There were merry hearts at the little celebration given by Helen Morton—"Mademoiselle Mortonti"—in recognition of coming into her inheritance. That is, the hearts were all merry save that of Joe Strong.
For a few seconds after Helen had made the statement about having left her money with the law clerk for investment, Joe could only stare at her. On her part the young circus rider seemed to think there was nothing unusual in what she had done.
"Congratulations, Miss Morton!" called Bill Watson, as he waved his napkin in the air. "Congratulations!"
"Why don't you call me Helen as you used to?" asked the girl.
"Oh, you're quite a rich young lady now, and I didn't think you would want me to be so familiar," he replied with a laugh.
"Goodness! I hope every one isn't going to get so formal all at once," she remarked, with a look at Joe.
"I won't—not unless you want me to," he answered.
"But why don't you eat?" she asked him. "You sit there as if you had no appetite. I'm as hungry as a bear—one of our own circus bears, too. Come, why don't you eat and be happy?"
"I—I'm thinking," Joe remarked.
"This isn't the time to think!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so glad I have a little money. I won't have to worry now if I shouldn't be able to go on with my circus act. I could take a vacation if I wanted to, couldn't I?"
"Are you going to?" asked Joe. Somehow he felt a sudden sinking sensation in the region of his heart. At least he judged it was his heart that was affected.
"No, not right away," Helen answered. "I'm going to stay with the show until it goes into winter quarters, anyhow."
"And after that?"
"Oh, I don't know."
The little celebration went merrily on. Helen's health was proposed many times, being pledged in lemonade, grape juice and ginger ale. She blushed with pleasure as she sat between Joe and the veteran clown, for many nice things were said about her, as one after another of her guests congratulated her on her good fortune.
"Speech! Speech!" some one called out.
"What do they mean?" asked Helen of Bill Watson.
"They want you to say something," the clown said.
"Oh, I never could—never in the world!" and Helen blushed more vividly than before.
"Try it," urged Joe. "Just thank them. You can do that."
Much confused, Helen arose at her place.
"I'd rather ride in a circus ring ten times over than make a speech," she confessed in an aside to Joe.
"Go on," he urged.
"My dear friends," she began tremblingly, "I want to thank you for all the nice things you have said about me, and I want to say that I'm glad—glad——" She paused and blushed again.
"Glad to be here," prompted Joe.
"Yes, that's it—glad to be here, and I—er—I—— Oh, you finish for me, Joe!" she begged, as she sat down amid laughter.
Then the supper went on, more merrily than before. But it had to come to an end at last, for the show people needed their rest if they were to perform well the next day. And most of them, especially those like Joe and the acrobats, who depended on their nerve as well as their strength, needed unbroken slumber.
As Joe walked back to the railroad, where their sleeping cars were standing on a siding, the young trapeze performer asked Helen about her business transaction with the law clerk. He had not had a chance to do this at the supper.
"Well," began the girl, "as you know, he brought me the cash, Joe. Oh, how nice those new bills did look. He had it all in new bills for me. Mr. Pike told him to do that, he said, as they didn't know whether I could use a check, traveling about as I am. Anyhow he had the bills for me—about three thousand dollars it was. The rest of my little fortune, you know, is in stocks and bonds. I only get the interest, but this cash was from the sale of some of grandfather's property."
"Then you didn't keep the cash yourself?" Joe asked.
"No. Mr. Sanford said it wouldn't be safe for me to carry so much money around with me. Do you think it would?"
"Of course not," Joe agreed. "But you could have let our treasurer keep it for you. He could have banked it."
"Yes; Mr. Sanford thought of that, he said. But he also said if my money was in the bank I wouldn't get more than three per cent. on it. I don't know exactly what he means—I never was any good at fractions, and I know nothing about business. But, anyhow, Mr. Sanford kindly explained that I would get more interest on my money if it was invested than if it was in a bank. And he offered to invest for me all I didn't need at once. Wasn't he kind?"
"Perhaps," admitted Joe, rather dubiously. "How is he going to invest it?"
"Oh, he knows lots of ways, he said, being in the law office. But he said he thought it would be best to buy oil stock with it. Oil stock was sure to go up in price, he said; and I would make money on that as well as interest, or dividends—or something like that. Wasn't he good?"
"To himself maybe, yes," answered Joe.
"What do you mean?" inquired Helen.
