It seemed that some of the mischievous candy peddlers had got hold of him. They had induced him to appear for trial in costume.

He wore a pair of tights three sizes too small for him. They had powdered his hair with fine sawdust and daubed his face with chalk and dyes. They had stuffed out his stockings until his calves resembled sticks of knotted wood.

The manager nearly fell over in his chair with repressed laughter. The audience was one vast chuckle.

"Well, sir," spoke up the ringmaster, with difficulty keeping a straight face, "what can you do?"

"I'd like to be a clown," grinned the victim.

"A clown, sir. Good. Let's see you act."

The fellow capered into the ring. One stocking came down, letting out a quart of sawdust. One tight split up to the knee as he made a jig step that brought the tears to the eyes of Billy Blow, who, with his boy, had come to witness the show.

Then the fellow sang a funny song. It was funny. His voice was cracked, his delivery dolorous. He began to shuffle at the end of it.

"Faster, faster, sir!" cried the ringmaster, snapping his whip across the bare limb exposed. "Faster, I tell you!"

"Ouch!" yelled the aspirant.

"Come, sir, faster. I say faster, faster, faster! Purely ring practice, my friend. We do this to all the clowns, you know."

With the pitiless accuracy of a bullwhacker the ringmaster pursued his victim. The whip-lash landed squarely every time, biting like a hornet. The aspirant was now on the run.

"Stop! Don't! Help!" he roared. "I don't want to be a clown!" and with a bellow he ran out of the tent, followed by the hooting candy peddlers.

"Well, who are you?" demanded the ringmaster of two colored boys who stepped forward.

"Double trapeze act, sir," said one of them.

"Oh, here you are. Let's see what you can do."

The ringmaster set free the temporary trapeze rigging.

These aspirants did quite well, singly. When they doubled, however, there was trouble.

The one swinging from the hands of the other lost his grip. He caught out wildly, grabbed at the shirt sleeve of his partner to save himself. This tightened the garment at the neck. Then it gave way, buttons and all. Both tumbled to the ground. They began upbraiding one another, came to blows, and the ringmaster sent them about their business, saying the show could not encourage prize fighters.

The programme continued. There was an ambitious lad who was quite a wonder at turning rapid cartwheels. Another did some creditable pole balancing. One old man wanted to serve as a magician. All had a chance, but their merit was not distinguished enough to warrant their engagement.

Most of the crowd filed out when the last of the amateurs had done his "stunt." Benares then stepped up to the ringmaster and beckoned to Andy.

At his direction Andy threw off his coat and hat, and old Benares led the horse Andy had noticed into the main tent. It was a steady-paced, slow-going steed. The ringmaster got it started around the ring.

"Do your best now, Wildwood," whispered Marco, who with the clown and the manager had followed into the main tent.

Andy was on his mettle. He made a run, took a leap and landed on the platform on the horse's back just as he had done a hundred times back at Fairview.

"Very good," nodded the ringmaster, as Andy rode around the ring, posing, several times.

"Try the spring plank next," suggested the manager.

The single and double somersault were Andy's specialty. The apparatus was superb. He was not quite perfect, but old Benares patted him on the shoulder after several efforts, with the words:

"Fine—vary fine."

Andy did some creditable twisting on the trapeze, the manager and the ringmaster conversing together, meantime.

"Report to me in the morning," said the latter to Andy at last.

Marco followed the manager as he left the tent. He came back with a pleased expression of face.

"It's all right, lad," he reported. "You're in the ring group as a sub. He tried to chisel me down, but I insisted on fair pay, and it's ten dollars a week for you."

Andy was delighted. That amount seemed a small fortune to him. No danger now of not being able to pay back to Graham the borrowed five dollars and his other Fairview debts.

Benares took him in hand after the others had left. He gave him a great many training suggestions. He led him into the regular practicing tent and showed him "the mecanique." This was a device with a wooden arm from which hung an elastic rope. Harnessed in this, a performer could attempt all kinds of contortions without scoring a fall.

Benares also showed Andy how to make effective standing somersaults by "the tuck trick," This was to grasp both legs tightly half-way between the knees and ankles, pressing them close together. At the same time the acrobat was to put the muscles of the shoulders and back in full play. The combined muscular force acted like a balance-weight of a wheel, and enabled that neat, finished somersault which always brought down the house.

"You ought to try the slack wire, too, when you get a chance," advised Benares. "We'll try you on the high trapeze in the triple act, some time. Glad you're in the profession, Wildwood, and we'll all give you a lift when we can."

Andy felt that he had found some of the best friends in the world, and was a full-fledged acrobat at last as he left the circus tent.



CHAPTER XXII

AMONG THE CAGES

"Hi! Hello—stop, stop."

"Oh, it's you, Luke Belding?"

Andy, passing through the circus grounds, turned at an eager hail. The owner of the chicken that walked backwards came running after him. He caught Andy's arm and smiled genially into his face.

"Well," spoke Andy, surveying Luke in a pleased way. "You look prosperous."

In fact Luke did present signs of a betterment over his first forlorn appearance on the circus scene.

He wore a new jacket and a neat collar and necktie. His face had no trouble in it now. He presented the appearance of a person eminently satisfied with the present and full of hope and animation for the future.

"Prosperous?" he declaimed volubly—"I guess I am. Square meals, a sure berth for a week, jolly friends—and, oh, say! you're one of the true ones."

"Am I?" smiled Andy—"I'm glad to hear you say so."

"Billy Blow is another. He got me on at a side show. They give me my keep, ten per cent, on what photographs I sell, and togged me out respectable looking, gratis."

"Good for you," commended Andy heartily. "And what of the famous chicken?"

"In capital trim. Say, that wise little rooster seems to know he's on exhibition. There's some monkeys in our tent. He steals their food, fights them, cuts up all kinds of antics. Boss says he thinks he will be a drawing card. I've got him to turn a somersault now. Come on."

"Come where?"

"I want to show you. See there. Isn't that grand, now?"

Luke led Andy into the tent where the side show was. A big frame covered with cheese cloth took up the entire width of the place. Upon this a man with a brush was liberally spreading several quarts of glaring red and yellow paint.

"Greatest Curiosity In The World—Remarkable Freak of Nature—The Famous Bolivar Trick Rooster, Who Walks Backwards"—so much of the grand announcement to the circus public had been already painted on the sign.

"They're bound to give you a chance, anyhow," observed Andy. "And I must say I am mighty glad of it."

"And see here," continued Luke animatedly. "Come on, old fellow. Easy, now. Ah, he wants a lump of sugar."

Luke had approached a very strongly-built cage.

Its occupant was one of the largest and ugliest-looking monkeys Andy had ever seen.

It bristled and snarled at Andy, but as Luke opened the cage door leaped into his arms, snuggled there, and began petting his face with one paw.

Luke gave the animal a lump of sugar, coaxed it, stroked it. Then he took it over to where an impromptu slack wire was strung between two posts, and set the monkey on this.

The animal went through some evolutions that were so perfect an imitation of first-class human trapeze performance, that Andy was fairly astonished.

"The people here give me great credit on that," announced Luke with happy eyes, as he put the monkey back in his cage. "They were just going to kill him when I came here"

"Kill him—what for?" asked Andy.

"Oh, he was so savage. He bit off an attendant's finger, and maimed two smaller monkeys. He wouldn't do anything but sulk and show his teeth all day long. I got at him. When he first grabbed my hand in his teeth I just let it stay there. Never tried to get it away or fight him. Just looked him in the eyes sort of reproachfully, and began to boo-hoo. Oh, I cried artistic, I did. Say, that monkey just stared at me, dropped my hand and began to bellow at the top of his voice, too. Then he got sorry and licked my hand. A lump of sugar sealed the compact. Why, he's the smartest animal in the show. You see what he did for me. The people here are delighted. It's made me solid with them."

Luke introduced Andy to the "Wild Man," a most peaceable-looking individual out of his acting disguise. His wife was the Fat Woman, who did not act as if she was very much afraid of her supposed savage and untamable husband.

"I want you to do something for me," said Luke, presently. "Will you?"

"I'll try," answered Andy.

"I'd like to go through the menagerie. You see I'm not regular, so, while I have the run of the small tops, they won't pass me in at the big flaps."

Andy walked over with his new acquaintance to the menagerie. The watchman at the door admitted them at a word from Andy.

The trainers, keepers and manager were busy about the place, feeding the animals, cleaning the cages and the like.

Luke's eyes sparkled as if at last he found himself in his element. He petted the camels affectionately, and talked to the elephants in a purring, winning tone that made more than one of them look at him as if pleased at his attention.

The lion cages were Luke's grand centre of interest. He stood watching old Sultan, the king of the menagerie, like one entranced.

Luke began talking to the beast in a musical, coaxing tone. The animal sat grim as a statue. Luke thrust his hand into his pocket. As he withdrew it he rested his fingers on the edge of the cage.

The lion never stirred, but its eyes described a quick, rolling movement.

"Look out!" warned Andy—"he's watching you."

"I want him to," answered Luke coolly.

"But—"

Luke continued his animal lullaby, he kept extending his hand. Straight up towards the lion's face he raised his arm fearlessly, now inside the danger line fully to the elbow.

"Hi! Back! Thunder! He'll eat you alive!" yelled a trainer, discovering the lad's venturesome position.

"S-sh. Good old fellow. Purr-rr. So—so."

Old Sultan bristled. Then his corded sinews relaxed. He lowered his muzzle. Andy stroked it gently. The animal sniffed and snuffed at his hand. He began to lick it.

Just then the trainer ran up. He gave Luke a violent jerk backwards, throwing him prostrate in the sawdust. With a frightful roar Sultan sprang at the bars of the cage, glaring apparently not at Luke, but at the trainer.

"Do you want to lose an arm?" shouted the latter, angrily. "You chump! that animal is a man-eater."

"I'm only a boy, though, you see?" said Luke, arising and brushing the sawdust from his clothes. "He wouldn't hurt me."

