"This ought to do the business," said Sid.
"Yes," agreed Tonzo, "and not so quickly that it will be noticed, either. It will work slowly, but surely."
"That's what we want," commented the other. "We're in no hurry. Any time inside of a week will do. Now we'll put this away to ripen."
"That's queer," thought Helen, and she passed on, for by the movement in the canvas dressing room she thought the men were about to come out, and she did not want them to see her at what they might consider spying on them. "I never heard of ripening a rope before," the girl said. "But it may be they have to for a trapeze. I'll ask Joe about it. He might fix some of his ropes that way."
Helen went on, anxious to find the young performer, and show him her letter from the lawyer.
"I'll tell Bill Watson, too," Helen decided.
As she expected, both Joe and the old clown were much interested in her news.
"It does really begin to look as though you would come into some money, doesn't it?" Joe said.
"I'm beginning to believe it myself," Helen answered, "though I don't really count on it as yet."
"Yes, it's best to go a little slowly," advised Bill. "Not to count your chickens before they're hatched is a good motto. But this looks like business. I'd like to interview that lawyer when he comes."
"I'll turn him over to you," Helen said with a laugh. "To you and Joe, and you can arrange about getting my money for me. I'll make you two my official advisers."
"I accept with pleasure," Joe answered, with a bow.
"And that reminds me," went on Bill. "I'm going to give you the addresses of some people who might know about your mother's folks in England, Joe. As I told you, they disowned her when she married your father, though there wasn't a finer man going. But he was an American, and that was one thing they had against him, and another was that he was a public performer.
"I think, too, that they rather blamed him for your mother's going into the circus business, Joe. Your mother was always a good horsewoman, so I have understood. She took part in many a fox hunt in England, and in cross-country runs, always coming out in front. And when your father met her he, as I understand it, suggested that, just for fun, she try circus work. She took it up seriously, and Madame Hortense became one of the foremost circus riders of her time. But from then on her name was forgotten by her relatives, and her picture was, so to speak, turned to the wall."
"I wish I could get one of those pictures," said Joe thoughtfully. "I have only a very small one that was in my father's watch. I'd like a large one, for I can't remember, very well, how she looked."
"She was a handsome woman," said the clown. "It may be that you can get a picture of her from England—that is, if they saved one. I'll give you the address of some folks you can write to. It might be well to get a firm of lawyers here to take the matter up for you."
"I believe it would be best," agreed Joe.
"Why not let my lawyers—notice that, my," laughed Helen. "Why not let my lawyers act for you, Joe? That is, after we see what sort they are. They seem honest."
"Another good idea!" commented the young performer. "I'll do it. You say one of them is coming to see you?"
"So he says in this letter."
"Does he know where to find you?"
"Yes; I have told him the places where the circus will show for the next two weeks. He can find the place easily enough, and inquire for me. Oh, I'm so anxious to know how rich I'm going to be!"
"I don't blame you," chuckled Bill. "Now, Joe, if I had a pencil and paper I'd give you those addresses I spoke of."
Joe supplied what was needed, and obtained the names of some men and women—circus performers who had been associated with his mother. Joe wrote to them, asking the names of his mother's relatives in England, and their addresses.
Helen's attention was so taken up with the affairs of her inheritance that she forgot about the queer actions of Sid and Tonzo until after the performance that night.
Then, as she and Joe were going to the train to take the sleeping cars for the next stop, Helen asked:
"Joe, did you ever hear of ripening trapeze ropes?"
"Ripening trapeze ropes?" he repeated. "No. What do you mean?"
Helen then told what she had seen and heard in the dressing tent.
Joe shook his head.
"It may be some secret process they have of treating ropes to make them tougher, so they'll last longer," Joe said. "They may call it ripening, but I never heard of it. I'll ask them."
"Don't tell them I saw them," Helen cautioned him.
"Of course not," Joe answered. "Perhaps it may be a professional secret with them, and they won't tell me anyhow. But I'll ask."
But when Joe, as casually as he could, inquired of Sid and Tonzo what they knew of ripening trapeze ropes, the two Spaniards shook their heads, though, unseen by Joe, a quick look passed between them.
