The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings Part 30

Grasping both the lad's hands, the showman wrung them until it seemed to Phil as if his arms would be wrenched from their sockets.

"Great, great, great!" cried the owner of the show.

"Did you like it?" questioned the blus.h.i.+ng Phil.

"Like it? Like it? Boy, it's the greatest act I ever saw. It's a winner. Come back with me."

"What, into the ring?"

"Yes."

"But what shall I do?"

"You don't have to do anything. You've done it already. Show yourself, that's all. Hurry! Don't you hear them howling like a band of Comanche Indians?"

"Y-yes."

"They want you."

By this time Mr. Sparling was fairly dragging Phil along with him. As they entered the big top the cheering broke out afresh.

Phil was more disturbed than ever before in his life. It seemed as though his legs would collapse under him.

"Buck up! Buck up!" snapped the showman. "You are not going to get an attack of stage fright at this late hour, are you?"

That was exactly what was the matter with Phil Forrest. He was nearly scared out of his wits, but he did not realize the nature of his affliction.

"Bow and kiss your hand to them," admonished the showman.

Phil did so, but his face refused to smile. He couldn't have smiled at that moment to save his life.

All at once he wrenched himself loose from Mr. Sparling's grip, and ran full speed for the dressing tent. He had not gone more than a dozen feet before he tripped over a rope, landing on head and shoulders. But Phil was up like a rubber man and off again as if every animal in the menagerie was pursuing him.

The spectators catching the meaning of his flight, stood up in their seats and howled l.u.s.tily.

Phil Forrest had made a hit that comes to few men in the sawdust arena.

CHAPTER XV

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

"That was a knockout, kid," nodded Mr. Miaco, with emphasis. "I'm laughing on the inside of me yet. I don't dare let my face laugh, for fear the wrinkles will break through my makeup."

"Thank you," smiled Phil, tugging at his silk tights, that fitted so closely as to cause him considerable trouble in stripping them off.

"You'll have the whole show jealous of you if you don't watch out. But don't get a swelled head--"

"Not unless I fall off and b.u.mp it," laughed Phil. "Where do I wash?"

"You always want to get a pail of water before you undress."

"Say, Phil, did you really fly?" queried Teddy, who was standing by eyeing his companion admiringly.

"Sure. Didn't you see me?"

"I did and I didn't. Will you show me how to fly like that?"

" 'Course I will. You come in under the big top tomorrow after the show and I'll give you a lesson."

Teddy had not happened to observe the simple mechanical arrangement that had permitted the young circus performer to carry out his flying act.

"I reckon you ought to get a dollar a day for that stunt,"

decided Teddy.

"Yes, I think so myself," grinned Phil.

Teddy now turned his attention to Mr. Miaco, who, made up for his clown act in the ring, presented a most grotesque appearance.

"How do I look?" asked the clown, noting the lad's observant gaze.

"You look as if you'd stuck your head in a flour barrel," grunted Teddy.

"Ho ho," laughed the clown. "I'll have to try that on the audience. That's a good joke. To look at you, one wouldn't think it of you, either."

"Oh, that's nothing. I can say funnier things than that when I want to. Why--"

But their conversation was cut short by the band striking up the tune to which Mr. Miaco always entered the ring.

"Listen to me, kid. You'll hear them laugh when I tell 'em the story," he called back. And they did. The audience roared when the funny man told them what his young friend had said.

His work for the day having been finished, Phil bethought himself of his trunk, which had not yet been packed. His costume was suspended from a line in the dressing tent where many other costumes were hanging to air and dry after the strenuous labors of their owners.

Phil took his slender belongings down, shook them out well and laid them in the trunk that Mrs. Waite had given him. It was too late for Phil to get his bag from the baggage wagon, so with a grin he locked his tights and his wig in the trunk.

"Guess they won't break their backs lifting that outfit," he mused.

Phil then strolled in to watch the show. He found many new points of interest and much that was instructive, as he studied each act attentively and with the keenness of one who had been in the show business all his life.

"Someday I'll have a show like this myself," nodded the boy. He did not know that he expressed his thoughts aloud until he noticed that the people sitting nearest to him were regarding him with amused smiles.

Phil quickly repressed his audible comments.

The show was soon over; then came the noise and the confusion of the breaking up. The illusion was gone--the glamor was a thing of the past. The lad strolled about slowly in search of his companion, whom he eventually found in the dressing tent.

"Teddy, isn't it about time you and I went to bed?" he asked.