"Wouldn't, eh? Why—"

"He didn't, all the same. Did he, now? Say, mister, I'm a side show actor just now, but some day I'll work up to the cages here. Bet you I can make friends with your fiercest member."

"Bah! you keep away from those cages."

"How did you dare to do that?" asked Andy, as the boys came out of the menagerie.

"Why, I'll tell you," explained Luke. "I love animals, and most times they seem to know it. Once a lion tamer summered at our farm on account of poor health. He told me a lot of things about his business. One thing I tried just now. I've got a lot of fine sugar flavored with anise in my pocket. When I tackled Sultan I had my hand covered with it. Any wild animal loves the smell of anise. You saw me try it on their champion, and it worked, didn't it?"

"You are a strange kind of a fellow, Luke," said Andy studying his companion interestedly.

"That so?" smiled Luke. "I don't see why. You fancy tumbling. I'm dead gone on the cages. We both have our especial ambitions—say, I haven't caught your name yet."

"Andy."

"All right, Andy. Going to use your full name on the circus posters, or just Andy?"

"The circus posters are a long way ahead," smiled Andy. "But if I ever get that far I think I'll use my right name—Andy Wildwood."

"Eh? What's that? Andy Wildwood!" exclaimed Luke.

Andy was amazed at a sharp start and shout on the part of his companion.

"Why, what now—" he began.

"Andy Wildwood? Andy—Wildwood?" repeated Luke.

He spoke in a retrospective, subdued tone. He tapped his head as if trying to awaken some sleeping memory.

"Got it now!" he cried suddenly. "Why, sure, of course. Knew the name in a minute."

Luke seized and pulled at a lock of his hair as if it was a sprouting idea.

"You came from Fairville," he resumed.

"Fairview."

"Then you're the same. Yes, you must be the fellow—Andy Wildwood, the heir."



CHAPTER XXIII

FACING THE ENEMY

The young acrobat stared hard at Luke Belding. He wondered if the embryo lion tamer was crazy—or had he not heard him aright?

Instantly Andy's mind ran back to the encounter with Jim Tapp on the streets of Tipton the evening previous.

This made the second time, then, within twenty-four hours that an allusion had been made to the fact that he was "an heir."

Andy knew of no reason why a sudden mystery should come into his life. The coincidence of the double reference to the same thing, however, namely, an alleged heirship, struck him as peculiar.

"Heir," he spoke in a bewildered tone—"me an heir?"

"Yes," said Luke.

"Heir to what?"

"Why—oh, something, I don't know what. But the thing you're heir to is there."

"Where?" persisted Andy.

"I don't know that, either—Fairview, I reckon."

"Nonsense. I've got nothing at Fairview excepting a lot of debts. I wish you'd explain yourself, Luke. There can't be anything to your absurd statement."

"Can't there?" cried Luke excitedly. "Well, you just listen and see—"

"Oh, Wildwood—been looking for you," interrupted some one, just there.

Andy looked up to recognize Marco. The latter nodded to Luke, and proceeded to lead Andy away with him.

"Hold on," demurred Luke.

"You'll have to excuse your friend just now," said Marco. "Very important, Wildwood," he added.

"What is it, Mr. Marco?" inquired Andy.

Marco showed two folded sheets of writing paper in his hand.

"Your contract with the circus," he explained. "There's a bad hitch in this business. Hope to straighten it out, but we'll have to get right at it. Come to Billy Blow's tent. I want to have a private talk with you."

Andy traced a seriousness in Marco's manner that oppressed him. Instantly all his mind was fixed on the matter of the contracts.

"I'll see you a little later, Luke," he said to his young friend.

"All right," nodded Luke. "I've got a good deal to tell you. But it will keep."

When they reached the clown's tent Marco sat down on the bench beside Andy.

"Business, Wildwood," he spoke, briskly tapping the papers in his hand. "I wanted to get you fixed right, and started right in to get a contract from Mr. Scripps."

"Is that it?" asked Andy.

"Yes, and favorable in every way—your end of it, and the circus end is all right. But there's another end. That is it. I reckon you'd better get the gist of the trouble by reading it over."

Marco separated one of the written sheets and passed it to Andy.

"Oh, dear!" cried the latter in dismay the moment his eyes had taken in the general subject matter of the screed before him. "That settles it."

Andy's face ran quickly from consternation to utter gloom.

The document before him was a legally-worded affair awaiting a signature. It stated that "Miss Lavinia Talcott, guardian relative of Andrew Wildwood, minor, hereby agreed to hold the circus management free from any blame, damage or indemnity in case of accident to the said Andrew Wildwood, this day and date a contracted employee of said circus management."

"She'll never sign it!" cried Andy positively. "How did they come to bring her name into this business, anyhow?"

"Hold hard. Don't get excited, Wildwood," advised Marco. "Business is business, even if it is unpleasant sometimes. You've got the facts. Don't grumble at them. Let's see how we can remedy things."

"They can't be remedied," declared Andy forcibly. "Why, Mr. Marco, I wouldn't meet my aunt for a hundred dollars, and I couldn't get her to sign any such a paper if it meant a thousand dollars to me."

Marco stroked his chin thoughtfully and in perplexity.

"Then the jig's up," he announced definitely. "You see, Wildwood, we've had all kinds of trouble—suits, judgments, injunctions—along of fellows getting hurt in the show. One man lost an ear in the knife-throwing act. He recovered two thousand dollars damages. Another sprained an ankle. Had to pay him eight dollars a week for six months. Now they put the clause in the contract holding the circus harmless in such matters. Where it's a minor, they insist further that parent or guardian also sign off all claims."

"But I have neither," said Andy. "Miss Lavinia is only a half-aunt."

"Well, Miss Starr explained just how matters stood to Mr. Scripps. He hasn't got time to quibble over your aunt. Her signature fixes it—otherwise you're left out in the cold."

Andy was never so dispirited in all his life. He sat dumb and wretched, like a person suddenly finding his house collapsed all about him, and himself in the midst of its ruins.

"Look here, Wildwood," said Marco kindly, arising after a reflective pause, "you think this thing over. You're a pretty smart young fellow, and you'll disappoint me a good deal if you don't find some way out of this dilemma."

Andy shook his head doubtfully. He sat dejected and crestfallen for a full hour. Then he left the circus grounds, evading friends and acquaintances purposely. He went away from the town, reached meadows and woods, and finally threw himself down under a great sheltering tree.

Andy thought hard. There was certainly a check to his show career unless he secured the sanction and cooperation of his aunt.

Judging from existing circumstances, Andy utterly despaired of moving his unlovable, stubborn-minded relative towards any action that would favor him. Especially was this true after he had defied her authority and run away from home.

"If Mr. Harding's circus won't take me without this restriction, why should any other show?" mused Andy. "Oh, dear! Just as things looked so bright and hopeful, to have this happen—"

The boy gulped, trying hard to keep back the tears of vexation and disappointment. Then he became indignant. He got actually mad as he decided that he was a victim of rank injustice.

He arose under the spur of violent varied emotions, pacing the spot excitedly, wrestling with the problem that threatened to destroy all his fond youthful ambitions.

Gradually his mind cleared. Gradually, too, a better balance came to his thoughts. He went logically and seriously over the situation.

Daylight was just going as Andy arrived at a heroic decision.

"There's only one way," he said slowly and firmly. "It looks hopeless, but I'm going to try. Yes, make or break, I'm going to face Aunt Lavinia boldly."

Andy Wildwood started in the direction of Tipton.



CHAPTER XXIV

ANDY'S AUNT

Andy went straight to an old dwelling house in a retired part of the town.

He had been there twice before when younger, and remembered that an old couple named Norman lived there.

The Normans were distant relatives of his Aunt Lavinia. She had other acquaintances in Tipton, but, Andy recalled, usually made the Norman home her headquarters, paying them some small sum for board and lodging whenever she visited them.

The old ramshackly house stood far back from the street. Its front fence was broken down, and Andy crossed the lot from the side.

There was no light downstairs except in the kitchen at the rear. An upstairs middle room, however, seemed occupied, for chinks of light came through the half-closed outside shutters.

The slats of these were turned upwards, to catch light in the daytime and shut out a view from street and garden.

Just beneath this window was a door and steps. The latter had nearly rotted away, and the door was nailed up and out of use. A framework formed of hoop poles rose up from the steps. Once green vines had enclosed these. At present, however, only a few dead strands clung to the original framework.

The half-open top of this framework was not three feet under the window sill of the lighted room. Across it lay some fishing poles and nets, also some old garden tools, it apparently being used as a catch-all for useless truck about the place for a long time past.

"I'll assume that aunt is in that room," thought Andy, halting near the hoop-pole framework and looking up at the window. "She always has the middle room here. Yes, she is there, and a man with her. Maybe I'd better skirmish around a little, instead of running the risk of being nabbed before I can have an explanation. I want a little private talk with aunt, alone, if I can get it."

Andy bent his ear. He caught no words, only the sound of human voices. His aunt's high, strained tones were unmistakable.

He seized one of the supporting poles of the framework. It rattled and quivered, yet he believed it would hold him if he proceeded carefully. It was no trick at all for Andy to make a quiet and rapid ascent. He perched across the top of the framework and raised his head.

Andy saw his aunt closing up a packed satchel on a chair. She had her bonnet on, as if just going out.

At the hallway door was a man taking his leave.

He was excessively polite, hat in hand, and making a most respectful bow.

"Well!" commented Andy, fairly aghast.

Andy recognized the man instantly. He was the individual he had seen in the hay barn. He was Daley's companion, the man who had "doctored" the Benares Brothers' trapeze in the circus at Centreville.

In a flash Andy fancied he understood the situation, the motive of this fellow's presence here and now.

"Jim Tapp found out my aunt," theorized Andy rapidly. "He, this fellow, and the mail thieves are all in a crowd. Murdock here has probably come to tell my aunt that he knows where I am. She may have made a bargain to pay him well if he will kidnap me, or in any way get me back to Fairview. It's a fine fix to be in!" concluded Andy bitterly.