"I sometimes oil my ropes, to make them pliable," Tonzo admitted. "Olive oil I use. But it does not make them ripe."
"I guess that must have been it," thought Joe. "Helen was probably mistaken. It might have been a word that sounded like ripening."
So he said no more about it then, though when he reported to Helen the result of his questioning, she shook her head.
"I'm sure I heard aright," she declared. "And they were pouring something from a bottle on the trapeze rope from which they had pushed the silk covering."
"It might have been olive oil," Joe said.
"It might," Helen admitted, '"but I don't believe it was. They don't handle any of your ropes, do they?"
"I always look after my own. Why?"
"Oh, I just wanted to know," and that was all the answer Helen would give.
As Joe went to his dressing room for that afternoon's performance he passed Señor Bogardi, the lion tamer. Something in the man's manner attracted Joe's attention, and he asked him:
"Aren't you feeling well to-day, Señor?"
"Oh, yes, as well as usual. It is my Princess who is not well."
"Princess, the big lioness?"
"Yes. I do not know what to make of her actions. She is never rough with me, but a little while ago, when I went in her cage, she growled and struck at me. I had to hit her—which I seldom do—and that did not improve her temper. I do not know what to make of her. I have to put her through her paces in the cage this afternoon, and I do not want any accident to happen.
"It is not that I am afraid for myself," went on the tamer, and Joe knew he spoke the truth, for he was absolutely fearless. "But if she comes for me and I have to—to do—something, it may start a panic. No, I do not like it," and he shook his head dubiously.
"Oh, well, maybe it will come out all right," Joe assured him. "But you'd better tell Jim, and have some extra men around. She can't get out of her cage, can she?"
"Oh, no, nothing like that. Well, we shall see."
It was almost time for the performance to begin. The crowd was already streaming into the animal tent and slowly filtering into the "main top," where the performance took place. Before that, however, there was a sort of "show" in the animal arena, Señor Bogardi's appearance in the cage with the lioness being one of the features.
Joe had gone to his dressing tent and was coming out again, when he heard unusual roars from the animal tent. The lions often let their thunderous voices boom out, sometimes startling the crowd, but, somehow or other, this sounded differently to Joe.
"I wonder if that's Princess cutting up," he reflected. "Guess I'll go in and have a look. I hope nothing happens to the señor."
Though lion tamers, as well as other performers with wild beasts, seem to take matters easily, slipping into the cage with the ferocious creatures as a matter of course, they take their lives in their hands whenever they do it. No one can say when a lion or a tiger may suddenly turn fierce and spring upon its trainer. And there is not much chance of escape. The claws of a lion or a tiger go deep, even in one swift blow of its powerful paws.
Joe started for the animal tent, and then remembered that he needed in his act that day a certain short trapeze, the ends of the ropes being provided with hooks that caught over the bar of another trapeze.
He hurried back to get it, and then, as the unusual roars kept up in the arena, he hastened there. As he had surmised, it was Princess who was roaring, her fellow captives joining in. Señor Bogardi had slipped into the cage, and was waiting until the creature had calmed down a little.
Cages in which trainers perform with wild beasts are built in two parts. In one end is a sort of double door, forming a compartment into which the trainer can slip for safety. The señor had opened the outer door of the cage and slipped in, it being fastened after him.
But he was still separated from Princess by another iron-barred door that worked on spring hinges. And Princess did not seem to want this door opened. She sprang against it with savage roars and thrust her paws through, trying to reach her trainer. He sought to drive her back into a far corner, so that he would have room to enter. Once in, he felt he could subdue her. But Princess would not get back sufficiently, though Señor Bogardi ordered her, and even flicked her through the bars with the heavy whip he carried.
"I guess you'd better cut out the act to-day," advised Jim Tracy, as he saw how matters were going. The women and children were beginning to get nervous, some of them hastening into the other tent. Men, too, were looking about as if for a quick means of escape in case anything happened.
"No, no. I must make her obey me," insisted the performer. "If I give in to her now I will lose power over her. Get back, Princess! Get back! Down!" he ordered.