"Oh, well, maybe it's all right," Joe said. He did not want to alarm the girl unnecessarily, but he had a deeper suspicion than before of Sanford.
"I think it's just fine," Helen went on. "I have quite some cash with me—I'm going to let our treasurer keep that, and give me some when I need it. Then, from time to time, I'll get dividends on my oil stock."
"Maybe," said Joe, in a low voice.
"What?" asked Helen, quickly. "What do you mean?"
"Never mind," proceeded Joe. "Anyhow we had a good time to-night."
"Did you enjoy it?"
"I certainly did, Helen."
They parted near the train, Joe to go to his car and Helen to hers.
"Oh, by the way," Joe called after her. "Did Mr. Sanford say what oil company it was he was going to invest your money in?"
"Yes, he told me. It's the Circle City Oil Syndicate. He has some stock in it, he told me, and it's a fine concern. Oh, Joe, I'm so glad I have inherited a little fortune."
"So am I," Joe returned, wondering at the same time if he would ever hear anything encouraging of his mother's relatives in England.
"The Circle City Oil Syndicate," Joe murmured as he entered his car. "I must look them up. This fellow, Sanford, may be all right, but he struck me as being a pretty slick individual, who would look out for himself first, and the firm's clients afterward. He'll bear investigating."
However, nothing could be done that night. The clerk had gone back with the larger part of Helen's money, and Joe did not want to cause her worry by speaking of his suspicions.
The circus did a good business the next day, drawing even larger throngs than to the previous performances. The story of Helen's good fortune was printed in the local paper, with an account of the celebration supper she gave, and when she rode into the ring on Rosebud the applause that greeted her was very pronounced.
Joe repeated his "drop back to instep hang" that afternoon. It was rather a perilous feat and he was not so sure of it as he was of his other exercises. But it was a "thriller" and that was what the public seemed to want—something that made them gasp, sit up, and hold their breath while they waited to see if "anything would happen" to the reckless performer.
Joe climbed up to his small trapeze, swung on it and then fell backward for his first instep hang. He accomplished this successfully, and then came the thrilling slide down the longer ropes.
Down Joe shot, depending on stopping himself with his outstretched and down-hanging hands when he reached the second bar.
But the inevitable "something" happened. Joe's hands slipped from the bar, his head struck it a glancing blow, and the next instant he felt himself falling head first down toward the life net.
Women and children screamed, and there were hoarse shouts from the men who witnessed Joe's fall. At first some thought it was only part of the acrobatic trick, but a single glance at the desperate struggles of the young trapeze performer dispelled this idea.
For Joe was struggling desperately in the air to prevent himself from falling head first into the life net.
It might be thought that one could fall into a loose, sagging net in any position and not be hurt. But this is not so. A fall into a net from a great height is often as dangerous as landing on the ground. Circus folk must know how to fall properly.
If the person falling lands on his head he is likely to dislocate, if not to break, his neck, and falling on one's face may sometimes be dangerous. The best way, of course, is to land on one's feet, and this was what Joe was trying to bring about.
When he realized that he had missed grasping the bar of the second trapeze (though he could not understand his failure) he knew he must turn over, and that quickly, or he would strike on his head in the net. He tried to turn a somersault, but he was at a disadvantage, not having prepared for that in advance.
"I've got to turn! I've got to turn!" he thought desperately, as he fell through space.
He did manage to get partly over and when he landed in the net he took the force of the blow partly on his head and partly on his shoulder. Everything seemed to get black around him, and there was a roaring in his ears. Then Joe Strong knew nothing. He had been knocked unconscious by the fall.
The circus audience—or that part of it immediately near Joe's trapezes—was at once aware that something unusual had occurred.
Some women arose, as though to rush out. Others screamed and one or two children began to cry. A slight panic was imminent, and Jim Tracy realized this.
From where she was putting her horse, Rosebud, through his paces Helen saw what happened to Joe. In an instant she jumped from the saddle, and ran across the ring toward the net in which he lay, an inert form.
Other circus performers and attendants rushed to aid Joe, and this added to the confusion and excitement. Many in the audience were standing up, trying to see what had happened, and those behind, whose view was obstructed, cried:
"Sit down! Down in front!"