He was for getting back to the ground, going to the circus, turning in the contract, giving up all hopes of show life, and getting to a safe distance before his enemies could capture him.

"No, I won't!" resolved Andy a second later, acting on a new impulse. "At least, not right away. I'll turn one trick on my enemies, first. The circus detectives want this scoundrel, Murdock, bad. I'll get down, follow him, and have him arrested the first policeman we meet."

Andy, bent on a descent, paused. Murdock was speaking.

"Are you going back home to Fairview to-night, Miss Talcott?" he asked.

"Yes," snapped Andy's aunt in her usual quick; sharp way.

"Then I will call on you at Fairview."

"If you want to," was the ungracious answer.

"No, no," softly declared the oily rogue—"if you want me to, madam. This is your business, Miss Talcott."

"Oh," observed Andy's aunt snappily, "you're working for nothing, I suppose?"

"I'm not," frankly answered Murdock. "I'm working for a fee. What I get, though, is so small compared with what you may get—"

"Very well," interrupted Miss Lavinia, "when you have this matter in a clear, definite shape, I shall be ready to listen to you."

"Good evening, then, madam."

"Evening," retorted Andy's aunt with a curt nod, going on with her packing.

Andy rested his hand against the house to get a purchase and leap to the ground.

"Pshaw!" he exclaimed abruptly.

One of the hoop poles bent nearly in two, throwing him off his balance.

Andy caught at the window sill, and his body slipped to one side. He tried to drop, found himself impeded, and held himself steady, looking down.

His rustling about had made something of a racket. As he was seeking to determine what had caught and held the side of his coat, one of the wooden shutters was thrust violently open.

Its edge struck his head. He dodged aside. Then he sat staring, the full light from within the room showing him to its occupant as plain as day.

"Um!" commented Miss Lavinia, simply. "Some one was there. And you, Andy Wildwood!"

Andy was taken aback. His aunt was not particularly startled. She rather looked stern and suspicious. She did not grab him, or call for help, or seem to care whether he came in or stayed out.

"Yes, it's me, Aunt," said Andy, a good deal crestfallen and embarrassed. "You see, I wanted to see you—"

"Then why didn't you come like a civilized being! The house has doors. Tell me, do you intend to come in?"

"If you please, aunt."

"You may do so."

"Thank you," fluttered Andy.

He now discovered that his coat had caught in half-a-dozen fish hooks attached to an eel line all tangled up in the framework. It took him fully two minutes to get free. Andy climbed over the window sill and stood fumbling his cap. His old awe of his dictatorial relative was as strong as ever within him.

"Can't you sit down?" she demanded, sinking to a chair herself and facing him steadily. "How long have you been outside there?"

"Only a few minutes," answered Andy.

"Did you see anybody in this room beside myself?"

"Yes, ma'am—a man."

"And eavesdropping, I suppose?" insinuated Miss Lavinia.

"I heard him say 'good night,'"

"Um!" commented Miss Lavinia. That closed the subject for the present. She had always known Andy to be a truthful boy, and his reply seemed to satisfy her and relieve her mind.

Andy wondered what he had better say first. The fixed, set stare of his stern, uncompromising relative made him nervous.

"See here, aunt," he blurted out at last, "I've never seemed to do anything right I did for you, and you don't care a snap for me. I don't see why you keep hounding me down and wanting me back home."

"I don't."

"Eh?" ejaculated Andy.

"No, I don't," declared Miss Lavinia.

"You don't want me back at Fairview?"

"I said so, didn't I?" snapped Miss Lavinia.

"Then—then—"

"See here, Andy Wildwood," interrupted his aunt in a tone of severity, "you have been a disobedient, ungrateful boy. You deserve to be locked up. I've tried to have you. I am so satisfied, however, on reflection, that you will have a bad ending anyhow, that I have decided to wash my hands of you."

"Glory!" uttered Andy to himself, in a vast thrill of delight.

"Have you joined the circus?" continued Miss Lavinia.

"They won't have me—"

"Why not?"

"Without your sanction. They want you to sign away any claims as to damages, if I get hurt. I knew you wouldn't do that."

"You are mistaken, Andy Wildwood—I will do it."

"It's too easy to be true!" breathed Andy, in wild amazement. "You—you will sign such a paper?" he stammered.

"Didn't I say so? Let me understand. You wish to cut loose from home and friends for good, do you? You don't want to ever return to Fairview?"

"Not till I'm rich and famous," answered Andy.

"H'm! Very well. What have I got to sign?"

"That's it," said Andy, with eager hand drawing a written sheet from his pocket.

Miss Lavinia opened the document, read it through, went to the table, took a fountain pen from her reticule, signed the paper, returned it to Andy.

"I'm dreaming! it's a plot of some kind!" murmured Andy, lost in wonderment.

Miss Lavinia took out her pocket-book.

"Andy Wildwood," she said, her harsh features as mask-like as ever, "here are ten dollars. It is the last cent I will ever give you. When you leave here you sever all ties between us. I have only one stipulation to make. You will not disgrace me by having anything to do with anybody in Fairview."

"That's all right," said Andy. "I'll agree, except that I've got to write to Mr. Graham on business."

"What business?"

Andy explained in full. If he had been more versed in the wiles of the world, less astonished at his aunt's strange compliance with his dearest wishes, he would have noticed a keen suspiciousness in the glance with which she continually regarded him.

"I must insist that you do not write even to Graham," she remarked. "About what you owe—I will pay that. Yes, I'll start you out clear. You won't write to Graham?"

"No," said Andy slowly—"if you insist on it."

"I will settle the five dollars you owe Graham," promised Miss Lavinia, "I will pay the bill of damages at the school and to Farmer Dale, and send you the receipts. Does that suit you?"

"Why—yes," answered Andy in a bewildered tone.

"You take that pen and a sheet of paper. Write an order on Graham to deliver to me those old family mementos you pawned to him. Also, give me your address for a few weeks ahead."

Andy did this.

"And now, good night and good-bye," spoke his aunt. "I hope you'll some day see the error of your ways, Andy Wildwood."

Miss Lavinia did not offer to shake hands with Andy. She nodded towards the door to dismiss him, as she would have done to a perfect stranger.

"Good-bye, Aunt Lavinia," said Andy. "You're thinking a little hard of me. But you've done a big thing in signing that paper, and I'll never do anything to make you ashamed of me. Ginger! am I afoot or horseback? Permission to join the show! Ten dollars! Oh my head is just whirling!"

These last sentences Andy tittered in a vivid gasp as he went down the stairs and once more reached the outer air.

He hurried from the vicinity, fearful that his aunt might change her mind and call him back.

"I don't understand it," he mused. "I can't figure it out. That paper fixes it so she can't stop me joining the show, nor force me back to Fairview. Then what is she having dealings with Murdock for?"

Andy could not solve this puzzle, and did not try to do so any further.

Within an hour the two precious documents were "signed, sealed and delivered," and Andy Wildwood entered on his career as a salaried circus acrobat.



CHAPTER XXV

A BEAR ON THE RAMPAGE

"Hoop-la!"

All a-spangle, to the blare of quick music, the great tent ablaze with light, the rows of benches crush-crowded with excited humanity, Andy Wildwood left the spring-board. For a second he whirled in midair. Then, gracefully landing on the padded carpet, he made his bow amid pleased plaudits and rejoined the row of fellow tumblers.

"You've caught the knack," spoke the ringmaster encouragingly. "Be careful on the double somersault, though."

"It's just as easy to me," asserted Andy.

He proved his words when his turn came again. He was breathless but all aglow, as he and his seven fellow acrobats bowed in a row and retired to the performers' tent.

Andy was delighted with himself, his comrades, his environment—everything. In fact, a constant glamour of excitement and enjoyment had come into his life.

This was the second day after his strange interview with his aunt. It was the last evening performance of the show at Tipton.

Andy had been away from the circus for two days. The morning after handing in the contracts, the manager had selected him to accompany the chief hostler and four of his assistants on a trip into the country.

The show was to make a long jump after closing the engagement at Tipton. While Mr. Harding joined a second enterprise he owned in the West, the present outfit was to take up a route in the South.

Many of those connected with the show were to leave. This cut the working force down. They had too many horses, and with a string of fifty of these the chief hostler started out to sell off the same.

The expedition continued a day and a half. When Andy came back, he found himself in time for two rehearsals. That evening he made his first appearance in public as a real professional.

Outside of the charm of being seen, appreciated and applauded by others, Andy loved the vigorous exercise of the spring-board. The mechanical athletic and acrobatic equipments of the show were superb. He made up his mind he could about live among the balancing bars and trapezes, if they would let him.

One disappointment Andy met with that somewhat troubled him. When he came back from the horse-selling expedition, he found that Luke Belding had left the show.

Billy Blow told Andy that Luke had been to his tent a dozen times to see him. That morning early, before Andy's return, the side show Luke was with had packed up and shipped by train to join a show going east.

"So I'll never find out what I'm heir to," smiled Andy. "Oh, well, of course it was some absurd guess of Luke's. It's funny, though. That fellow, Jim Tapp, had the same delusion. By the way, Aunt Lavinia seems to have been in earnest. Nobody appears to be looking for me to go back to Fairview. I am free to do as I choose. Now, then, to make a record."

Sunday was passed at Tipton. Of the better class in the show, nearly all the lady performers and some of the men went to church, and Andy went also. In the afternoon Billy Blow went the rounds of some friends, and took Andy with him.

It revealed a new phase of circus life, the domestic side, to Andy. There was no "shop talk." The boy passed a pleasant hour among several very charming family circles.

Next day everybody pitched into genuine hard work. The circus train had been sent for, and occupied a long railroad siding.

Andy was amazed at the system and order of the proposed transit. The train was on a big scale. The manager had a car to himself. The star performers were cared for in luxurious parlor coaches. Even the minor employees were well-housed, and feeding arrangements for man and beast were perfect.

In order to reach their destination, which was Montgomery, a central southern city, the train made many shifts from one railway line to another. This took time, and necessitated many unpleasant stoppages and waits.

