn to in a hurry when Sim Dobley went back on me, and then I happened to think of you. Got your route from one of the magazines, and sent you the wire."
"I was mighty glad to come," confessed Joe.
The new act created more applause than ever for the Lascalla Brothers when it was exhibited, but the louder applause seemed to come to Joe, though he did not try to keep his fellow performers from their share. And, as might be expected, there was not a little professional jealousy on the part of some of the other performers.
If Sid and Tonzo were jealous of him they took pains to hide that fact from Joe, but some of the others were not so careful. A few of the other gymnasts openly declared that the Lascalla Brothers were getting altogether too much public attention.
"They detract from me," declared Madame Bullriva, the "strong woman," whose star feat was to get beneath a board platform on which stood twelve men, and raise it from the saw-horses across which it lay. True, she only raised it a few inches, but the act was "billed big."
"I don't get half the applause I used to," she complained to Jim Tracy. "You let those 'Spanish onions' have too much time in the ring, and give that Joe Strong a ruffle of drums and the big boom every time he makes the long jump."
"But it's worth it," said the ring-master. "It's a big drawing card."
"So's my act, but I don't get a single drum beat. Can't I have some music with my act?"
"I'll see," promised the ring-master, but he had many other things to think of, and the act of Madame Bullriva went unheralded, to her great disgust.
"Talk about footlight favorites," she complained to Helen Morton, as they dressed together for a performance, "that Joe Strong is getting all that's coming to him."
"Oh, I don't think he tries to take away from any of us," Helen answered.
"No, he doesn't personally. He's a nice boy. But Tracy makes too much fuss over him. I like Joe, but he and his partners are 'crabbing' my act, all right."
"Perhaps if you spoke to him——"
"What! Me? Let him know I cared? I guess not! I'll join some other circus first."
"You might put another man on the platform, and lift thirteen," the young trick rider suggested.
"What! Lift thirteen? That would be unlucky, my dear. I did it once when I was on the Western circuit in a Wild West show, and believe me—never again! I strained a shoulder muscle, and I had to lie up in a hospital five weeks. Twelve men are enough to lift at once, take it from me! But Joe is a nice boy, I'll say that. Don't you like him?"
Helen's answer was not very clear, but perhaps that was because she was fixing her hair in readiness for the entrance into the ring with her trained horse, Rosebud.
Joe, Helen and Benny Turton seemed to have formed a little group among themselves. They sat together at the circus table, and when they were not "on," they were much in the company of one another.
They were about the same age, and they enjoyed each other's society greatly, being congenial companions. Joe was "introduced" to Rosebud and, being naturally fond of animals, he made friends with the intelligent horse at once, which pleased Helen.
She and Joe were getting very fond of one another, though perhaps neither of them would have admitted that, if openly taxed with it. But, somehow or other, Joe seemed naturally to drift over near Helen when they were both in the tent, awaiting their turns. And when their acts were over they either took walks together in and about the town where the circus was playing, or they sat in their dressing tent talking. Often Benny Turton would join them, always being made welcome.
But Benny did not have much time. His shimmering, scaly, green suit was quite elaborately made, and it took him some time to get into it. It took equally as long to get out of it, and after his act he was always more or less exhausted and had to rest.
"I don't know what's the matter with me," he said one day to Helen and Joe, as he joined them after having been in the big glass tank. "But I feel so tired after I come out that I want to go to bed."
"Maybe you stay under water too long," Helen said sympathetically.
"I don't stay under as long as I used to," Benny remarked. "In fact Jim Tracy was sort of kicking just now. Said I was billed to stay under water four minutes, and I was cutting it to three. I can't help it. Something seems to hurt me here," and he put his hands to his ears and to the back of his head.
"Maybe you ought to see a doctor," suggested Joe.
"I can't," said Benny shortly. "In this circus business if they find out you're sick the management begins to think of booking some one else for your act. No, I've got to keep on with it. But some days I don't feel much like it."