But the lioness only snarled and struck at the bars with her paws. Then she threw herself against the spring door, roaring. The cage rocked and shook, and several women screamed.
"Cut out the act!" ordered the ring-master. "It isn't safe with this crowd."
"That's right," chimed in a man. "We know it isn't your fault, professor."
"Thank you!" Señor Bogardi bowed. "For the comfort of the audience I will omit my act to-day. But I will subdue Princess later."
There was a breath of relief from the crowd as the trainer prepared to leave the cage. Men who had fastened the door after him raised the iron bar that held it so he could emerge.
The lion-tamer slipped from the cage through the outside door, which was about to be shut when Princess, with all her force, threw herself against the inner spring door.
Whether it was insecurely fastened or whether she broke the fastenings, was not disclosed at the moment, but the door gave way and the enraged beast sprang into the smaller compartment and toward the outer door.
"Quick!" cried the trainer. "Up with that bar! Fasten the door, or she'll be out among us!"
The circus men raised the bar, but the cage was swaying so from the leapings of the lioness that they could not slip the iron in place. It almost dropped from their hands.
Joe Strong saw the danger. He stood near the cage, the crowd having rushed back, men and women yelling with fright. Joe saw the outer door swing open. In another instant the lioness would be out.
At that moment the men dropped the iron bar.
"Quick! Something to fasten the door—to hold it!" cried the lion-tamer.
Joe acted in a flash and not an instant too soon. He forced the strong hickory bar of his small trapeze into the places meant to receive the iron bar, and as the lioness, with a roar of rage, flung herself against the door, it did not give way, but held. Joe had prevented her escape.
"Quick now! With the iron bar!" cried Señor Bogardi. "That trapeze stick won't hold long!"
But it held long enough. As the lioness, flung back into a corner of her cage by her impact against the steel door, gathered herself for another spring, the men slipped into place the iron bar, Joe pulling out his trapeze.
"It's all right now—no more danger!" called Jim Tracy. "Take it easy, folks, she can't get out now!"
This was true enough. The beast, after a fruitless effort to force a way out of the cage, retreated to a corner and lay down, snarling and growling.
"I don't know what's gotten into Princess," said the trainer as he looked at her. "She never acted this way before."
"It's a good thing she showed her temper before you got in the cage with her, and not afterward," remarked Joe, as he was about to pass on to the performance tent.
"That's right," agreed Señor Bogardi. "And you did the right thing in the nick of time, my boy. Only for your trapeze bar she'd have been out among the crowd," and he looked at the men, women and children, who were now calming down.
The small panic was soon over, and in order to quiet the lioness a big canvas was thrown over her cage, so she would not be annoyed by onlookers.
"I guess she needs a rest," her trainer said. "I'll let her alone for a day or so, and she may get over this."
Joe went on into the tent where he was to do his trapeze acts. It was nearly time for him to appear, and the other two Lascalla Brothers were waiting for him. They would do an act together, and Joe one of his single feats, however, before the three appeared in a triple act.
The young performer was straightening out the ropes attached to his trapeze, when he noticed that the bar of the small one, which he had thrust into the door of the lioness' cage, was cracked.
"Hello!" exclaimed Joe. "This won't do. I can't risk doing tricks up at the top of the tent on a cracked bar. It might hold, and again it might not."
He tried the cracked bar in his hands. It gave a little, but seemed fairly strong.
"I wonder if I could get another," mused Joe. "Guess I'd better try."
He walked over to where the Lascalla Brothers stood near their apparatus.
"What's the matter?" asked Sid, seeing Joe trailing the broken trapeze after him.
"This bar is cracked. It's my short trapeze that I fasten to the big one. I used it just now to hold the door so the lioness wouldn't get out, and the wood is cracked. I was wondering if you had a spare one like this."
"We have!" exclaimed Tonzo quickly. "Get the little short one—the one with the silk coverings on the ropes," he said to Sid. "Joe can use that."
"I'll be back with it in a second," Sid stated, as he hurried off to the dressing tent, for it was nearly time for the performance to begin. Sid returned presently with another trapeze.
At this moment Helen came in with her horse, Rosebud, for she was about to do her act.