It was the second day of the trip when they were side-tracked at a little way station. Here it was given out they would remain from noon until midnight, awaiting a fruit express which would pick them up and deliver them at terminus.

Billy Blow, his Boy Midget, and Andy had a compartment in a tourists' car. When the long stop was announced, Andy was glad to get a chance to stretch his limbs.

He interested himself for more than an hour watching the menagerie men attend to the animals. They were fed and watered, their quarters neatly renovated, while a veterinarian went from cage to cage examining them professionally and treating those that were sick or ailing.

Big Bob, the star bear of the show, had in some way run a great sliver into one paw. This had festered the flesh, and bruin, bound with stout ropes, had been brought out of his cage on a wheeled litter, and laid on the grass for careful treatment.

Andy watched the skilful doctoring of the big, bellowing fellow with curiosity. Then he strolled off into a stretch of timber to enjoy a brief walk.

He reached a deliciously cool and shady nook, and threw himself down at the mossy trunk of a tree to rest in the midst of fresh air, peaceful solitude and merrily singing birds.

Andy was lost in a soothing day dream when a great rustle made him sit up, startled.

A dark object passed close by him in and out among the bushes. It was of great size, and was making its way fast and furiously.

"I declare!" cried Andy, springing to his feet, "if it isn't the bear. Now how in the world did he get loose?"

Andy stood for a moment staring in wonder after the disappearing animal. It was certainly Big Bob. The animal was fully familiar to Andy. The beast wobbled to one side as it ran, and this the boy discerned was due to the sore paw. He was a fugitive, and his escape had been discovered. Andy could surmise this from shouts and calls in the distance, back in the direction of the circus train.

Big Bob had a bad reputation with the menagerie men. At times placid and even good-natured, on other occasions he was capricious, savage and dangerous. Even his trainer had narrowly escaped a death blow from one of the animal's enormous paws when the brute was in one of its tantrums.

The bear was lumbering along as if bent on getting a good start against pursuit. He chose a sheltered route as if instinctively cunning. Andy, acting on a quick impulse, started after the bear.

The route led up a hill. Big Bob scaled a moderately steep incline and disappeared over its crest.

Andy, reaching this, glanced backwards. From that height he could look well over the country.

The belated train was in sight. From it, armed with pikes and ropes, a dozen or more menagerie men were running.

The alarm had spread to the settlement of houses near by. Andy saw several men armed with shotguns and rifles scouring adjacent wood stretches.

"I won't dare to tackle the bear, but I'll try and run him down till he gets tired," thought Andy.

He remembered many a discussion of the menagerie men over the real danger and loss involved in the escape of an animal. The fugitive rarely did much damage except to hen roosts, beyond scaring human beings. The trouble was that armed farmers, pursuing, thought it great sport to bring down the fugitive with a shot. Big Bob was worth a good deal of money to the show. The principal aim of the menagerie men, therefore, was to prevent the slaughter of an escaped animal.

Down the hill bruin ran and Andy after him. Then there was a country road and Big Bob put down this. Andy could easily outrun the fugitive, but this was not his policy for the present. The disabled foot of the animal diminished his normal speed. Andy believed that bruin would soon find and harbor himself in some cozy nook.

At a turn in the road Andy noticed that there was a house a few hundred feet ahead. Beyond this several other dwellings were scattered about the landscape.

"I don't like that," mused Andy. "It may mean trouble. I'd rather see the old scamp take to the open country. Wonder if I can head him off?"

Andy leaped a field fence. He doubled his pace, got even with Big Bob, then ahead of him. He snatched up a pitchfork lying across a heap of hay, and bolted over the fence to the road again.

Extending the implement, he stood ready to challenge the approaching fugitive, and, if possible, turn bruin's course.

Big Bob did not appear to notice Andy until about fifty feet distant from him. Then the animal lifted his shaggy head. His eyes glared, his collar bristled.

With a deep, menacing roar the bear increased his speed. He headed defiantly for the pronged barrier which Andy extended. Big Bob ran squarely upon the pitchfork. Its prongs grazed the animal's breast.

Andy experienced a shock. He was forced back, thrown flat, and the next minute picked himself up from the shallow ditch at the side of the road into which he had fallen.

"Well," commented Andy, staring down the road, "he's a good one!"

Big Bob had never stopped. He was putting ahead for dear life. Andy watched him near the farm house.

The animal turned in at a road gateway. He ran rapidly up to an open window at the side of the house.

Its sill held something, Andy could not precisely make out what at the distance he was from the spot. He fancied, however, that it was dishes holding pies or some other food, put out to cool.

Big Bob arose erect on his hind legs, his fore feet rested on the window sill. His great muzzle dipped into whatever it held.

At that moment from inside the farmhouse there rang out the most curdling yell Andy Wildwood had ever heard.



CHAPTER XXVI

A CLEVER RUSE

The boy acrobat scrambled up from the roadside ditch, seized the pitchfork, and dashed along in the direction Big Bob had taken.

A glance showed the audacious animal still at the window of the farmhouse, though now under it.

Bruin had swept the contents of the window sill to the ground with one movement of his great paw. He was now discussing the merits of the dishes he had dislodged with a crash.

Andy ran around to the other side of the house. From within occasional hysterical shrieks issued. They were mingled with distracted sobs. At another open window Andy halted.

He could look into a middle apartment crossing the entire house. Crouching in a corner was a young woman. Her eyes were fixed in terror on the window at which the bear had appeared.

In her arms was a child, crying in affright. An older woman stood at a telephone, twisting its call bell handle frantically.

"Don't be afraid," said Andy. "It's a harmless old bear escaped from the circus down at the tracks."

The two women regarded him mutely, too scared to believe him. Andy heard the telephone bell ring.

"Quick! quick!" cried the woman at the instrument. "Send help. A big bear! We'll be devoured alive!"

"No you won't," declared Andy in a shout, making around the house.

He hardly knew what to do next, but he kept his eyes open. He hoped for some discovery among the truck littering the yard that would suggest a way of getting Big Bob again on the run.

"Capital—the very thing," cried Andy suddenly.

He dropped the pitchfork and whipped out his pocket knife. In two seconds he had severed a forty-foot stretch of clothes line running from a hook on the house to a post.

Then Andy ran to the kitchen door. Hanging at its side was a big piece of raw beef.

It was evidently from an animal recently slaughtered, for it was still moist and dripping. Andy tightly secured one end of the clothes line about it. He ran to the side of the house.

Big Bob was just finishing a repast on some apple pie. Andy gave the meat a fling. It struck the bear in the face. Big Bob raised his head. He sniffed and licked his lips. He made an eager, hungry spring for the meat, which had rebounded several feet.

"Come on," said Andy, sure now that his bait was a good one, and that his experiment would succeed. "I've got you, I guess."

Andy started on a run, paying out the rope. Just as Big Bob was about to pounce upon the toothsome spoil, Andy gave it a jerk.

He gauged his rate of progress on a close estimate. Along the trail sped bruin. Andy put across the fields.

He heard a bell ring out. Glancing back at the farmhouse, he saw a human arm reaching through an open window. It pulled at a rope leading to a big alarm bell hanging from the eaves. Looking beyond the farmhouse he also saw three or four men in a distant field, summoned by the bell, now rushing in its direction.

"I'll get Big Bob beyond the danger line, anyhow," decided Andy. "No, you don't!"

The fugitive had pounced fairly on the dragging beef. Andy gave it a whirling jerk. Bruin uttered a baffled growl.

"Come on," laughed Andy. "This is jolly fun—if it doesn't end in a tragedy."

Andy ran under the bottom rail of a fence. He made time and distance, for the bear did not squeeze through so readily. Andy put through a brushy reach beyond. Big Bob began to lag. He limped and panted.

"If I can only tucker him out," thought Andy.

He kept up the race for fully half-an-hour. As he reached the edge of a boggy stretch, Andy saw, directly beyond, the top of a house poking up among a grove of fir trees.

Andy's eyes were everywhere as he neared the building. Its lower part was so tightly shuttered and closed up that he decided at once it was an empty house.

Getting nearer, however, he discovered that the door at the bottom of the stone cellar steps was open. Andy glanced back of him. Big Bob, with lolling tongue, was lumbering steadily on his track, perhaps twenty feet to the rear.

"I'll try it," determined Andy.

He ran down the steps, halted in the dark cellar, pulled in the meat and flung it ahead of him. Then stepping to one side he prepared to act promptly when the right moment arrived.

Big Bob came to the steps, cleared them in a spring and ran past Andy. The latter dodged outside in a flash. He banged the door shut, shot its bolt, sank to the steps and swept his hand over his dripping brow.

"Whew!" panted Andy. "But I've made it."

Andy felt that he had done a pretty clever thing. He had gotten the fugitive safely caged behind a stout locked door. The cellar had several windows, but they were high up, and too small for Big Bob to ever squeeze through.

"I don't believe there is anybody at home," said Andy, getting up to investigate. "I'm going to find out. Gracious! I have—there is."

Andy was terribly startled, almost appalled. At just that moment a frightful yell rang out. It proceeded from the cellar into which he had locked the bear.

A sharp crash followed. Andy, staring spellbound, saw one of the side windows of the cellar dashed out.

Through the aperture, immediately following, there clambered a man.

He was hatless, a big red streak crossed his cheek, his coat was in ribbons down the back.

White as a sheet, chattering and trembling, he scrambled to his feet, gave one affrighted glance back of him, and shot for the road like a meteor.

Bang! bang! bang!

"Oh, dear!" cried the distressed Andy. "What's up now?"



CHAPTER XXVII

A ROYAL REWARD

Bang! bang!

Five sharp reports rang out from the cellar. Then came a roar from Big Bob. Then a second frantic man appeared at the smashed window.

One sleeve was in ribbons. He carried a smoking pistol. Without ado, like his predecessor he ran for the road. Glancing thither, Andy saw the two running down it, one after the other, like mad.