Joe and Helen felt sorry for Benny, but there was little they could do to aid him. It was not as if they could take some of the burden of work off his shoulders. His act was peculiar, and he alone could do it.
"Though I think," said Joe to himself one day after watching Benny perform, "I think I could stay under water almost as long as he does after I'd practised it a bit. I'm going to try some time. I think deep breathing exercises would help. I'm going to begin on them."
Joe had to have good "wind" for his own acts, but, as he was naturally ambitious, he started in on systematic breathing exercises. These would do him much general good even if he should never enter the water-tank.
Occasionally Joe would do some simple sleight-of-hand tricks for the amusement of Benny and Helen. He did not want to lose the art he had acquired.
"I may want to quit the circus some day and go back in the illusion business," he said.
"Quit the circus! Why?" Helen asked him.
"Oh, I'm not thinking seriously of it, of course," he said quickly. "But I don't want to get rusty on those tricks."
Joe heard occasionally from Professor Rosello, who had leased his show and was taking a much needed rest. He inquired as to Joe's progress, and was glad, he said, to hear our hero was doing well.
One day, when the circus was playing a large manufacturing city on a two days' date, Joe had another glimpse of the man he had supplanted. The young trapeze artist went out of the tent when his share in the afternoon performance was over, and as he paused to look at the crowd in front of the sideshow tent he heard some one addressing him.
"So you're the chap that took my place, are you?" a vindictive voice asked. "I've been wanting to see you!"
Joe turned to, behold Sim Dobley, who seemed worse off than when the young performer had first met him.
"Yes, I've been wanting to see you!" and there was a sneer in Sim's words.
Joe decided nothing could be gained by temporizing, or by showing that he was alarmed.
"Well, now you've seen me, what are you going to do about it?" he coolly asked.
"That's all right. You wait and you'll see!" was the threatening response. "Nobody can knock me out of an engagement and get away with it. You'll see!"
"Look here!" exclaimed Joe. "I didn't knock you out of your place. No one did except yourself, and you know it. And I'm not going to stand for any talk like that from you, either."
"That's right, give it to him!" said another voice, and Jim Tracy came up. "Don't let him bluff you, Joe. As for you, Dobley, I've told you to keep away from this circus, and I mean it! I heard you'd been following us. Rode on one of the canvas wagons last night, didn't you?"
"Well, what if I did?"
"This! If you do it again I'll have you arrested. I'm through with you and I want you to keep away."
"I guess this is a free country!"
"Yes, the country is free, but our circus isn't. You keep out in the country and you'll be all right. Keep off our wagons. Moreover, if I catch you making any more threats against our performers I'll—— But I guess Joe can look after himself all right," finished the ring-master. "Just you keep away, that's all, Dobley."
The man slunk off in the crowd. Joe really felt sorry for him, but he could do nothing. Dobley had thrown away his chances and they had come to Joe, who was entitled to them. Later that day Joe saw Sid and Tonzo in close conversation with their former partner, but our hero said nothing to the ring-master about it, though he was a bit uneasy in his own mind.
The next afternoon when Joe came out of his dressing room after his trapeze act, he met Helen Morton. The fancy rider held an open letter in her hand, and she seemed disturbed at its contents.
"No bad news, I hope," remarked Joe.
"No, not exactly," Helen answered. "On the contrary it may be good news. But I don't exactly understand it. I wish Bill Watson were here, so I could ask his advice."
"Who is Bill Watson?" asked Joe.
"He's one of our clowns, one of the oldest in the business, I guess. He was taken ill just before you joined the show, but he's coming back next week. I often ask his advice, and I'd like to now—about this letter."
"Why don't you ask mine?" suggested Joe, half jokingly.
Helen Morton gave Joe a glance and a smile. Then she looked at the open letter in her hand.
"That's so," she said brightly. "I never thought of that. I wonder if you could advise me?"