"Give us some music!" ordered Jim Tracy of the band, which had stopped playing when Joe performed his trick in order that it might be more impressive. A lively tune was started, and though it may seem heartless, in view of the fact that a performer possibly was killed, it was the best thing to do under the circumstances, for it calmed the audience.
Tender hands lifted Joe out of the net, and carried him toward the dressing room.
"Go on with the show!" the ring-master ordered the performers who had left their stations. "Go on with the show. We'll look after him. There are plenty of us to do it."
And the show went on. It had to.
"Is he—is he badly hurt?" faltered Helen, as she walked beside the four men who were carrying Joe on a stretcher which had been brought from the first aid tent. The circus was always ready to look after those hurt in accidents.
"I don't think so—he took the fall pretty well—only partly on his head," said Bill Watson, who had stopped his laughable antics to rush over to Joe. "He may be only stunned."
"I hope so," breathed Helen.
"You'd better get back to your ring," suggested Bill. "Finish your act."
"It was almost over," Helen objected. "I can't go back—now. Not until I see how he is."
"All right—come along then," said the old clown, sympathetically. He guessed how matters were between Helen and Joe. "I don't believe the boss will mind much. There's enough of the show left for 'em to look at."
He glanced down at Joe, who lay unconscious on the stretcher. They were now in the canvas screened passage between the dressing tent and the larger one, where the performance had been resumed. Helen put out her hand and touched Joe's forehead. He seemed to stir slightly.
"Have they sent for a doctor?" she asked.
"They'll get one from the crowd," replied Bill. "There's always one or more in a circus audience."
And he was right. As they placed Joe on a cot that had been quickly made ready for him, a physician, summoned from the audience by the ring-master, came to see what he could do. Silently Helen, Bill and the others stood about while the medical man made his examination.
"Will he die?" Helen asked in a whisper.
"Not at once—in fact not for some years to come, I think," replied the physician with a smile. "He has had a bad fall, and he will be laid up for a time. But it is not serious."
Helen's face showed the relief she felt.
"He'll have to go to a hospital, though," continued the medical man. "His neck is badly strained, and so are the muscles of his shoulder. He won't be able to swing on a trapeze for a week or so."
Bill Watson whistled a low note. He knew what it meant for a circus performer to be laid up.
"Please take him to a hospital," cried Helen impulsively, "and see that he has a good physician and a nurse—I mean, you look after him yourself," she added quickly, as she saw the doctor smiling at her.
"And have a trained nurse for him. I'll pay the bill," she went on. "I'm so glad that money came to me. I'll use some of it for Joe."
"She just inherited a little fortune," explained Bill in a whispered aside to the medical man. "They're quite fond of each other—those two."
"So it seems. Well, he'll need a nurse and medical treatment for a while to come. I'll go and arrange to have him taken to the hospital. Has he any friends that ought to be notified—not that he is going to die, but they might like to know."
"I guess he hasn't any friends but us here in the circus. His father and mother are dead, and he ran away from his foster-father—a good thing, too, I guess. Well, the show will have to go on and leave him here, I suppose."
"Oh, yes, certainly. He can't travel with you."
The ambulance came and took Joe away. Jim Tracy communicated with the hospital authorities, ordering them to give the young trapeze performer the best possible care in a private room, adding that the management would pay the bill.
"That has already been taken care of," the superintendent of the hospital informed the ring-master. "A Miss Morton has left funds for Mr. Strong's case."
"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Jim Tracy. Then he smiled.
The circus neared its close. The animal tent came down, the lions, tigers, horses and elephants were taken to their cars. The performers donned their street clothes and went to their sleeping cars.
Helen, Benny Turton and Bill Watson paid a visit to the hospital just before it was time for the circus train to leave. Joe had not recovered consciousness, but he was resting easily, the nurse said.
"Tell him to join the show whenever he is able," was the message Jim Tracy had left for Joe, "and not to worry. Everything will be all right."
"Good-bye," whispered Helen close to Joe's ear, But he did not hear her.
And the circus moved on, leaving stricken Joe behind.
It was nearly morning when he came out of his unconsciousness with a start that shook the bed.
"Quiet now," said the soothing voice of the nurse.
Joe looked at her, wonder showing in his eyes. Then his gaze roved around the hospital room. He looked down at the white coverings on his enameled bed and then, realizing where he was, he asked:
"What happened?"
"You had a fall from your trapeze, they tell me," the nurse said.