Andy hardly knew what to make of it all. The two men did not look like farmers. He went around the house, and hammered at the front door. No response. Every window on the lower floor was tightly shuttered.

Finally he came back to the smashed window. At first he could see nothing much beyond it. Then, his eyes becoming accustomed to the darkness, he was able to make out the cellar interior quite clearly.

His anxiety as to Big Bob was immediately relieved. If five bullets had been fired at the bear, they had made no more impression than peas from a putty blower. The serene old animal was leisurely devouring the juicy bait that had lured him to his present prison.

"He's safe for a time, anyhow," decided Andy. "I can't quite make out the situation here. It looks to me as if those two men don't exactly fit to the premises. They are certainly not farmers, nor tramps. Maybe they had sneaked in the cellar for a nap, or to steal, leaving the door open, and Big Bob tackled them."

Andy made further unsuccessful efforts to arouse the house. He was sure now that there was nobody at home. He sat down on its front steps to think.

Finally he noticed that a wire ran from the barb wire fence in front into the house.

"They've got a telephone here, as they have at most of these farmhouses," he decided. "That ought to help me out. If I could only get to the inside."

Andy took another rambling tour about the house. Finally he discovered a window an inch or two down from the top in the second story.

His natural aptitude for climbing helped him out. With the aid of a lightning rod he soon reached the window, lowered it further, stepped into a bedroom, and descended a pair of stairs. Looking around the little front hall, he made out a telephone instrument on the outside wall.

Andy promptly turned the handle of the call bell. He placed the receiver to his ear.

"Hello," came the instantaneous response "this is Central."

"Central—where?" asked Andy.

"Brownville."

"Are you anywhere near the way station where the circus train is sidetracked?" inquired Andy.

"Certainly. We're the station town."

"Can you reach any of the circus folks?"

"Reach them?" responded the distant telephone operator animatedly. "The woods are full of them. They say the whole menagerie has escaped, and they're hunting for the animals everywhere. What do you want?"

"I want to talk with some one connected with the show—and—quick."

"All right I've just got to call to the street. Wait a minute."

Soon a new voice came over the telephone: "Hello."

"Who is that?" asked Andy promptly.

"Brophy."

"Oh, the chief hostler? Say, Mr. Brophy, this is Andy Wildwood."

"The acrobat?—where are you?"

"Tumbler, yes. Listen: I've found and caged Big Bob."

"What's that?—Say, where?"

Even over the wire Andy could discern that the man at the other end of the line was manifestly stirred up.

"Let me tell you," spoke Andy. "I've got the animal shut up in a cellar. For how long or how safe, I can't tell. You had better tell the trainer, and get some people here with the things to secure the bear."

"I'll do it," called back Brophy. "Try and keep those crazy farmers from finding him. There's a hundred of them out gunning."

"All right. Listen."

Andy described his present location. He wound up by saying he would stay within call—- telephone 26—until the capturing crew put in an appearance.

Andy sat down in an easy chair in the hall a good deal satisfied with himself. However, he felt a trifle squeamish at the thought of the tenant of the premises returning and finding him there.

A growling grunt came to his ears. Andy, tracing it, came to an open doorway leading down under the front stairs to the cellar.

This he closed and locked, although he saw that the stairs were too crooked and narrow to admit of Big Bob ascending to the upper portion of the house.

Andy simply rested. There was no further call on the telephone. Finally he arose abruptly to his feet.

The sound of wagon wheels came from the front of the house. A minute later footsteps echoed on the steps. A key grated in the front door lock. The door swung open.

"Hi—Hello! Who are you?" sang out a brusque, challenging voice.

The minute the newcomer entered the hall his eyes fell on Andy. They became filled with dark suspicion. He was a powerfully-built, intellectual-looking man. Andy believed he was the proprietor of the premises, although he did not resemble a farmer.

This man kicked the door shut behind him. He made a pounce on Andy and grabbed his arm.

"Let me explain "—began Andy.

"How did you get in here?" retorted the man, his brow darkening.

"By an open window—I was waiting—"

"Let's have a closer look at you," interrupted the newcomer.

Dragging Andy with him, the speaker threw open the parlor door. That room was lighter, but as he crossed its threshold he uttered a wild shout.

He stood spellbound, staring about the apartment. Andy stared, too.

The room was in dire disorder. A cabinet had all its drawers out. The floor was littered with their former contents.

A stout tin box was overturned, its fastenings were all wrenched apart.

"Robbed!" gasped the man. "Ha, I see—you are a burglar," he continued, turning fiercely on the astonished youth.

"Not me," dissented Andy vigorously.

"Yes, you are. All my coins and curios gone! Why, you young thief—"

"Hold on," interrupted Andy, resisting the savage jerk of his captor. "Don't you abuse me till you know who I am. Yes, your place has been burglarized—I see that, now."

"Oh, do you?" sneered the man. "Thanks."

"Yes, sir. I saw two men come out of the cellar here an hour ago. I didn't understand then, but I do now."

"From the cellar? Well, we'll investigate the cellar."

"Better not," advised Andy. "At least, not just yet."

"Well, you're a cool one! Why not?"

"Because there's a bear down there."

"A what?" cried the man, incredulously.

"A bear escaped from the circus. Say, I just thought of it. Have the burglars taken much?"

"Oh, you're innocent aren't you?" flared out the man.

"I certainly am," answered Andy calmly.

"Did they take much? My hobby is rare coins. With the missing curios, I guess they've got about two thousand dollars' worth."

"Would the stuff make quite a bundle?" asked Andy.

"With the curios—I guess! Five pound candlesticks. Two large silver servers. The coins were set on metal squares, and would make bulk and weight."

"I have an idea—" began Andy. "No, let me explain first. Please listen, sir. You will think differently about me when I tell you my story."

"Go ahead," growled his captor.

Andy recited his chase of the bear and its denouement. Then he added:

"If those two men were the burglars, they got in by way of the cellar. They came out through the cellar window. I theorize they came down into the cellar with their plunder. They disturbed the bear, and Big Bob went for them. When I saw them they were empty-handed. I'll bet they dropped their booty in their wild rush for escape."

"Eh? I hope so. Let's find out."

The man appeared to believe Andy. He released his hold on him. Just as they came out on the front porch Andy spoke up:

"There are the circus people. They'll soon fix Mr. Bear."

A boxed wagon had driven from the road into the yard. It held six men. The chief animal trainer jumped down from the vehicle, followed by the head hostler. Four subordinates followed, carrying ropes, muzzles, pikes, and one of them a stick having on its end a big round cork filled with fine needles.

"I'm glad you've come," said Andy, running forward to meet them. "Big Bob is in there," he explained to the trainer, pointing to the cellar.

"You're a good one, Wildwood," commended the trainer in an approving tone. "How did you ever work it?"

Andy explained, while the trainer selected a muzzle for the bear and armed himself with the needle-pointed device. Then he went to the cellar door.

"Shut it quick after me," he said. "Come when I call."

Andy ran around to the broken window as soon as the trainer was inside the cellar.

He watched the man approach Big Bob. The bear snarled, made a stand, and showed his teeth.

One punch of the needle-pointed device across his nostrils sent him bellowing. A second on one ear brought him to the floor. The trainer pounced on him and adjusted the muzzle over his head. Then he deftly whipped some hobbles on his front paws.

He yelled to his assistants. They hurried into the cellar and soon emerged, dragging Big Bob after them.

The owner of the place had stood by watching these proceedings silently. While the others dragged the bear to the boxed wagon the trainer approached him.

"If there's any bill for damages, just name it," he spoke.

"I'll tell you that mighty soon," answered the man.

He dashed into the cellar and Andy heard him utter a glad shout. He came out carrying two old satchels. Throwing them on the ground he opened them.

They were filled with coins and curios. The man ran these over eagerly. He looked up with a face supremely satisfied.

"Not a cent," he cried heartily. "No, no—no damages. Glad to have served you."

"All right. Come on, Wildwood," said the trainer, starting for the wagon.

"One minute," interrupted the owner of the place, beckoning to Andy.

He drew out his wallet, fingered over some bank bills, selected one, and grasped Andy's hand warmly.

"You have done me a vast service," he declared. "But for you—"

"And the bear," suggested Andy, with a smile.

"All right," nodded the man, "only, the bear can't spend money. You can. I misjudged you. Let me make it right. Take that."

He released his grasp of Andy's hand momentarily, to slap into his palm a banknote.

"Now, look here—" began Andy, modestly.

"No, you look there!" cried the man, pushing Andy towards the wagon. "Good bye and good luck."

Andy ran and jumped to the top of the wagon, which had just started up.

Settling himself comfortably, he took a look at the banknote. His eyes started, and a flush of surprise crossed his face.

It was a fifty dollar bill.



CHAPTER XXVIII

"HEY, RUBE!"

"From bad to worse," said the Man With the Iron Jaw.

"Correct, Marco," assented Billy Blow dejectedly.

It was three weeks after the start of the southern tour of the circus.

Marco, the clown, Midget, Miss Stella Starr, Andy and about a dozen others were seated or strolling around the performers' tent about the middle of the afternoon.

Every face in the crowd looked anxious—some disheartened and desperate.

Bad luck attended the southern trip of the show. They had reached Montgomery in the midst of a terrific rain storm. Two animal cars had been derailed and wrecked on the route.

Three days later a wind storm nearly tore the main top to tatters. Some of the performers fell sick, due to the change of climate. Others foresaw trouble, and joined other shows in the north.

The season started out badly and kept it up. The attendance as they left the big cities was disastrously light.

They had to cut out one or two towns here and there, on account of bad roads and accidents. Now the show had reached Lacon, and after more trouble found itself stalled.

To be "stalled," Andy had learned was to be very nearly stranded. No salaries had been paid for a full fortnight. Some of the performers had gotten out executions against the show.

Aside from this, on account of the absence of many attractions advertised in the show bills, disappointed audiences were showing an ugly spirit.

The show was tied up by local creditors, who would not allow it to leave town until their bills were paid.