"Why, I'm one of the best advisers you ever saw," returned Joe, laughingly.
"I know you're good on the trapeze," Helen admitted, "but have you had any business experience?"
"Well, I was in business for myself after I ran away from home and joined the professor," answered Joe. "That is, I had to attend to some of his business. What is it all about?"
"That's just what I want to know," answered the young circus rider. "It's a puzzle to me."
She again referred to the letter, then with a sort of hopeless gesture held it out to Joe. He took it and cried:
"Why, what's this? It's all torn up," and he exhibited a handful of scraps of paper.
"Oh—Joe!" Helen gasped. "How did that happen?"
"Just a mistake," he replied. With a quick motion of his hand he held out the letter whole and untorn.
"Oh—oh!" she stammered. Then, laughing, added: "Is that one of your sleight-of-hand tricks?"
"Yes," Joe nodded. When Helen handed him the letter he happened to be holding the scraps of a circular letter he had just received and torn up. It occurred to him, just for a joke, to make Helen believe her letter had suddenly gone to pieces. It was one of Joe's simplest tricks, and he often did them nowadays in order to keep in practice.
"You certainly gave me a start!" Helen exclaimed. "I had hardly read the letter myself. It's quite puzzling."
"Do you want me to read it—and advise you?" asked Joe.
"If you will—and can—yes."
Joe hastily glanced over the paper. He saw in a moment that it was from a New York firm of lawyers. The body of the letter read:
"We are writing to you to learn if, by any chance, you are the daughter of Thomas and Ruth Morton who some years ago lived in San Francisco. In case you are, and if your grandfather on your father's side was a Seth Morton, we would be glad to have you notify us of these facts, sending copies of any papers you may have to prove your identity.
"For some years we have been searching for a Helen Morton with the above named relatives, but, so far, have not located her.
"We discovered a number of Helen Mortons, but they were not the right ones. Recently we saw your name in a theatrical magazine, and take this opportunity to inquire of you, sending this letter in care of the circus with which we understand you are connected. Kindly reply as soon as possible. If you are the right person there is a sum of money due you, and we wish, if that is the case, to pay it and close an estate."
Joe read the letter over twice without speaking.
"Well," remarked Helen, after a pause, "I thought you were going to advise me."
"So I am," Joe said. "I want to get this through my head first. But let me ask you: Is this a joke, or are you the Helen Morton referred to?"
"I don't know whether it's a joke or not, Joe. First I thought it was. But my father's name was Thomas, and my grandfather was a Seth Morton, and he lived in San Francisco. Of course that was when I was a little girl, and I don't remember much about it. We lived in the West before papa and mamma died, and it was there I learned to ride a horse.
"When I was left alone except for an elderly aunt, I did not know what to do. My aunt took good care of me, however, but when she died there was no one else, and she left no money. I tried to get work, but the stores and factories wanted experienced girls, and the only thing I had any experience with was a horse.
"I got desperate, and decided to see if I couldn't make a living by what little talent I had. So one day, when a circus was showing in our town, I took my horse, Rosebud, rode out and did some stunts in the lots. The manager saw me and hired me. Oh, how happy I was!
"That wasn't with this show. I only joined here about two years ago. Of course my friends—what few I had—thought it was dreadful for me to become a circus rider, but I've found that there are just as good men and women in circuses as anywhere else in this world," and her cheeks grew red, probably at the memory of something that had been said against circus folk.
"I know," said Joe, quietly. "My mother was a circus rider."
"So you have told me. But now about this letter, Joe. I wish Bill Watson were here—he might know what to do about it."
"Well, I can't say that I do, in spite of my boast," Joe answered. "It may be a joke, and, again, it may be the real thing. You may be an heiress, Miss Morton," and Joe bowed teasingly.
"I thought you were going to call me Helen—if I called you Joe," she said.
"So I am. That was only in fun," for soon after their acquaintance began these two young persons had fallen into the habit of dropping the formal Miss and Mister.