"Oh, yes, I remember now. Am I badly hurt?"
"The doctor does not think so. But you must be quiet now. You are to take this."
She held a glass of medicine to his lips.
"But I must know about it," Joe insisted. "I've got to go on with the show. Has the circus left?"
"Hours ago, yes. It's all right. You are to stay here with us until you are better. A Mr. Tracy told me to tell you."
"Oh, yes, Jim—the ring-master. Well I—I guess I'll have to stay whether I want to or not."
Joe had tried to raise his head from the pillow, but a severe pain, shooting through his neck and shoulders, warned him that he had better lie quietly. He also became aware that his head was bandaged.
"I must be in pretty bad shape," he said.
"No, not so very," replied the trained nurse cheerfully. "But you must keep quiet if you are to get well quickly. The doctor will be in to see you soon."
Joe sunk into a sort of doze, and when he awakened again the doctor was in his room.
"Well, how about me?" asked the young performer.
"You might be a whole lot worse," replied the medical man with a smile. "It's just a bad wrench and sprain. You'll be lame and sore for maybe two weeks, but eventually you'll be able to go back, risking your neck again."
"Oh, there's not such an awful lot of risks," Joe said. "This was just an accident—my first of any account. I can't understand how my hands slipped off the bar. Guess I didn't put enough resin on them. How long will I be here?"
"Oh, perhaps a week—maybe less."
"Did they bring my pocketbook—I mean my money?"
"You don't have to worry about that," said the doctor. "It has all been attended to. A Miss Morton made all the arrangements."
"Oh," was all Joe said, but he did a lot of thinking.
Joe's injury was more painful than serious. His sore muscles had to be treated with liniment and electricity, and often massaged. This took time, but in less than a week he was able to be out of bed and could sit in an easy chair, out on one of the verandas.
Of course Joe wrote to Helen as soon as he could, thanking her and his other friends for what they had done for him. In return he received a letter from Helen, telling him how she—and all of the circus folk—missed him.
There was also a card from Benny Turton, and a note from Jim Tracy, telling Joe that his place was ready for him whenever he could come back. But he was not to hurry himself. They had put no one in his place on the bill, simply cutting his act out. The Lascalla Brothers worked with another trapeze performer, who gave up his own act temporarily to take Joe's position.
"Well, I guess everything will be all right," reflected our hero. "But I'll join the show again as soon as I can."
Joe was sitting on the sunny veranda one afternoon in a sort of doze. Other convalescent patients were near him, and he had been listening, rather idly, to their talk. He was startled to hear one man say:
"Well, I'd have been all right, and I could have my own automobile now, if I hadn't been foolish enough to speculate in oil stocks."
"What kind did you buy?" another patient asked.
"Oh, one of those advertised so much—they made all sorts of claims for it, and I was simple enough to believe them. I put every cent I had saved up in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and now I can whistle for my cash—just when I need it too, with hospital and doctor bills to pay."
"Can't you get any of it back?"
"I don't think so. In fact I'd sell my stock now for a dollar a share and be glad to get it. I paid twenty-five. Well, it can't be helped."
Joe looked up and looked over at the speaker. He was a middle-aged man, and he recognized him as a patient who had come in for treatment for rheumatism.
Joe wondered whether he had heard aright.
"The Circle City Oil Syndicate," mused Joe. "That's the one Helen has her money in—or, rather, the one that San ford put her money in for her. I wonder if it can be the same company. I must find out, and if it is——"
Joe did not know just what he would do. What he had overheard caused him to be vaguely uneasy. His old suspicions came back to him.
Joe Strong waited until he had a chance to speak privately to the man who had admitted losing money in oil stocks. This hospital patient was a Mr. Anton Buchard, and his room was not far from Joe's.
"Excuse me," began the young trapeze performer in opening the talk. "But a short time ago I happened to overhear what you were telling your friend about some oil stocks—the Circle City Syndicate. I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't help hearing what you were saying."
"Oh, don't let that part worry you," said Mr. Buchard. "It's no secret that I lost my money in that wild-cat speculation. But are you interested in it?"
"To a certain extent I am," Joe answered.
"I hope you didn't buy any of the worthless stock."
"No, but a friend of mine was induced to. That is—er—she—she has some stock of the Circle City Oil Syndicate. It may not be the same as that you were speaking of."