To make matters worse, Sim Dewey, the treasurer of the show, had run away with eleven thousand dollars two days before.

This comprised the active capital of the show. Not a trace of the whereabouts of the mean thief had been discovered.

All these facts were known to the performers, and over the same they were brooding that dismal rainy afternoon, awaiting the coming of the manager.

"Here he is," spoke an eager voice, and Mr. Scripps bustled into the tent.

He rubbed his hands briskly and smiled at everybody, but Andy saw that this was all put on. Lines of care and anxiety showed about the plucky manager's eyes and lips.

"Well, my friends," he spoke at once. "We've arrived at a decision."

"Good," commented Marco. "Let's have it."

"I have had a talk with the lawyers who hold the executions against the show, I have suggested four nights and two matinees at half-price, papering four counties liberally. We'll announce only the attractions we really have, so there can be no kicking. What is taken in the treasurer is to hand over to the sheriff. He is to pay fifty per cent on claims against us. The balance, minus expenses, is to go for salaries. I should say that we can pay each performer a full half salary. There's the situation, friends. What do you say?"

"Satisfactory," nodded Marco.

"Billy Blow?"

"I've got pretty heavy expenses, with a wife in the hospital," said the clown in a subdued tone, "but I'll try and make half salary do."

"Miss Starr?"

The kind-hearted equestrienne smiled brightly.

"Take care of the others first, Mr. Scripps," she said. "While I have these, we won't exactly starve."

Miss Stella Starr shook the glittering diamond pendants in her pretty pink ears.

"Thank you," bowed the manager, choking up a trifle. "Andy Wildwood?"

"I'm a mere speck in the show," said Andy, "but I'll stick if there isn't a cent of salary. It's the last ditch for my good, true friends, Mr. Scripps."

The manager turned aside to hide his emotion.

"Friends," he resumed an instant later, "you break me all up with this kind of talk. You're a royal, good lot. I've wired Mr. Harding that he must help us out. Stick to your posts, and no one shall lose a dollar."

There was not a dissent to his proposition as he completed calling the list of performers. Andy's action shamed some into coming into the arrangements. The manager's words encouraged others. While some few answered grudgingly, the compact was made unanimous.

"There's a crowd of hard roughs trying to make trouble," concluded Mr. Scripps. "Leave that to the tent men. Give the best show you know how, try and please the crowds, and I guess we'll win out."

Every act went excellently at the evening performance up to about the middle of the programme.

Andy did his level best. He won an encore by a trick somersault old Benares had taught him.

Billy Blow was at his funniest. He had the audience in fine, good humor. Little Midget over-exerted himself to follow in his father's lead.

Marco was a pronounced success. Miss Stella Starr made one of her horses dance a graceful round to the tune of "Dixie," and the audience went wild.

Andy, in street dress, came into the canvas passageway near the orchestra as the trick elephants were led into the ring. The manager nodded to him. Andy saw that he was pleased the way things were going.

For all that, he observed that Mr. Scripps kept his eye pretty closely on a rough crowd occupying seats near the entrance.

They seemed to be of a general group. They talked loudly and passed all kinds of comments on the various acts.

Finally one of their number shied a carrot into the ring, striking the elephant trainer.

The latter caught his cue instantly at a word from the ringmaster. He picked up the vegetable, made a profound bow to the sender, juggled it cleverly with his training wand, one-two-three, and turned the tables completely as the smart baby elephant caught it on the fly.

Cat calls rang out derisively from a lot of boys, directed at the group of rowdies from the midst of whom the carrot had been thrown.

Then a man arose unsteadily from that mob and stumbled over the ring ropes.

The ringmaster, his face very stern and very white, stepped forward to intercept him.

"What do you want?" he demanded.

"Man insulted me. Going to lick him," hiccoughed the rowdy, his eyes fixed on the elephant trainer.

"Leave the ring," ordered the ringmaster.

"Me? Guess not! Will I, boys?" he demanded of his special crowd of cronies.

"No, no! Go on! Have it out!"

A good many timid ones arose from their seats. The ringmaster scented trouble.

Stepping squarely up to the drunken loafer, his hand shot out in a flash and caught the fellow squarely under the jaw. He knocked him five feet across the ropes, where he landed like a clod of earth in a heap.

Instantly there was an uproar. The orchestra stopped playing. The manager ran forward and put up his hand.

"We will have order here at any cost," he shouted. "Officer," to the guard at the entrance, "call the police."

With wild yells some fifty of the group from which the drunken rowdy had come sprang from the benches. They jumped over the ropes, crowding into the ring and making for the manager.

Half-a-dozen ring men ran forward to repel them. Fists brandished, and cudgels, too. The circus men went down among flying heels.

Then arose a cry, heard for the first time by the excited Andy—never later recalled without a thrill as he realized from that experience its terrific portent.

"Hey, Rube!"

It was the world-wide rallying cry of the circus folk—the call in distress for speedy, reliant help.

As if by magic the echoes took up the call. Andy heard them respond from the farthest haunts of the circus grounds.

From under the benches, through the main entrance, under the loose side flaps, a rallying army sprang into being.

Stake men, wagon men, cooks, hostlers, candy butchers, came flying from every direction.

Every one of them had found a weapon—a stake. Like skilled soldiers they grouped, and bore down on the intruders like an avalanche.

Women were shrieking, fainting on the benches, children were crying. The audience was in a wild turmoil. Some benches broke down. The scene was one of riotous confusion.

Suddenly a shot rang out. Then Andy had a final sight of crashing clubs and mad, bleeding faces, as some one pulled the centre-light rope. The big chandelier came down with a crash, precipitating the tent in semi-darkness.

So excited was Andy, that, grasping a stake, he was about to dash into the midst of the conflict. The manager pushed him back.

"Get out of this," he ordered quickly. "Look to the women and children. Our men will see to it that those low loafers get all they came for."

"Wildwood," spoke Marco rushing up to Andy just here, "they have cut the guy ropes of the performers' tent. I must get to my family. Look out for Miss Starr. Here she is."



CHAPTER XXIX

A FREE TROLLEY RIDE

The young acrobat turned in time to see the performers' tent wobble inwards. Miss Starr, quite flustered, ran rapidly to escape being caught in its drooping folds.

Following her, looking worn out and anxious, carrying Midget in his arms, was Billy Blow.

"Get them out of this!" cried Marco, holding up the flap of the canvas passage way.

"Here, let me take him," directed Andy. "You're not equal to the heavy load."

He removed Midget from the clown's arms, and led the way to the outer air.

Yells and shots sounded from the main tent. Outside there was a swaying, excited mob. Andy evaded them, leading the way to the street lining the circus grounds at one side.

"Look there," suddenly exclaimed the clown in a gasping tone.

The main tent was on fire. A mob was trying to pull down the menagerie tent.

"Hi!" yelled the leader of a gang of boys rushing past them and halting, "here's some show folks."

"Pelt them!" cried another voice. "They won't pay my father his feed bill."

An egg flittered towards the fugitives. It struck Miss Starr on the back, soiling her pretty dress.

Andy ran back, Midget held on one arm. He let drive with his free hand and knocked the egg thrower head over heels.

This was the signal for a wild riot. The crowd of young hoodlums pressed close on Andy, and he retreated to the others.

"Take him, Miss Starr," he said quickly, placing Midget in her arms. "Hurry to the lighted street yonder."

A rain of stones came towards them. Andy ran back at the crowd. In turn he sent four of them reeling with vigorous fisticuffs. Then he rejoined his friends.

A trolley car stood at one side of the street. The boys had yelled for help from others of their kind and their numbers increased dangerously. The motorman of the trolley car had neglected his duty and joined a gaping crowd at a corner. Riot and enmity to the circus people was in the air. Andy formed a speedy decision.

"Quick!" he ordered, "get into that car."

A brickbat knocked off his hat. A second smashed a window in the car as Miss Starr and the others got aboard.

Two big fellows pounced upon Andy. He met one with a blow that laid him flat. With a trick leap he landed his feet against the stomach of the other, sending him reeling back, breathless.

Andy made a jump over the front railing of the car. Another deluge of missiles struck the car. He noticed that his friends were safely aboard. Andy noticed, too, that the crank handle of the motor box was in place.

"Anywhere for safety from that mob," he thought.

Grr-rr-whiz-z! The car started up. Shouts, missiles, running forms pursued it. Andy stopped for nothing. He put on full speed.

As he turned a sharp corner, Andy caught sight of a mass of light flames shooting upward. A crowd was in pursuit of the car. Shouts, shots and the roars of the animals in the menagerie caused a wild din. His inclinations lured him back to the scene of the excitement. His duty, however, seemed plain; to follow out Marco's instructions and convey his charges to a place of safety.

At a cross street some one hailed the car. Andy simply shot ahead the faster. Soon they reached the limits of the town. Andy bent his ear, and caught the distant clang of the trolley wagon.

He had stolen a car, and they were in pursuit. The general temper was adverse to the circus folks. Andy kept the car going.

Miss Starr came to the front door of the car and stepped out on the platform beside Andy.

"Brave boy," she said simply.

"Miss Starr, what are your plans?" he asked.

"Anything to get away from this horrid town," she said. "I am not afraid but what our tent men will teach that mob a lesson. They always do, in these riots. I have seen a dozen of them in my time. The police, too, will finally restore order. As to the show, though—the southern trip is over."

"Then you don't want to go back to Lacon?"

"Why should we? Our traps are probably burned, or stolen. If not, they will be sent on to us on direction. The show can't possibly survive. Billy and his boy couldn't stand the strain of any more trouble. No," sighed the equestrienne, "it is plain that we must seek another position."

Andy again heard the gong of the repair wagon. He thought fast. Putting on renewed speed, he never halted until they had covered about four miles. Here was a little cluster of houses. He stopped the car.

"Come with me, quick," he directed his friends, entering the car and taking up Midget in his arms.

Andy had been over this territory the day previous doing some exigency bill-posting service.