"Well, what would you do, Joe?" Helen asked.
"I think I'd answer this letter seriously," replied the young performer. "If it is a joke you can't lose more than a two cent stamp, and, on the other hand, if it's serious they'll want to hear from you. You may be the very person they want. This letter head doesn't look much like a joke."
The paper on which the letter was written was of excellent quality, and Joe could tell by passing his fingers over the names, addresses and other matter that it was engraved—not printed.
"If it's a joke they went to a lot of work to get it up," he continued. "Have you any papers, to prove your identity?"
"Yes, I have some birth and marriage certificates, and an old bible that was Grandfather Seth's. I wouldn't want to send them off to New York though."
"It won't be necessary—at least not at first. I'll help you make copies of them, and if these lawyers want to see the real things let them send a man on. That's my advice."
"And very good advice it is too, Joe," Helen said. "I don't believe Bill Watson could give any better. He's a real nice elderly man, and he's been almost a father to me. I often go to him when I have my little troubles. I wish he were here now. But you are very good to me, Joe. I'm going to take your advice."
"I'll help you make the copies," Joe offered. "Did you ever have any idea that your grandfather left valuable property?"
"No, and I don't believe papa or mamma did, either. We were not exactly poor, but we weren't rich. Oh, wouldn't it be nice if I were to get some money?"
"You wouldn't stay with the circus then, would you?"
"Oh, I don't know," she answered musingly. "I think I like it here."
"I know I do," Joe said. "But if you don't want to take my advice you can wait until Mr. Watson comes back. You say he's expected?"
"Yes. Mr. Tracy said he'd join us at Blairstown in a few days. But, anyhow, I'm going to do as you said, Joe. And if I get a million dollars maybe I'll buy a circus of my own," and she laughed at the whimsical idea.
Taking some spare time, she and Joe made copies of certain certificates Helen had in her trunk, and they also copied the record from the old Bible. Joe got the press agent of the show to typewrite a letter to go with the copies, and they were sent to the New York lawyers.
"Now we'll wait and see what comes of it," Helen said. "But I'm not going to lose any sleep over it. I never inherited a fortune, and I don't expect to."
A few days later, when the show reached Blairstown, Bill Watson, a veteran clown, joined the troupe of fun-makers. He was made royally welcome, for his presence had been missed.
"Bill, I want to introduce to you a new friend of mine," said Helen, when she had the opportunity. "He's one of our newest and best performers, aside from you and me," she joked.
"What's the name?" asked jovial Bill, holding out his hand.
"Joe Strong."
"Been in the business long?"
"Not very. I was with Professor Rosello before I came here."
"Never heard of him," and Bill shook his head.
"He was a conjurer," explained Joe. "My father was, too. He was Professor Morretti, and my mother——"
"Was Madame Hortense. She was Janet Willoughby before her marriage," broke in Bill Watson, speaking calmly.
"What!" cried Joe. "Did you know her—them?"
"I knew both of them," said Bill. "I didn't connect your name with them at first, Strong not being uncommon. But when you mentioned your father, the professor, why, it came to me in a flash. So you're Madame Hortense's son, eh?"
"Did you know my mother well?" asked Joe.
"Know her?" cried the veteran clown. "I should say I did! Why, she and I were great friends, and so were your father and I, but I did not see so much of him, as he was in a different line. But your mother, Joe! Ah, the profession lost a fine performer when she died. I never thought I'd meet her son, and in a circus at that.
"But I'm glad you're with us, and I want to say that if you have Helen, here, on your side, you've got one of the finest little girls in all the world."
"I found that out as soon as I joined," said Joe.
"Trust you young chaps for not losing any chances like that," chuckled the clown. "Well, I'm glad you two are friends. They tell me you're quite an addition to the Lascalla troupe."
"I'm glad I've been able to do so well," Joe said.