"No, that is true. There are many oil concerns in the market, and lots of them are legitimate, and are making money. But there are plenty of others which are frauds. And the one I invested in is that kind.
"Of course, as you say, it may not be the same as that in which your friend holds stock, even if it has the same name. Would you know any of the officers or directors of the concern in which your friend holds stock?"
"I'm afraid not," Joe replied. "I did not see her stock certificates. She bought them through a law clerk named Sanford."
Mr. Buchard shook his head.
"I don't recognize that name," he said. "But of course anybody could sell the stock. How did your friend ever come to be interested in this concern?"
Thereupon Joe told of Helen's inheritance, mentioning the fact that he and she both were in the circus.
"The circus, eh!" exclaimed the man. "Well, now that's interesting! I remember, when I was a boy, it was my great ambition to run away and join a circus. But I dare say it isn't such a life of roses as I imagined."
"There's plenty of hard work," Joe told him, "and then something like this is likely to happen to you at any time—especially if you are on the trapeze," and he motioned to the bandages still around his neck and shoulders.
"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Buchard, when Joe had finished telling of Helen's fortune. "I'm going out of here in a couple of days. I'm getting much better—that is until the next attack. I'll get out my worthless certificates of stock in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and bring you one. You can then see the names of the officers and directors, and can compare them with the names on Miss Morton's stock. If they are the same it's pretty sure to be the same company."
"And if it is," asked Joe, "would you advise her to sell out?"
"Sell out! My dear boy, I only hope she will be able to. I wish I had known in time—I'd have sold out quickly enough. I never should have bought the stuff. But it's too late to worry about that now. The money is lost.
"Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll bring you a stock certificate and you can compare it with Miss Morton's when you see her. Are you going out soon?"
"In a few days, I hope. I want to get back to the circus."
"I don't blame you. It isn't very cheerful here, though they do the best they can for you."
Mr. Buchard was as good as his word. The day after he left the hospital he came back to call on Joe.
"Here's a certificate," he said, handing over an elaborately engraved yellow-backed sheet of paper. "Take it with you, and show it to Miss Morton."
"Thank you," the young trapeze performer responded. "I'll mail yours back to you as soon as I've compared the names."
"Oh, you don't need to do that," said Mr. Buchard with a rueful laugh. "It isn't worth the price of a good cigar."
Joe wrote to Helen, telling her he would soon be with the circus again, but he did not mention the stock certificate.
"There'll be time enough to tell her when I find out if it's the same concern," he reasoned. "It may not be. After all, the stock Sanford sold her may be valuable."
But Joe's hope was a faint one.
The day came when he was able to leave the hospital. He found that not only had all bills been paid, but that there was an allowance to his credit. Helen had thought he would need money to travel with, and had left him a sum.
"Of course I'll pay her back when I get the chance," Joe reflected. "The circus will pay the hospital and doctor's bills—they always do. And I've got money enough saved up to pay Helen back."
Joe was really making a good salary, and he was careful of his money, not wasting it as some of the more reckless performers did.
He said good-bye to his nurse, to the orderlies and to the physician who had attended him.
"Now don't try to rush things," the doctor warned Joe. "You must favor your neck and shoulder muscles for a couple of weeks yet. They will be lame and sore if you don't. Take it easy, and gradually work up to your former exploits. If you do that you'll be all right."
Joe promised to be careful, and then, with the stock certificate safely in his pocket—though it was of no value, he reflected—he set out to rejoin the circus, which had moved on several hundred miles since his accident.
"I wonder if she'll lose her money," mused Joe, as he rode on in the train. "It would be too bad if she did. Of course it isn't all in this oil syndicate, but enough of it is to make a big hole in her little fortune. Hang it all, if this oil stock turns out bad I'll take that Sanford up to the top of the tent and drop him off."
He smiled grimly at this novel form of revenge. But really he was very much in earnest.
"Something will have to be done," Joe decided. But he did not know just what.
In due time he reached the town where the circus was showing. As Joe's train pulled in he saw, on a siding, the big yellow cars, with the name Sampson Brothers painted on their sides. There were the flat vehicles on which the big animal cages stood, box cars for the horses and elephants and the sleeping cars in which the company traveled.
"Oh, but it's good to get back!" exclaimed Joe.
The parade was in progress as he walked along the main street. He did not stop to watch it, having seen it often enough. Besides he was anxious to talk to Helen, and he knew he would find her at the tent at this hour, since she was not in the parade.