He led the way down a quiet street. After walking about four squares they reached railroad tracks and a little station. This was locked up and dark within. On the platform, however, was a box ready for shipment, with a red lantern beside it.

"I hope a train comes soon," thought Andy quite anxiously, as he caught the echo of the repair wagon gong nearer than before.

"There's a whistle," said little Midget.

"That's so," responded Andy, bending his ear. "Going north, too. I hope it's a train and I hope it comes along in time."

"In time for what?" inquired Midget.

Andy did not reply. He could estimate the progress of the pursuing wagon from gong sounds and shouts in the distance. He traced its halt, apparently at the stranded car. Then the gong sounded again.

Andy glanced down the street they had come. Two flashing, wobbling lights gleamed in the distance, headed in the direction of the railway station.

"They've guessed us out," said Andy. "Of course they can only delay us, but that counts just now. If the train—"

"She's coming!" sang out Midget in a nervous, high-pitched voice.

Andy's nerves were on a severe strain. A locomotive rounded a curve. The trolley wagon was still a quarter-of-a-mile distant.

The engine slowed down to a stop, the repair rig with flying horses attached less than a square away.

The baggage coach door opened. A man jumped out and started to put the box aboard.

"Hold on—through train," he yelled at Andy.

"That's all right. Quick, get aboard," he urged his companions.

Andy glanced from the windows of the coach they entered as the train started up with a jerk.

He saw the trolley wagon dash up to the platform. A police officer and some company men jumped off.

"Just in time," murmured Andy with satisfaction, as the station flashed from view.

The coach was nearly empty. He found a double seat. Miss Starr uttered a great sigh of relief. Poor Billy Blow sank down, thoroughly tired out. Midget laughed.

"I hope it's a long ride," he said.

"I'm afraid," spoke Miss Starr, "it won't be, Midge. See," and she opened a little purse, showing only a few silver coins. "I have some money in a bank in New York, but that does not help us at the present moment."

"I sent all I had to my poor wife," announced the clown dejectedly.

"That's all right," broke in Andy cheerily. "Here's a route list," and he picked up a timetable from the next seat. "Can you tell me where this train is bound for?" he inquired politely of a gentleman occupying the opposite seat.

"Baltimore."

"That sounds good," said Miss Starr. "There was a show there last week. The season's broken, we can't hope for a star engagement, but we might get in for a few weeks."

"I haven't the money to chase up situations all over the country," lamented the clown.

"Don't worry on that score," put in Andy briskly. "You people find out where you want to go. I'll take care of the bills."

"You, Andy?" spoke Miss Starr, with a stare.

"Yes, ma'am. You see, I've got my savings—"

"Ho! ho!" laughed Billy Blow bitterly. "Savings! Out of what? You haven't drawn one week's full salary since you joined us."

"Remember the needle and thread you loaned me on the train when we were going south, Miss Starr?" asked Andy.

"Why, yes, I think I do," nodded the equestrienne.

"Well, I wanted it to sew up a fifty dollar bill for safe-keeping. Here it is."

Andy with his knife ripped open a fob pocket and produced the bank note in question.

"Our common fund," he cried, waving it gaily. "Mr. Blow, designate your terminus. We'll not be put off the train, while this lasts."

Billy Blow choked up. He directed one grateful glance at Andy. Then he snuggled Midget close, and hid his face against him.

Miss Starr put a trembling hand on Andy's arm. A bright tear sparkled in her eye.

"Good as gold!" she said softly, "and true blue to the core!"

"Thank you. I think I'll get a drink of water," said Andy, covering his own emotion at this display of others by a subterfuge.

He went to the end of the car. At the moment he put out his hand for the glass under the water tank, a person from a near seat put out his also.

"Excuse me," said Andy, as they joggled.

"Certainly—you first," responded a pleasant voice.

"Hello!" almost shouted Andy Wildwood, starting as if from an electric shock. "Why, Luke Belding!"

"Eh? Aha! Andy Wildwood. Well! well! well!"

It was the ambitious lion tamer of Tipton—Luke the show boy, the owner of the famous chicken that walked backwards.

They shook hands with shining faces, forgetting the water, genuinely glad at the unexpected reunion.

"What are you ever doing here?" asked Andy.

"Me?" responded Luke, drawing himself up in mock dignity, yet withal a pleased pride in his eye. "Well, Wildwood, to tell you the truth I've got up in the world."

"Glad of it."

"And I am on my way to join the Greatest Show on Earth."



CHAPTER XXX

WITH THE GREATEST SHOW ON EARTH

"The Greatest Show On Earth?" repeated Andy wonderingly. "You don't mean—"

"I do mean," nodded Luke vigorously. "The one—the only. Is there more than one? I'm on my way to join it."

"You're lucky," commented Andy.

"And ambitious, and tickled to death!" cried Luke effusively. "My! When I think of it, I imagine I'm dreaming. And say—I'm a capitalist."

"Well!" smiled Andy.

"Yes, sir—see?" and Luke spun round, exhibiting his neat apparel. "I'm an independent gentleman."

"You do look prosperous," admitted Andy.

"Living on my royalties."

"Royalties? How's that?"

"You remember the chicken?"

"That walked backwards. I'll never forget it."

"Well, sir," asserted Luke, "it took. When we left you, we struck a brisk show. Big business and the chicken a winner from the start. Another side showman offered me a big salary, and my boss got worried. He agreed to pay me ten per cent gross receipts for Bolivar. I knew he had a brother who was chief animal trainer with the Big Show. I took him up on condition that he got me a place there. He wrote to his brother, and I'm his assistant. On my way to Baltimore now. The show is on its way through Delaware."

"Wait here a minute," spoke Andy, and he went back to his friends.

Andy told them of meeting Luke, and the whereabouts of the Big Show. Just then the conductor came into the car, and they had to make a rapid decision.

"Let us get to Baltimore, anyway," suggested the clown. "It's nearer home—and my wife."

Andy paid their fares. Miss Starr briefly told the conductor of their mishaps at Lacon. Her eloquent, sympathetic eyes won Midget a free ride.

Andy got pillows for his three friends, and some coffee and pie from the adjoining buffet car.

He saw them comfortably disposed of for the night; and then went back to Luke.

They sat down close together, two pleased, jolly friends. Andy interested Luke immensely by reciting his vivid experiences since they had parted.

"By the way, Luke," he observed at last, "there's something I missed hearing from you at Tipton. Remember?"

"Let's see," said Luke musingly. "Oh, yes—you mean about your being an heir?"

"That's it."

Luke became animated at once.

"I've often thought about that," he said. "You know I was all struck of a heap when you first told me your name!"

"Yes."

"And asked if you was Andy Wildwood, the heir? Do you remember?"

"Exactly."

"Well, it was funny, but early on the day I came to the circus I was tramping it along a creek. About three miles out of town I should think, I lay down to rest among some bushes. Ten minutes after I'd got there a boat rowed by some persons came along. They beached it right alongside the brush. Then one of them, a boy, lifted a mail bag from the bottom of the skiff."

"A mail bag—- a boy?" repeated Andy, with a start of intelligence. "Did you hear his name?"

"Yes, in a talk that followed. The man with him called him Jim."

"Jim Tapp," murmured Andy.

"He called the man Murdock."

"I thought so," Andy said to himself. "They put up that mail robbery."

"They cut open the bag and took out a lot of letters," continued Luke. "A few of them had money in them. This they pocketed, tearing up the letters and throwing them into the creek. There was one letter the boy kept. He read it over and over. When they had got through with the letters, he said to the man that it was funny."

"What was funny?" asked Andy.

"Why, he said there was a letter putting him on to 'a big spec.,' as he called it. He said the letter told about a secret, about a fortune the writer had discovered. He said the letter was to a boy who would never know his good luck if they didn't tell him. He said to the man there was something to think over. He chuckled as he bragged how they would make a big stake juggling the fortune of the heir, Andy Wildwood."

"I don't understand it at all," said Andy, "but it is a singular story, for a fact."

"Well, that's all I know about it. The minute I heard your name, of course I recalled where I had heard it before."

"Of course," nodded Andy thoughtfully.

After that the conversation lagged. Luke soon fell asleep. For over two hours, however, Andy kept trying to figure out how he could possibly be an heir, who had written the letter, and to whom it had been addressed.

The next day they arrived at Baltimore. A morning paper contained a dispatch from Lacon.

The circus men had nearly killed half-a-dozen of the mob of roughs. The police had restored order, but fire and riot had put the show out of business.

Miss Starr wired to the town in Delaware where the Big Show was playing. Luke had gone on to join it. By noon she received a satisfactory reply. Then she telegraphed to Lacon about their traps, directing the manager where to send them.

That evening, after a long talk over their prospects, the four refugees took the train for Dover.

The next morning Miss Starr, Billy, Midget and Andy went to the headquarters of The Biggest Show on Earth.

Andy had a chance to inspect it while waiting for Bob Sanderson, the assistant manager, who was a distant relative of Miss Stella Starr.

Its mammoth proportions fairly staggered him. Its details were bewildering in their system and perfection. Alongside of it, the circus he had recently belonged to was merely a side show.

Sanderson was a brisk, business-like fellow. He soon settled on an engagement for Miss Starr and Billy and Midget for the rest of the season.

"I don't think I can use the boy, though," he said, glancing at Andy.

"Then you can't have us," said the equestrienne promptly. "Bob, you and I are old friends, but not better ones than myself and Andy Wildwood. He stood by us through thick and thin, he makes a good showing in the ring. Why, before the Benares Brothers left us, they were training him for one of the best acts ever done on the trapeze."

"Is that so?" spoke Sanderson, looking interested. "The Benares Brothers joined us only last week. Here, give me five minutes."

"Miss Starr, you mustn't let me stand in your way of a good engagement," said Andy, as the assistant manager left the tent.

"It's the four of us, or none," asserted the determined little lady.

Sanderson came bustling in at the end of five minutes.

"All right," he announced brusquely, "I'll take the boy on."

"You'll never regret it," declared Stella Starr positively.