"And how have you been, Helen?" the old clown wanted to know.
"First rate. And, oh, Bill. We have such a mystery for you—Joe and I!"
"A mystery, Helen?"
"Yes; I'm going to be an heiress. Wait until I show you the letter," which she did, to the no small astonishment of Bill Watson.
"Well, well," he said over and over again, when Helen and Joe told of the answer they had sent the New York lawyers. "Suppose you do get some money, Helen?"
"It's too good to suppose. I can't imagine any one leaving me money."
"I wish I knew a fairy godmother who would leave me some," murmured Joe. "But that wouldn't happen in a blue moon."
Bill Watson turned, and looked rather curiously at the young circus performer.
"Well, now, do you know, Joe Strong," he said, "I have an idea."
"An idea!" cried Helen gaily. "How nice, Bill. Tell us about it!"
"Now just a moment, young lady. Don't get too excited with an old man just off a sick bed. But Joe's speaking that way—I call you Joe, as I knew your folks so well—Joe's speaking that way gave me an idea. I wouldn't be so terribly surprised, my boy, if you did have money left you some day."
"How?" asked Joe in surprise.
"Why, your mother, whom, as I said, I knew very well, came of a very rich and aristocratic family in England. She was disowned by them when she married your father—as if public performers weren't as good as aristocrats, any day! But never mind about that. Your mother certainly was rich when she was a girl, Joe, and it may be she is entitled to money from the English estates now, or, rather, you would be, since she is dead. That's my idea."
"Are you really serious in that?" asked Joe of the old clown, after a moment's consideration.
"Of course I am, Joe. Why? Would it be strange to have some one leave you money?"
"It certainly would! But it would be a nice sort of strangeness," replied the young performer. "I never dreamed that such a thing might happen."
"Oh, I don't say it will," Bill Watson reminded him. "But the fact remains that your mother came from what is sometimes called 'the landed gentry' of England, and the estates there, or property, descend to eldest sons differently than property does in this country. It may be worth looking into, Joe."
"But I don't know much about my mother," Joe said. "I hardly ever meet any one who knew her. My foster-parents would never speak of her—they were ashamed of her calling."
"More shame to them!" exclaimed the clown. "There never was a finer woman than your mother, Joe Strong. And as for riding—well, I wish we had a few of her kind in the show now. I don't mean to say anything against your riding, my dear," he said to Helen. "But Janet Strong did a different sort, for she was a powerful woman, and could handle a horse better than most men."
"I guess I must get my liking for horses from her," Joe remarked.
"Very likely," agreed Bill Watson. "Some day I'll have a long talk with you about your mother, Joe, and I'll give you all the information I can. There may be some of her old acquaintances you can write to, to find out if she was entitled to any property."
"Wouldn't it be fine if we both came into fortunes!" gaily cried Helen, with sparkling eyes. "Wouldn't it be splendid, Joe?"
"Too good to be true, I'm afraid. But you have a better chance than I, Helen."
"Perhaps. Would you leave the circus, Joe, if you got rich?"
"Oh, I don't know. I guess I'd stay in it while you did—to sort of look after you," and he smiled quizzically.
"Trying to get my job, are you?" chuckled Bill. "Well, we are young only once. But I must say, Helen, that this young man gave you as good advice as I could, and I hope it turns out all right."
Joe liked Bill Watson—every one did in fact—and the young performer was pleased to learn something of his mother, and glad to learn that he would be told more.
The enforced rest Bill Watson had taken on account of a slight illness, seemed to have done the old clown good, for he worked in some new "business" in his acts when he again donned the odd suit he wore. His presence, too, had a good effect on the other clowns, so that the audiences, especially the younger portion, were kept in roars of merriment at each performance.