"What's the matter, Joe?" asked Helen, for she knew that at this point in the performance he ought to be on the other side of the tent doing his act.
"Oh, I cracked a trapeze bar," Joe replied, as he stepped up beside the girl and patted Rosebud. "Sid is going to get me another. Here he comes now with it."
At the sight of the trapeze the circus man was bringing up, Helen was conscious of a strange feeling. She saw the silk-covered ropes, and the recollection of that scene in the tent came vividly to her.
"I guess this will do you, Joe," remarked Sid, holding out the trapeze. "It's the only one we have like yours."
"Thanks," responded the young performer. "That will do nicely. I've got to hustle now and——"
Joe turned away, but became aware that Helen was leaning down from the saddle and whispering to him.
"Joe! Joe!" she exclaimed, making sure the Lascalla Brothers could not hear her, for they were On the other side of Rosebud. "Joe, don't use the trapeze!"
"Why not?"
"Because I'm sure that's the one I saw those two men 'ripening,' as they call it. They had pulled back the silk cover, and were pouring something on the rope. Look at it before you use it. Be careful!"
Then she flicked Rosebud with the whip and rode into the ring to do her act amid a blare of trumpets. Joe stood there, holding the trapeze. The two Spaniards were starting their act now, and were high up in the air.
"Whew!" whistled Joe. "I wonder what's up. Can it be that this rope is doctored? I won't let them see me looking at it."
He hurried over to his own particular place in the tent.
"Lively, Joe!" called Jim Tracy. "You're late as it is!"
"I'll be right on the job in a moment," the young performer answered. "I had to get another trapeze—the lioness cracked mine."
"Oh, all right—but hustle."
Under pretense of fastening the short trapeze to the larger one Joe pushed back the loose silk covering the ropes. To his surprise, on one rope was a dark stain. Joe rubbed his fingers over the strands. They were rotten, and crumbled at the touch. Joe smelled of the dark stain.
"Acid!" exclaimed Joe. "Some one spilled acid on this rope. Talk about putting on something to ripen it! This is something to rot it!"
He tested the rope in his hands. It did not part, but some of the strands gave, and he did not doubt but that if he trusted his weight to it it would break and give him a fall.
"Now I wonder if they did that on purpose to queer me," mused Joe. "If they did they waited for a most opportune time to give me the doctored trapeze. They couldn't have known I was going to break mine. I wonder if they did it on purpose.
"Of course I wouldn't have been killed, and probably not even much hurt, if the rope did break," thought Joe. "I'd only fall into the life net, but it sure would spoil my act and make me look like an amateur. Maybe that's their game! If it was——"
Joe paused, and looked over in the direction of the two Spaniards. They were going through their act, but Joe thought he had a glimpse of Tonzo looking over toward him.
"They want to see what happens to me," thought Joe. "Well, they won't see anything, for I sha'n't use this trapeze. I'll change my act."
"Hey, what's the matter over there, Joe?" called Jim Tracy to him. "You ought to be up on the bar."
"I know it, Mr. Tracy. But I've got to make a change at the last minute. I can't use this extra trapeze."
"All right; do anything you like, but do it quick!"
Joe signaled to his helper, who began hoisting him to the top of the tent by means of rope and pulley. Once on his own regular trapeze, which he had tested but a short while before, Joe went through his act.
He had to improvise some acts to take the place of those he did on the short trapeze. But he did these extra exploits so well and so easily that no one in the audience suspected that it was anything but the regular procedure.
Then Joe, amid applause, descended and went over to work with the two Spaniards. He carried the doctored trapeze with him.
"I didn't use this," he said, looking closely at Tonzo. "It seems to have been left out in the rain and one of the ropes has rotted."
"Rotted?" asked Sid, his voice trembling.
"Something like that, yes," answered Joe.
"Ah, that is too bad!" exclaimed Tonzo, and neither by a false note nor by a change in his face did he betray anything. "I am glad you discovered the defect in time."
"So am I," said Joe significantly. "Come on, now.