CHAPTER XXXI

CONCLUSION

"Bravo!"

"Clever!"

Amid deafening applause, old Benares and Thacher retired from the sawdust ring, bowing profusely with a deep sense of pride and satisfaction.

Between them, hands joined in the group of three, Andy Wildwood imitated their graceful acknowledgment of the plaudits of the vast concourse in the great metropolitan amphitheatre.

"Wildwood," declared Thacher, as they backed towards the performers' room, "you've made a hit."

"It is so!" cried old Benares, with sparkling eyes. "We are a three now—The Three Benares Brothers."

Andy was dizzy with exultation and delight. It was the first night of the Biggest Show on Earth in New York City.

For a week he had been in training for the fantastic trapeze act which had won thunders of approbation.

The Benares Brothers had appeared in the amphitheatre dome on a double trapeze.

After several clever specialties, the ringmaster suddenly stepped forward. He lifted his hand. The orchestra stopped playing.

Raising a pistol, the ringmaster directed it aloft. Bang! Crash! went the orchestra, and from a box suspended over the trapezes the bottom suddenly dropped out.

Following, an agile youthful form shot down through space. Quick as lightning the Benares Brothers swung by their feet, joined hands in mid-air, and the descending form—Andy Wildwood—catching at the wrists of Thacher, was swung back in a twenty foot circle. Crash! again the orchestra. Andy was flung through space across to old Benares, a plaything in mid-air, Benares catching at the feet of Thacher, Andy tailing on in a graceful descent, thrilling the delighted audience.

The act was not so difficult, but it was neat, rapid, unique. Andy Wildwood felt that at last he was a full-fledged acrobat.

The manager came back to compliment him. Billy Blow looked delighted. Miss Stella Starr said:

"Andy, we are all proud of you."

The next morning's papers gave him special notice. Luke Belding whispered to him to demand double salary.

Andy walked from his boarding house the next morning feeling certain that he had made very substantial progress during his sixty days of circus life.

He was passing a row of houses on a side street when a cab drove up to the curb. Andy casually glanced at the passenger as he crossed the sidewalk. Then he gave a great start.

"It can't be!" he ejaculated. Then he added instantly: "Yes, I'd know him among a thousand—Sim Dewey."

The man entered an open doorway, and Andy ran after him. He heard the fellow ascend a pair of stairs and knock at a door.

"Oh, good morning, Mr. Vernon."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy—"Aunt Lavinia!"

Here was a stirring situation. There could be no mistake. Despite a false moustache and a pair of dark eyeglasses, Andy had recognized the defaulting cashier of the disbanded circus. Beyond dispute he had recognized the welcoming tones above as belonging to his aunt, Miss Lavinia Talcott.

"It's like dreaming," mused Andy. "All this happening together, and here in New York City! Why, what ever brought Aunt Lavinia here? Where did she ever get acquainted with that scamp?"

Andy felt that he had an urgent duty to perform. Here was a mystery to explore, a villain to capture.

He went softly up the stairs. The place was a respectable boarding house, he concluded. Stealing softly past a door, he went half-way up a second pair of stairs.

Not five feet away from an open transom, Andy could now look into a room containing three persons.

A motherly, dignified old woman sat in a big arm chair. Near her was Andy's aunt, smiling and simpering up at Dewey. The latter, dressed "to kill," was bowing like a French dancing master.

Dewey sat down. The chaperone, who seemed to be the landlady, did not engage in a brief conversation that ensued within the room.

At its conclusion Andy saw his aunt hand Dewey a folded piece of paper. The defaulting circus cashier gallantly bowed over her extended hand and came out of the room.

"Hold on, Mr. Sim Dewey," spoke Andy, down the stairs in a flash, and seizing Dewey's arm on the landing.

"Eh? Hello—Wildwood!"

"Yes, it's me," said Andy. "A word with you, sir, as to what business you have with my aunt. Then—the stolen eleven thousand dollars, if you please."

Dewey had turned deadly white. He glared desperately at Andy, and tried to wrench his arm free.

"Shall I arouse the street?" demanded Andy sternly. "It's jail for you—"

Crack! The treacherous Dewey had slipped one hand behind him. He had drawn a slung shot from his pocket. It struck Andy's head, and he went down with a sense of sickening giddiness.

"Stop him!" shouted Andy, half-blinded, crawling across the landing.

Dewey made a leap of four steps at a time.

"Out of my way!" he yelled at some obstacle.

"Hold on, mister!"

Andy arose to his feet with difficulty. He clung to the banister, descending the stairs as a frightful clatter rang out.

A boy about his own age, coming up the stairs, had collided with Dewey. Both tripped up and rolled to the front entry.

The boy got up, unhurt. Dewey, groaning, half-arose, fell back, and lay prostrate, one limb bent up under him.

Andy was still weak and dizzy-headed, but he acted promptly for the occasion.

He saw that Dewey had broken a limb, and was practically helpless. He glanced out at the driver of the cab. He was an honest-faced old fellow. Andy ran out to him and spoke a few quick words.

With Dewey writhing, moaning and resisting, this man, Andy and the strange boy carried him to the cab. Andy directed the boy to get up with the driver, He got inside the cab with Dewey.

A hysterical shriek rang out at the street doorway. Andy saw his aunt wildly wringing her hands. The maiden lady was held back from pursuing the cab by the landlady.

Within ten minutes the cab delivered Dewey at a police station, and Andy told his story to the precinct captain.

They found in a secret pocket on the defaulting cashier certificates of deposit to the amount of ten thousand dollars, issued in a false name. The amount was a part of the stolen circus funds.

In another pocket was discovered a draft for three thousand dollars, made over to the same false name by Miss Lavinia Talcott on the bank at Fairview.

The police at once locked the prisoner up in a cell, sent for a surgeon, and asked Andy to telegraph to Mr. Giles Harding, the circus owner, at once.

When Andy came out of the police station, he found the boy who had assisted him waiting for him.

He was a bright-faced, pleasant-mannered lad, but his appearance suggested hard luck.

Andy gave him a dollar, and got his name. It was Mark Hadley. Andy was at once interested when the boy told him that his dead father had been a professional sleight-of-hand man in the west.

Mark Hadley had come to New York on the track of an old circus friend of his father. This man, it turned out, was a relative of Dewey, masquerading now under the name of Vernon.

The man had told him that Dewey could help him out. He did not know where Dewey was living, but understood he was about to marry a lady living at the boarding house where Mark had gone, to meet the fellow in a most sensational manner, indeed.

Andy invited Mark to call upon him later in the day, gave the youth his present address, and proceeded back to the boarding house to find his aunt.

The hour that followed was one of the strangest in Andy's life.

There were reproaches, threats, cajolings, until Andy found out the true state of affairs.

It was only after he had proven to his humiliated and chagrined aunt that Dewey was a villain, that Miss Lavinia broke down and confessed that she had been a silly, sentimental woman.

It seemed that the letter Jim Tapp and Murdock had secured was from Mr. Graham, back at Fairview.

Graham had discovered in a secret bottom of the box Andy had left with him, a paper referring to a patent of Andy's father.

As time had brought about, this paper entitled the heirs of the old inventor to quite large royalties on a new electrical device which had come into practical use after Mr. Wildwood's death.

The plotters had gone at once to Miss Lavinia. Her cupidity was aroused. She quieted her conscience by giving Andy ten dollars at Tipton, and deciding to take charge of the royalty money "till he was of age."

This was her story, told amid contrite tears and shame as Andy proved to her that Dewey was after her three thousand dollars, and would have escaped with it only for his decisive action.

Murdock had introduced her to Dewey. The latter had pretended to be in love with her, had promised to marry her, and that day had induced the weak, silly old spinster to trust him with her little fortune.

"I have been a wicked woman!" Miss Lavinia declared. "I will make amends, Andy. You shall have your rights. Come home with me."

"Not till my engagement is over, aunt," replied Andy, "and then only for a visit, if you wish it. I love the circus life, and I seem to find just as many chances there to be good and to do good as in any other vocation."

Miss Lavinia was given back her three thousand dollars the next day, and Sim Dewey was sent to prison on a long term.

Mr. Harding came on to the city the following day. He recovered all except a trifle of the stolen circus money. That evening he sent a sealed envelope by special messenger to Andy. It contained five one hundred dollar bills—Andy's reward for capturing the embezzling circus cashier.

The next afternoon Andy invited five of his special friends and several of his acquaintances to a little dinner party.

Miss Starr, Billy Blow the clown, Midget, old Benares, Thacher, Luke Belding and Mark Hadley were his guests of honor.

Andy had found a starting place in the circus for Mark, whose ambition was to become a great magician.

They were a merry, friendly party. They jollied one another. They saw nothing but sunshine in the sawdust pathway before them.

"You are a grand genius!" declared old Benares to Andy. "My friends, one thought: in six weeks up from Andy the school boy, to Andy the acrobat."

"Hold on now, Mr. Benares," cried Andy, smilingly. "That was because of my royal, good friends like you."

"And your own grit," said Marco. "You assuredly deserve your success."

And the other circus people agreed with Marco.

For the time being Andy heard nothing more of Tapp, Murdock and Daley. The days passed pleasantly enough. He did his work faithfully, constantly adding to his fame as an acrobat.

Between Andy and Luke Belding a warm friendship sprang up. Luke had much to tell about himself. As time passed the lad who loved animals had many adventures, but what these were I must reserve for another volume, to be named, "Luke the Lion Tamer; or, On the Road with a Great Menagerie," In that we shall not only follow brave-hearted Luke but also Andy, and see what the future held in store for the boy acrobat.

"Andy, are you glad you joined the circus?" questioned Luke, one day, after a particularly brilliant performance in the ring.

"Glad doesn't express it," was the quick answer. "Why, it seems to be just what I was cut out for."

"I really believe you. You never make work of an act—like some of the acrobats."

"It must be in my blood," said Andy, with a bright smile. "Anyway, I expect to be Andy the Acrobat for a long while to come."

And he was.

THE END.