Joe, also, did his share to provide entertainment for the circus throngs. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that Joe provided the thrills, for some of his feats were thrilling indeed. Not that the other members of the Lascalla troupe did not share in the honors, for they did. Both Sid and Tonzo were accomplished and veteran performers on the flying rings and trapeze bars, but they had been in the business so long that they had become rather hardened to it, and stuck to old tricks and effects instead of getting up new ones.
Joe was especially good at this, and while some of his feats were not really new, he gave a different turn to them that seemed to make for novelty.
"But I don't like to see you take such risks," Helen said to him on more than one occasion. "I'm afraid you'll be hurt."
"You have to take risks in this business," Joe stated. "I don't think about them when I'm away up at the top of the tent, swinging on the bar. I just think of the trick and wonder if Sid or Tonzo will catch me or me one of them when the jump is made. Besides, the life net is always below us.
"Yes, but suppose you miss the net or it breaks?"
"I don't like supposes of that sort," laughed Joe, coolly. Truly he had good nerves, under perfect control. He was adding to his muscular strength, too. Constant and steady practice was making his arms and legs powerful indeed.
For a while Joe had been on the watch for some overt act on the part of Sid or Tonzo that would spoil an act and bring censure down on himself. But following that one attempt neither of the Spaniards did anything that Joe could find fault with. They were enthusiastic over some of the feats he performed, and worked in harmony with him. If they were jealous over Joe's popularity and the applause he often received as his share alone in some trick, they did not show it.
"Oh, Joe!" exclaimed Helen one day, when they were in the small tent getting ready for the afternoon performance. "I have a letter from the New York lawyers."
"What do they say?" Joe asked eagerly. "Did they send the money?"
"No. But they thanked me for the copies of the proofs I sent, and they said they believed they were on the right track. They will write again soon. So it wasn't a joke, anyhow."
"It doesn't look so," the youth agreed. "Is everything all right—Rosebud safe, and all that?"
"Yes. He's feeling himself again." The trick horse had been ailing the day before, and Helen was a little worried about her pet.
Joe and Helen wandered into the main tent, which was now set up. Joe wanted to get in a little practice on the trapeze, while Helen went in to watch, as she often did. The men were setting up the big glass tank in which the "human fish" performed, and when Joe came down from his trapeze, rather warm and tired, the water looked very inviting.
"I've a good notion to go in for a swim," he said to Helen.
"Why don't you?" she dared him. "It would do you good. It's such a hot day. I almost wish I could myself."
"I believe I will," Joe said. "I've got a bathing suit in my trunk."
The big tent was almost deserted at this hour, for the parade was in progress. Joe and Helen did not take part in this. Joe came back attired for a swim, and going up the steps by which Benny mounted to the platform on the edge of the tank before he plunged in, Joe poised there.
"Here I go," he called to Helen. "Got a watch?"
"Yes, Joe."
"Time me then. I'm going to see how long I can stay under water."
In he went head first, making a clean dive, for Joe was an adept in the water. He swam about in the limpid depths, Helen watching him admiringly through the glass sides of the tank. Then Joe settled down on the bottom as Benny was in the habit of doing. Helen nervously watched the seconds tick off on her wrist watch.
When two minutes had passed, and Joe was still below the water, the girl became nervous.
"Come on out, Joe!" she called. Joe could not hear her, of course. He waved his hand to her. He could not stay under much longer, he felt sure, but he did not want to give up. It was not until three seconds of the third minute had passed that he found it impossible to hold his breath longer, and up he shot, filling his lungs with air as he reached the surface.
At that moment Benny Turton came into the tent, and saw some one in his tank.
"What happened?" he cried, running forward. "Did some one fall in?"
"It's all right," Helen informed the "human fish."
Joe Strong climbed out of the tank. He grinned cheerfully at Benny.
"It was so hot I took a bath in your tub," he explained. "It sure was fine! Hope you don't mind?"
"Not a bit," returned Benny, cheerfully. "Come in any time you like. It isn't exactly a summer resort beach, but it's the best we have."
"And Joe stayed under water over three minutes," Helen said.
