Chapter 11

SAWDUST AND SPANGLES

Andy stared down at a sea of faces. They seemed far away. The circus manager had stepped briskly out into the ring.

In great wonderment he stood gazing aloft. The audience swayed, and a general murmur filled the air. Many pointed upwards. Some arose from their seats, craning their necks in excitement.

The orchestra dropped the music to low, undecided notes. Puzzled spectators wondered if the strange appearance above was part of some new novelty change in the programme.

Andy clung to the dangling strip of canvas for dear life. The trapezist, Thacher, stared at him in profound astonishment. He was about to speak, to demand an explanation, when there was a second ripping sound.

"Look out!" cried Thacher sharply.

Andy saw what was happening. The canvas strip that had torn free lengthwise was now splitting its breadth.

In another moment a mere filament of cloth would hold Andy suspended. He must act, and act quickly, or take a plunge sixty feet down.

Andy did not lose his presence of mind. Just the same as if he was on the rafters of the old barn at home, or practicing on a rope strung from two high tree tops, as had been many a time the case, he calculated his chances and set his skill at work.

He ventured a brief swing on the frail strip of canvas. As it finally tore free in his hand, Andy dropped it. He had got his momentum, however. It was to swing sideways and down. The next instant Andy was at the side of Thacher. One hand caught and held to a rope of the trapeze. There Andy anchored, resting one knee on the edge of the performing bar.

"You're a good one!" muttered the trapezist in wonder. "Don't get rattled, now."

"Not while I've got my grip. Say," projected Andy, "I'm sorry to interrupt the performance, but it's a matter of life or death."

"Eh?" uttered Thacher in a puzzled way. "What's up?"

"Do you know a man named Murdock?"

"Ring man, fired last week. Yes. What of it?"

"Do you know a man named Daley?"

"Fired, too--for drinking. I took his place on this team."

"They hate you. They have plotted to disable you. The trapeze yonder--Murdock has cut the ropes, secured the bar with thread, and the slightest touch will send a performer to the ring with broken limbs."

"What! Are you crazy or fooling? Doped the rigging? Why, that's murder, kid!"

"They have done it just the same. Listen."

Faster than he had ever talked before Andy told of the conversation he had overheard in the old hay barn. He hurriedly recited his failure in reaching the manager. He told of his rapid ascent of the top canvas. The present denouement had resulted.

Under his face rouge Thacher showed the shock of vivid emotions. The murmur below was increasing. The manager was looking up impatiently.

Old Benares, across on his trapeze, regarded his partner in bewilderment.

Suddenly Thacher shot out some words towards him. It was a kind of circus gibberish, mixed with enough straight English to enlighten Andy that his story was being imparted to Old Benares.

"You must get me out of this," said Andy. "The audience is becoming restive."

Thacher extended his hand, the back showing, in the direction of the orchestra. The band, at this signal, struck up a quick, lively tune.

"Get clear on the bar," directed Thacher rapidly, giving Andy more room. "Say," he added, in some surprise at Andy's cleverness, "you seem at home all right. Performer?"

"Oh, no--only a little amateur practice."

"It's given you the right nerve. Now then, you can't get up again, you've got to go down. Want to do it gracefully?"

"Sure," smiled Andy, perfectly calm and collected.

The situation rather delighted him than otherwise. He had supreme confidence in his companion, and felt that he was in safe hands.

"Are you grit for a swing?" pursued Thacher.

"Try me," said Andy.

Thacher called over some further words to old Benares. The latter at once swung down from his trapeze, holding on by his knees, both hands extended towards his partner.

"Do just as I say," directed Thacher to Andy. "Let me get you under the arms. Double your knees up to your chin. Can you hold yourself that way?"

"Yes," assented Andy.

"Now!" spoke Thacher sharply.

The next instant the performer had dropped Andy in his clasp. He had slipped an ankle halter to one of his own limbs.

This alone held him. Head downward, he lightly swung Andy to and fro. Andy rolled up like a ball ready for the next move.

All this had consumed less than two minutes. Now the audience believed Andy's sensational appearance a regularly arranged feature of the performance.

The oddity of a boy in ordinary dress coming into the act, as Andy had done, excited the profoundest interest and attention.

The manager in the ring below stood like one petrified, puzzled beyond all comprehension.

The orchestra checked its music. An intense strain pervaded. The audience swayed, but that only. There was a profound silence.

"One, two, three," said Thacher, at intervals.

"Come," answered old Benares.

At the end of a long, swift swing of his body, Thacher let go of Andy, who spun across a ten feet space that looked twenty to the audience below. Andy felt a light contact, old Benares' double grip caught under his arms.

The act was the merest novice trick analyzed by an expert, but it set the audience wild.

A prodigious cheer arose, clapping of hands, juvenile yells of admiration. The band came in with a ringing march. Old Benares righted himself, Andy with him.

"Su-paarb!" he said. "Can you hold on alone--one little minute?"

"Sure," said Andy.

The trapezist reached up and untied the descending rope, secured it to the bar, and shouted to those standing below.

Two ring hands ran out into the sawdust, caught the other end, and held it perfectly taut.

"Can you slide down it?" asked Benares.

Andy's eyes sparkled.

"Say, Mr. Benares," he replied, "if I wasn't rattled by all that crowd, I could do it head first. I've done the regular, one leg drop, fifty times."

"You are admirable--an ex-paart!" declaimed old Benares. "Who are you, anyway?"

"Only Andy Wildwood. Do you think I could ever do a real circus act?"

"Do I think--hear them yell! You have made a hit. Good boy. Be careful. Go."

Andy essayed an old rope performance he had seen done once, and had many times practiced.

This was to secure one leg around the rope, throw himself outwards, fold his arms, and wind round and round the rope, slowly descending.

The orchestra caught the cue, and kept time with appropriate music. A second hush held the audience. Without a break, Andy descended the forty odd feet of cable.

Nearing its end, he caught at the rope to steady himself. Then he gracefully leaped free of it to the sawdust, and made a profound bow to the audience amid wild thunders of applause.