"Probably they fixed the rope with acid, and kept it ready against the chance that some day I might use it," reflected Joe. "The worst that could happen would be to spoil my tricks—I couldn't get much hurt falling into the net, and they knew that. But it was a mean act, all right, and I sha'n't forget it. I guess they want to discourage me so they can get their former partner back. But I'm going to stick!"
"Did you find out anything, Joe?" asked Helen, when she had a chance to speak to him alone.
"I sure did, thanks to you, little girl. I might have had a ridiculous fall if I'd used their trapeze. You were right in what you suspected."
"Oh, Joe! I'm so glad I saw it in time to warn you."
"So am I, Helen. It was a mean piece of business, and cunning. I never suspected them of it."
"Oh, but you will be careful after this, won't you, Joe?"
"Indeed I will! I want to live long enough to see you get your fortune. By the way, when is that lawyer coming?"
"He is to meet me day after to-morrow."
"I'll be on hand," Joe promised.
It rained the next day, and working in a circus during a rain is not exactly fun. Still the show goes on, "rain or shine," as it says on the posters, and the performers do not get the worst of it. It is the wagon and canvas men who suffer in a storm.
"And this is a bad one," Joe remarked, when he went in the tent that afternoon for his act. "It's getting worse. I hope they have the tent up good and strong."
"Why?" asked Helen.
"Because the wind's increasing. Look at that!" he exclaimed as a gust careened the big, heavy canvas shelter. "If some of the tent pegs pull out there'll be trouble."
Helen looked anxious as she set off to put Rosebud through his tricks, and Joe was not a little apprehensive as he was hoisted to the top of the tent. He saw the big pole to which his trapeze was fastened, swaying as the wind shook the "main top."
Joe Strong had scarcely begun his act when he became aware that indeed the storm was no usual blow and bluster, accompanied by rain. He could feel his trapeze swaying as the whole tent shook, and while this would not have deterred him from going on with his performance, he felt that an accident was likely to occur that would start a panic.
"It surely does feel as if the old 'main top' was going to fall," thought Joe as he swung head downward by his knees, preparatory to doing another act. He could see that many in the audience were getting uneasy, and some were leaving their seats, though the red-capped ushers were going about calling:
"Sit still! Keep your seats! There is no danger. The tent is perfectly safe."
Jim Tracy had ordered this done. As a matter of fact the tent was not perfectly safe, but under the circumstances it was best to tell the people this to quiet them and to avoid having them make a rush to get out, as in that case many would be hurt—especially the women and the children.
"It's a good thing it isn't night," reflected Joe. "Whew! That was a bad one!" he exclaimed as a terrific blast seemed fairly to lift one side of the tent. Men started from their seats and women and children screamed.
"Just keep quiet and it will be all right," urged the ring-master, but the crowd was fast getting beyond control.
Joe saw Jim Tracy sending out a gang of men to drive the tent pegs deeper into the ground. The rain softened the soil, and thus made the pegs so loose that they were likely to pull out. At the same time the rain, wetting the ropes, caused them to shrink, and thus exert a stronger pull on the pegs and poles. So the ropes had to be eased off, while the pegs were pounded farther into the ground with big mauls.
"Lively now, men!" called the ring-master.
The big tent swayed, sometimes the top of it being lifted high up by the wind which blew under it. Again the sides would bulge in, making gaps by which the rain entered.
But the band kept on playing. Jim saw to that, for nothing is more conducive to subduing a panic than to let the crowd hear music. The performers, too, kept on with their acts, and some of the audience began to feel reassured.
But the wind still kept up, blowing stronger if anything, and Joe and others realized that it needed but a little accident to start a rush that might end fatally for some.
Joe was just about to go into the second series of his gymnastic work when he heard a tent pole beneath him snap with a breaking sound. At first he thought it was the big one to which his apparatus was made fast, but a glance showed him this one was standing safe. It was one of the smaller side poles.
That part of the tent sagged down, the wind aiding in the break, and there were cries of fear from scores of women, while men shouted all sorts of directions.
But the circus people had gone through dangers like this before, and they knew what to do. Under the direction of Jim Tracy and his helpers, extra poles were quickly put in place to take the weight of the wet canvas off the broken one. This at once raised the tent up from those on whom it had partly fallen.