"Did I, really?" Joe cried.
"You certainly did."
"I was just giving myself a try-out," Joe explained to Benny.
"That's pretty good," declared the "human fish," as he tested the temperature of the water. "I couldn't do that at first."
"Oh, you see I've lived near the water all my life," Joe explained, "and it comes sort of natural to me. Don't be afraid that I'm going after your act though," he added, with a laugh.
"I almost wish you would," and Benny spoke wearily.
"What's the matter?" asked Helen, with ready sympathy.
"Oh, I don't know. I don't feel just right, somehow or other. It's mostly in my head—back here," and Benny pointed to the region just behind his ears. "I've got a lot of pain there, and going under water and staying so long seems to make it worse."
"Why don't you see a doctor?" asked Joe.
"Well, you know what that would mean. I might have to lay off, and I don't want that. I need the money."
Benny had a widowed mother to support, and it was well known that he sent her most of his wages, keeping only enough to live on.
"Well, I wish I could help you," said Joe, "but I can't do all the stunts you can under water, even if I could hold down both jobs."
"The stunts are easy enough, once you learn how to hold and control your breath," Benny said. "That's the hardest part of it, and you seem to have gotten that down fine. How was the water, cold?"
"No, just about right for me," Joe declared. "I don't like it too warm."
Benny again tested the temperature by putting his hand in the tank.
"I think I'll have 'em put a little hot water in just before I do my act," he said. "I have an idea that the cold water gets in my ears and makes the pain in my head."
"Perhaps it does," Joe agreed.
Preparations for the afternoon performance were now actively under way. The big parade was out, going through the streets of the town, and soon those taking part in the pageant would return to the "lot." Then, at two, the main show would start.
Joe had a new feat for that day's performance. He and the two Spaniards had worked it out together. It was quite an elaborate act, and involved some risk, though at practice it had gone well.
Joe was to take his place on the small, high elevated platform at one side of the tent, and Tonzo would occupy a similar place on the other side. Joe was to swing off, holding to the flying rings, which, for this trick, had been attached to unusually long ropes.
Opposite him Tonzo was to swing from a regulation trapeze, which also was provided with a long rope. After the two had acquired sufficient momentum, they were to let go at a certain signal and pass each other in the air, Joe under Tonzo. Then Joe would catch the trapeze bar, and Tonzo the rings, exchanging places.
Once they had a good grip, Sid was to swing from a third trapeze, and, letting go, grasp Tonzo's hands, that performer, meanwhile, having slipped his legs through the rings, hanging head downward.
When Sid had thus caught bold, he was to signal to Joe, who was to make a second flying leap, and grasp Sid's down-hanging legs.
As said before, the feat went well in practice and the ring-master was depending on it for a "thriller." But whether it would go all right before a crowded tent was another matter. Joe was a little nervous over it—that is as nervous as he ever allowed himself to get, for he had evolved the feat, and Sid and Tonzo had not been over-enthusiastic about it.
However, it must be attempted in public sooner or later, and this was the day set for it. Before the show began Joe, Sid and Tonzo went over every rope, bar and ring. They wanted no falls, even though the life net was below them.
"Is everything all right?" Joe asked his partners.
"Yes," they told him.
The usual announcement was made of the Lascalla Brothers' act, and on this occasion Jim Tracy, who was making the presentation, added something about a "death-defying double exchange and triple suspension act never before attempted in any circus ring or arena throughout the world."
That was Joe's trick.
The three performers went through some of their usual exploits, ordinary enough to them, but rather thrilling for all that. Then came the preparations for the new feat.
Joe and Tonzo took their places on the small platforms, high up on the tent poles. The eyes of all in their vicinity were watching them eagerly. Sid was in his place, ready to swing off when the two had crossed each other in the air and had made the exchange.
"Are you ready?" called Jim Tracy in his loud voice.
"Ready," answered Joe's voice, from high up in the tent.