As Joe turned in at the circus lots he saw several of the attendants and canvasmen.
"Hello!" they called cheerily. "Glad to see you with us again!"
"And I'm glad to be back!" Joe exclaimed heartily. "How's everything?"
"Oh, fine."
"Had any trouble?"
"Not much since you had yours. Had to shoot Princess a couple of towns back."
"You mean the lioness?"
"Yes. She went on a rampage and there was nearly a bad accident, so we had to kill her."
"Too bad," remarked Joe, for he knew what a loss it meant to a show when a fine animal, such as Princess was, must be disposed of. "Still it was better than to have her kill her trainer or some one," he added.
"That's right," agreed a canvasman.
Joe passed on to the dressing tent. Helen saw him coming and ran to meet him.
"Oh, Joe!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad to see you! Are you all right again?"
"Quite, thank you. I'm a little lame and stiff yet, but I'll soon get limbered up when I get in my tights and feel myself swinging from a trapeze."
"Oh, but you must be careful, Joe."'
"I will. I don't want to have another accident. And now about yourself. How have you been?"
"Fine."
"And Rosebud?"
"The same as ever. I've taught him a new trick. I must show you. I haven't put it on in public yet."
"I shall like to see him. Well, you haven't had any more fortunes left to you, have you?"
"No, indeed. I wish I had. But I can increase what I have."
"How?"
"Just buy more oil stock. I had a letter from Mr. Sanford, saying he could get me some more. It's going up in price; so he advised me to buy at once."
"Are you going to?"
"Would you?" Helen asked.
"I'll tell you later," Joe answered. "Have you one of the stock certificates you did buy?"
"Yes. In my trunk. Do you want to see it?"
Joe did and said so. Helen got it for him and Joe compared it with the one the man in the hospital had given him. His heart sank as he saw that the names of the officers and directors were the same. The Circle City Oil Syndicate was a failure.
Joe's face must have reflected his emotions, for Helen asked him:
"What's the matter? Is anything wrong?"
"I am afraid I have bad news for you," Joe replied.
"In what way? You're not going to——"
"It's about your stock. I'm sorry to tell you that your oil stock is worthless—part of your fortune is gone, Helen!"
Helen looked dazed for a few seconds. She stared at Joe as though she did not understand what he had said. She looked at the oil stock certificates in his hand. Joe continued to regard them dubiously.
"Worthless—my investment worthless?" Helen asked, after a bit.
"That's what I'm afraid of," Joe replied. "Of course I don't know much about stocks, bonds and so on, but a man said this stock certificate wasn't worth the price of a good cigar," and he held up the one the hospital patient had given him. "Yours is the same kind, Helen, I'm sorry to say."
"How do you know, Joe? Let me see them."
Joe gave her the two papers—elaborately printed, and lavishly enough engraved to be government money, but aside from that worthless.
Then Joe told of the incident in the hospital—how he had accidentally heard the man speak of the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and the conversation that followed.
"If what he says is true, Helen, your money is gone," Joe finished.
"Yes, I'm afraid so." she said slowly. "Oh, dear, isn't it too bad? And I was just thinking how nice it would be if I could increase my fortune. Now I am likely to lose it. I wish I had known more about business. I'd never have let this man fool me."
"I wish I had, too," remarked Joe. "Then I'd have advised you not to risk your money in oil. But perhaps it isn't too late yet."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean we may be able to sell back this stock. Of course it would hardly be right to sell it to an innocent person, who did not know of its worthlessness, for then they would lose also. But I mean the Syndicate might buy it back, rather than have it become known that the concern was worthless. I don't know much about such things."
"Neither do I," agreed Helen. "I'll tell you what let's do, Joe. Let's ask Bill Watson. He use to be in business before he became a clown, and he might tell us what to do."
"A good idea," commented Joe. "We'll do it."
The old clown was in the dressing room, but he came out when Helen and Joe summoned him, half his face "made up," with streaks of red, white and blue grease paint.
"Oh, Bill, we're in such trouble!" cried Helen,
"Trouble!" exclaimed Bill. The word seemed hardly to fit in with his grotesque character. "What trouble?"
"It's about my money," Helen went on. "I'm going to lose it all, Joe thinks."