And then something else happened.
One of five horses which were being put through a series of tricks by a man trainer, suddenly bolted out of the ring. Joe, high up in the tent, saw him running, and noted that the animal was headed for the ring where Helen Morton was performing with Rosebud.
"He's going to run into her!" thought Joe. "I've got to do something!"
He must think and act quickly. While attendant's were running after the bolting horse Joe, looking down, saw that the animal would pass close to his life net. In an instant Joe had decided what to do.
He poised on the small platform, from which he made his swings, and dropped straight into the big net. Just as he had calculated, he bounced up again, and as he did so he sprang out to one side.
Joe's quick eyes and nerves had enabled him to judge the distance correctly. He leaped from the net just as the horse was opposite him, and landed on his back in a riding position.
It was the work of but a second to reach forward, grasp the little bridle which the animal wore, and pull him to one side.
And it was not a second too soon, either, for the horse was on the edge of the ring in which Helen was performing with Rosebud. If the maddened animal had gone in, there would have been a collision in which the girl performer would, undoubtedly, have been injured.
"Good work, Joe!" cried the ring-master. "But there's plenty more to be done. I guess we'll have to get all the men performers to help hold down the tent. I'm afraid she's going."
"It does look so," Joe admitted as he leaped from the horse and gave him in charge of one of the attendants. "What can we do?"
"Help drive in extra pins and attach more ropes. I'm going to dismiss the audience. We'll stay over here to-morrow, and give an extra performance to make up for it."
"I'll get a crowd together and we'll help the canvasmen," offered Joe.
"And I'll help," said Benny Turton, who had finished his tank act.
"Come on!" cried Joe, as he led the way.
Meanwhile Jim Tracy had requested the audience to file out as quickly and in as orderly a manner as possible. The crowd was not large, as the weather had been threatening in the morning and many had stayed at home. But it was no easy matter to dismiss even a small throng in such a storm.
However, it was accomplished, the band meanwhile playing its best, and under hard conditions, as part of the tent over them split and let the rain in on them.
But the music served a good turn, and while the people were hurrying out the canvasmen, aided by the performers, Joe among them, drove in extra pegs, tightening those that had become loose, put on additional ropes, so that, by hard work, the big tent was prevented from blowing down.
Once outside, the audience, though most of them were soon drenched, took it good-naturedly. They were given emergency tickets as they passed out, good for another admission.
And then the storm, which seemed to have reached its height, settled down into a heavy rain. The wind died out somewhat, and there was no danger from the collapse of the tent.
"Good work, boys!" said the ring-master, as the performers, all of them wet through, and in their performing suits too, came in. "Good work! If it hadn't been for you I don't know what we would have done. I'll not forget it."
There had been some trouble in the animal tent during the storm; the beasts, especially the elephants, evincing a desire to break loose. But their trainers quieted them, and soon the circus was almost normal again.
Of course the afternoon had been lost, but there was hope of a good attendance at night if the storm were not too bad. And by remaining over another afternoon the deficiency could be made up. Word was telegraphed ahead to the next town announcing a postponement in the date. The broken pole was replaced with another, and then the performers enjoyed an unexpected vacation.
"I want to thank you, Joe, for what you did," said Helen, coming up to him in the dining tent, where an early supper was served. "I saw what you did—stopping that runaway horse."
"Oh, it wasn't anything," Joe said, modestly enough.
"Wasn't it?" asked Helen, with a smile. "Well, I consider myself and Rosebud something worth saving."
"Oh, I didn't mean it that way," Joe said quickly. "But the runaway might not have gone near you."
"Yes, I'm afraid he would. But you saved me."
"Well, if you feel that way about it," laughed Joe, for he did not want Helen to take the matter too seriously, "why then we're even. You saved me from a bad fall on the trapeze."
The storm subsided somewhat by night, and there was a good attendance. And the receipts the next day were very large in the afternoon, for the story of what the circus men had done was widely spread, and served as a good advertisement. Joe was applauded louder than ever when he did his acts.