"Ready," responded Tonzo, after a moment's hesitation, during which he pretended to fix one slipper. This was done for dramatic effect, and to heighten the suspense.
Helen, who had just finished her tricks with Rosebud, paused at the edge of a ring to watch the new act.
"Then go!" shouted the ring-master.
Joe and Tonzo swung off together, and then swayed to and fro like giant pendulums, Joe on the rings and Tonzo on the trapeze.
"Ready?" cried Joe to his swinging partner.
"Yes," answered Tonzo.
"Come on!" Joe said.
It was time to make the exchange. This was one of the critical parts of the trick.
Joe let go the rings and hurled himself forward his eyes on the swinging trapeze bar, his hands out stretched to grasp it. He passed the form of his partner in mid-air, and the next instant he was swinging from the trapeze.
He could not turn to look, but he felt sure, from the burst of applause which came, that Tonzo had successfully done his part.
Again Tonzo and Joe were swinging in long arcs, so manipulating their bodies as to give added momentum to the long ropes.
"Ready down there?" asked Joe of Sid.
"Ready," he answered.
"Then go!"
Sid swung off, as Tonzo hung head downward with outstretched hands. Sid easily caught them, for this was a trick they often did together. Now must come Joe's second leap, and it was not so easy as the first, nor did he have as good a chance of catching Sid's legs as he would have had at Tonzo's hands.
However, it was "all in the day's work," and he did not hesitate at taking chances.
He reached the height of his swing and started downward in a long sweep.
"Here I come!" he called.
He let go the trapeze bar, and made a dive for Sid's dangling legs. For the fraction of a second Joe thought he was going to miss. But he did not. He caught Sid by the ankles and the three hung there, swinging in mid-air, Tonzo, of course, supporting the dragging weight of the bodies of Joe and Sid. But Tonzo was a giant in his strength.
There was a burst of music, a rattle and boom of drums, as the feat came to a successful and startling finish. Then, as Joe dropped lightly into the life net, turning over in a succession of somersaults, the applause broke out in a roar.
Sid and Tonzo dropped down beside Joe, and the three stood with arms over one another's shoulders, bowing and smiling at the furor they had caused.
"A dandy stunt!" cried Jim Tracy, highly pleased, as he went over to another ring to make an announcement. "Couldn't be better!"
This ended the work of Joe and his partners for the afternoon, the new feat being a climax. They ran out of the tent amid continuous applause, and Joe saw Helen waiting for him.
"Oh, I'm so glad!" she whispered. "So glad!"
It was about a week after this, the show meanwhile having moved on from town to town, that one of the trapeze performers who did a "lone act," that is all by himself, was taken ill.
"I'll just shift you to his place, Joe," said Jim. "You can easily do what he did, and maybe improve on it."
"But what about my Lascalla act?"
"Oh, I'm not going to take you out of that. You'll do the most sensational things with them, but they can have some one else for the ordinary stunts. I want you to have some individual work."
Joe was glad enough for this chance, for it meant more money for him, and also brought him more prominently before the public. But the Lascalla Brothers were not so well pleased. They did not say anything, but Joe was sure they were more jealous of him than before. He was going above them on the circus ladder of success and popularity. But it was none of Joe's planning. His success was merited.
The mail had been distributed one day, and Helen had a letter from the New York lawyers, stating that a member of the firm was coming on to inspect the old Bible and the other original proofs of her identity.
"I must tell Joe," she said, and on inquiry learned that he was in the main tent, practising. As she walked past the dressing room which Joe and the Lascalla Brothers used, she saw a strange sight.
Sid and Tonzo were doing something to a trapeze. They had pushed up the outer silk covering of the rope—covering put on for ornamental purposes—and Tonzo was pouring something from a bottle on the hempen strands.
"I wonder what he is doing that for," mused Helen. "Can it be that——"
She got no further in her musing, for she heard Sid speaking, and she listened to what he said.