"Oh, not all!" exclaimed the young trapeze performer quickly. "Only what you invested in oil stock. Here's the story, Bill," and Joe related his part of it, Helen supplying the information needed from her end.
"Now," went on Joe, as he concluded, "what we want to know is—can Helen save any of this oil money?"
Bill Watson was silent a moment. Then he slowly shook his head.
"I'm afraid not," he answered. "Money invested in wild-cat oil wells is seldom recovered. Of course you could bring a lawsuit against this Sanford, but the chances are he's skipped out by this time."
"Oh, no, he hasn't," Helen exclaimed. "I had a letter from him only the other day. He asked me if I didn't want to buy some more stock. I know where to find him."
Once more the veteran clown shook his head.
"He might allow you to find him if he thought you were bringing him more cash for his worthless schemes," he said, "but if he found out you wanted to serve papers on him in a suit, or to get hold of him to make him give back the money he took from you, Helen, that would be a different story. I'm afraid you wouldn't see much of Mr. Sanford then. He'd be mighty scarce."
"Could we sell back the stock to the oil company?" Joe wanted to know.
"Hardly," answered the clown. "They make that stock to sell to the public, and they never buy it back unless there's a chance for them to make money. And, according to Joe's tale, there isn't in this case."
"Not by what that man said," affirmed the young trapeze performer.
"I suppose the only thing to do," went on the old clown, "would be to give the case into the hands of a good lawyer, and let him see what he could do with it. Turn over the stock to him, give him power to act for you, Helen, and wait for what comes. You'll be traveling on with the show, and you can't do much, nor Joe either, though I know he would help you if he could, and so would I."
"That's what!" exclaimed Joe heartily.
"I'll do just as you say," agreed Helen. "But it does seem too bad to lose my money, and I counted on doing so much with it. But it can't be helped."
She was more cheerful over it than Joe thought she would be. He suspected that she had not altogether lost hope, but as for himself Joe counted the money gone, and it was not a small sum to lose.
"Come on, Helen," he said. "I noticed a lawyer's office on the main street as I was looking at the parade. We'll go there and get him to take the case. We'll be out of here to-night and we can leave matters in his hands, with instructions to send us word when he has the money back."
"And I'm afraid you'll never get that word," said the old clown.
There was time enough before the afternoon performance for Joe and Helen to pay a visit to the law office. Joe also reported to Jim Tracy, who was glad to see him.
"I don't want you to get on the trapeze to-day," said the ring-master. "Take a little light practice first for a few days. And do all you can for her," he added in a low voice, motioning to Helen.
"I sure will!" Joe exclaimed fervently.
The lawyer listened to the story as Joe and Helen told it to him, and agreed to take the case against Sanford and the Circle City Oil Syndicate for a small fee.
"I'll do the best I can," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't promise you much in results. Let me have the papers and your future address."
Joe put on his suit of tights for that afternoon, though he did not take part in the trapeze work. He fancied that the Lascalla Brothers were not very glad to see him, but this may have been fancy, for they were cordial enough as far as words went.
"Maybe they thought I would be laid up permanently," reasoned Joe. "Then they could have their former partner back. I wonder if he's been around lately?"
He made some inquiries, but no one had noticed Sim Dobley hanging about the lots as he had done shortly after his discharge. Nor had there been, as Joe had a faint suspicion there might be, any connection between the train wreck and the discharged employee.
"I don't believe Sim would be so desperate as to wreck a train just to get even with me," decided Joe. "I guess it was just a coincidence. He only wrote that threatening letter as a bluff."
Helen Morton did not allow her distress over the prospective loss of her money to interfere with her circus act. She put Rosebud through his paces in the ring, and received her share of applause at the antics of the clever horse. Helen did a new little trick—the one she had told Joe about.
She tossed flags of different nations to different parts of the ring, and then told Rosebud to fetch them to her, one after the other, calling for them by name.
The intelligent horse made no mistakes, bringing the right flag each time.
"And now," said Helen at the conclusion of her act, "show me what all good little children do when they go to bed at night."
Rosebud bent his forelegs and bowed his head between them as if he were saying his prayers.
"That's a good horse!" ejaculated Helen. "Now come and get your sugar and give me a kiss," and the animal daintily picked up a lump of the sweet stuff from Helen's hand, and then lightly touched her cheek with his velvety muzzle.