The two wily Lascalla Brothers never referred to the incident of the rotted trapeze rope, and Joe did not know whether to believe them guilty or not. At most, he thought, they only wanted to give him a tumble that might make him look ridiculous, and so discourage him from continuing the work. In that case their deposed partner might get a chance. But Joe did not give up, and he kept a sharp lookout. He redoubled his vigilance regarding his ropes, bars and rings, inspecting all of them just before each performance.
On arriving at the next town Helen received a note in her mail asking her to call at the principal hotel in the place. It was signed by one of the members of the law firm.
"You come with me, Joe," she begged. "I don't want to go alone."
"All right," agreed the young performer. "We'll go and get your inheritance."
"If there's any to get," laughed Helen. "Oh, Joe, I'm so nervous!"
"Nervous!" he answered. "I wish I could be afflicted with nervousness like that—money-nervousness, I'd call it!"
They found Mr. Pike, the lawyer, to be an agreeable gentleman. He had requested Helen to bring with her the proofs of her identity, the old Bible and other books, which she did. These the lawyer examined carefully, and asked the girl many questions, comparing her answers with some information in his notebook. Finally he said:
"Well, there is no doubt but you are the Miss Helen Morton we have been looking for so long, and I am happy to inform you that you are entitled to an inheritance from your grandfather's estate."
"Really?" cried Helen, eagerly.
"Really," answered the lawyer, with a smile. "It isn't a very large fortune, but it will yield you a neat little income every year. In fact there is quite an accumulation due you, and I shall be happy to send it on as soon as I get back to New York. I congratulate you!"
Helen could hardly believe the good news. Though she had hoped, since hearing from the law firm, that she might be entitled to some money, Helen had always been careful not to hope too much.
"For I don't want to be badly disappointed," she told Joe.
"Well," he remarked, "I wish my chances were as good as yours."
For the answers he received from the letters he wrote concerning his mother's relatives in England were disappointing. As far as these letters went there was no estate in which Joe might share, though Bill Watson insisted that the late Mrs. Strong came of a wealthy family.
"Anyhow, you've got yours, Helen," said Joe.
"Well, I haven't exactly got it yet," and she looked at Mr. Pike.
"Oh, the money is perfectly safe," the lawyer assured Helen. "I have part of it on deposit in my bank, and the rest is safe in California."
"Just how did it happen to come to me?" Helen inquired.
"Well," answered the lawyer slowly, "it's a long and complicated story. Your grandfather on your father's side was quite a landholder in San Francisco. Some of his property was not worth a great deal, and other plots were very valuable. In time he sold off most of it, but one large tract was considered so worthless that he could not find a buyer for it. When he died he still owned it, and it descended to your father.
"He thought so little of it that he never tried to put it on the market. But during the last few years the city has grown out in the direction of this land, and recently the property was sold.
"An effort was made to find the owner, your father, but as he was dead, and no one knew what had become of his heirs, the land was sold, and the money deposited with the state, to be turned over to the right owner when found. We have a branch office in San Francisco, and we were engaged to try to find any Morton heirs. Finally we found you, and now I am glad to say that my work in this connection is so happily ended.
"As I told you, I have some cash ready for you. The rest of your inheritance is in the form of bonds and mortgages, which will bring you in an income of approximately sixty dollars a month."
"That's fifteen a week!" exclaimed Helen, who was used to calculating that way, as are most circus and theatrical persons.
"Of course you could sell these bonds and mortgages, and get the cash for them," said the lawyer, "but I would not advise you to. You will have about three thousand dollars in cash, as it is, and this ought to be enough for your immediate needs, especially as I understand you have a good position."
"Yes, I am earning a good salary," Helen admitted, "but I have not been able to save much. I am very glad of my little fortune."
"And I am glad for you, my dear young lady. Now, as I said, as soon as I get back to New York I will send one of my clerks on to you with the cash. I may be old fashioned, but I don't like to trust too much to the mails. Besides, I want to get your signature to certain documents, and you will have to make certain affidavits to my clerk. So I will send him on. Let me have a note of where you will be during the next week."
Helen gave the dates when the circus would play certain towns, and Mr. Pike left.
"Well, it's true, little girl, isn't it?" cried Joe as they walked back to the circus together.