Then with a leap the pretty young rider vaulted into the saddle and rode out of the ring amid applause.
"You're doing beautifully, Helen!" was Joe's compliment, as Helen rode out.
"I may be all right on a horse," she answered, "but I don't know much about money and business."
The show moved on that night, and the next day, when the tent was set up, Joe indulged in light practice. He found the soreness almost gone, and as he worked alone, and with the Lascalla Brothers, his stiffness also disappeared.
"I think I'll go on to-night," he told the ring-master.
"All right, Joe. We'll be glad to have you, of course. But don't take any chances."
Mail was distributed among the circus folk that day following the afternoon performance. Joe had letters from some people to whom he had written in regard to his mother's relatives in England. One gave him the address of a London solicitor, as lawyers are designated over there, and Joe determined to write to him.
"Though I guess my chances of getting an inheritance are pretty slim," he told Helen. "I'm not lucky, like you."
"I hope you don't call me lucky!" she exclaimed. "Having money doesn't do me any good. I lose it as fast as I get it."
She had a letter from her lawyer, stating that he had looked further into the case since she had left the papers with him, and that he had less hope than ever of ever being able to get back the cash paid for the oil stock.
Joe did not intend to work in any new tricks the first evening of his reappearance after the accident. But when he got started he felt so well after his rest and his light practice, that he made up his mind he would put on a couple of novelties. Not exactly novelties, either, for they are known to most gymnasts though not often done in a circus.
Joe went up to the top of the tent. Near the small platform, from which he jumped in the long swing, to catch Tonzo Lascalla in the trapeze, Joe had fastened a long cotton rope about two inches in diameter.
He caught hold of the rope in both hands and passed it between his thighs, letting it rest on the calf of his left leg. He then brought the rope around over the instep of his left foot, holding it in position with pressure by the right foot, which was pressed against the left.
"Here I come!" Joe cried, and then, letting go with his hands, Joe stretched out his arms, and came down the rope in that fashion, the pressure of his feet on the rope that passed between them regulating his speed.
It was a more difficult feat than it appeared, this descending a rope without using one's hands, but it seemed to thrill the crowd sufficiently.
But Joe had not finished. He knew another spectacular act in rope work, which looked difficult and dangerous, and yet was easier to perform than the one he had just done. Often in trapeze work this is the case.
The spectator may be thrilled by some seemingly dangerous and risky act, when, as a matter of fact, it is easy for the performer, who thinks little of it. On the other hand that which often seems from the circus seats to be very easy may be so hard on the muscles and nerves as to be actually dreaded by the performer.
Having himself hauled up to the top of the tent again, Joe once more took hold of the rope. He held himself in position, the rope between his legs, which he thrust out at right angles to his body, his toes pointing straight out. Suddenly he "circled back" to an inverted hang, his head now pointing to the ground many feet below. Then he quickly passed the rope about his waist, under his right armpit, crossed his feet with the rope between them, the toes of the right foot pressing the cotton strands against the arch of his left foot.
"Ready!" cried Joe.
There was a boom of the big drum, a ruffle of the snare, and Joe slid down the rope head first with outstretched arms, coming to a sudden stop with his head hardly an inch from the hard ground. But Joe knew just what he was doing and he could regulate his descent to the fraction of an inch by the pressure of his legs and feet on the rope.
There was a yell of delight from the audience at this feat, and Joe, turning right side up, acknowledged the ovation tendered him. Then he ran from the tent—his part in the show being over.
For a week the circus showed, moving from town to city. It was approaching the end of the season. The show would soon go into winter quarters, and the performers disperse until summer came again.
Helen had heard nothing favorable from the lawyer, and she and Joe had about given up hope of getting back the money.
The circus had reached a good-sized city in the course of its travels, and was to play there two days. On the afternoon of the first day, just before the opening of the performance, Joe went to Helen's tent to speak to her about something.
"She isn't here," Mrs. Talfo, the fat lady, told him. "She's gone."
"Gone!" echoed Joe. "Isn't she going to play this afternoon?"
"I believe not—no."
"But where did she go?"
"You'll have to ask Jim Tracy. I saw her talking to him. She seemed quite excited about something."
"I wonder if anything could have happened," mused Joe. "They couldn't have discharged her. That act's too good. But it looks funny. She wouldn't have left of her own accord without saying good-bye. I wonder what happened."