"Yes, and I'm very glad. I've always wanted money, but I never thought I'd have it—at least as much as I'm going to get. I wish you would inherit a fortune, Joe."
"Oh, don't worry about me. I don't expect it, and what one never has had can't be missed very much. Maybe I'll get mine—some day."
"I hope so, Joe. And now I want you to promise me something."'
"What?"
"That if ever you need money you'll come to me."
Joe hesitated a moment before answering. Then he said:
"All right, Helen, I will."
To Joe the novelty of life in a circus was beginning to wear off. To be sure there was something new and different coming up each day, but he had now gotten his act down to a system, and to him and the other performers one day was much like another, except for the weather, perhaps.
They did their acts before crowds every day—different crowds, to be sure; but, after all, men, women and children are much alike the world over. They want to be amused and thrilled, and the circus crowds in one place are no different from those in another.
The Sampson Brothers' Show was not one of the largest, though it was considered first class. Occasionally it played one of the large cities, but, in the main, it made a circuit of places of smaller population.
Joe kept on with his trapeze work, now and then adding new feats, either by himself or with the Lascalla Brothers. On their part they seemed glad to adopt Joe's suggestions. Occasionally they made some themselves, but they were more in the way of spectacular effects—such as waving flags while suspended in the air, or fluttering gaily colored ribbons or strands of artificial flowers. But Joe liked to work out new and difficult feats of strength, skill and daring, and he was generally successful.
He had not relaxed his policy of vigilance, and he never went up on a bar or on the rings without first testing his apparatus. For he never forgot the strangely rotted rope. That it had been eaten by some acid, he was sure.
He did not again get sight of that particular small trapeze, nor did he ask Sid or Tonzo what had become of it. He did not want to know.
"It's best to let sleeping dogs lie," reasoned Joe. "But I'll be on the lookout."
Matters had been going along well, and Joe had been given an increase of salary.
"Well, if I can't get a fortune from some of my mother's rich and aristocratic ancestors," Joe thought with a smile, "I can make it myself by my trapeze work. And, after all, I guess, that's the best way to get rich. Though I'm not sure I'll ever get rich in the circus business."
But the calm of Joe's life—that is if, one can call it calm to act in a circus—was rudely shaken one day when in his mail he found a badly scrawled note. There was no signature to it, but Joe easily guessed from whom it came. The note read:
"You want to look out for yourself. You may think you're smart, but I know some smarter than you. This is a big world, but accidents may happen. You want to be careful."
"Some of Sim Dobley's work," mused Joe, as he tore up the note and cast it aside. "He's trying to get my nerve. Well, I won't let that worry me. He won't dare do anything. Queer, though, that he should be following the circus still. He sure does want his place back. I'm sorry for him, but I can't help it."
Joe did not regard the warning seriously, and he said nothing about it to Helen or any one else.
"It would only worry Helen," he reflected.
The show was over for the night. Even while the performers in the big tent had been going through with their acts, men had taken away the animal cages and loaded them on the flat railroad cars. Then the animal tent was taken down and packed into wagons with the poles and pegs.
As each performer finished, he or she went to the dressing tent and packed his trunk for transportation. From the dressing tent the actors went to the sleeping car, and straight to bed.
Joe's acts went very well that night. He was applauded again and again and he was quite pleased as he ran out of the tent to make ready for the night journey. He saw Benny Turton changing into his ordinary clothes from his wet fish-suit, which had to be packed in a rubber bag for transportation after the night performance, there being no time to dry it.
"Well, how goes it, Ben?" asked Joe.
"Oh, not very well," was the spiritless answer. "I've got lots of pain."
"Too bad," said Joe in a comforting tone. "Maybe a good night's sleep will fix you up."
"I hope so," said the "human fish."
The circus train was rumbling along the rails. It was the middle of the night, and they were almost due at the town where next they would show.
Joe, as well as the others in his sleeping car, was suddenly awakened by a crash. The train swayed from side to side and rolled along unevenly with many a lurch and bump.
"We're off the track!" cried Joe, as he rolled from his berth. And the memory of the scrawled warning came vividly to him.