"Come and watch me," was Joe's invitation. "Here is a reserved seat ticket for each of you."

"Whew!" whistled Harry Martin. "Talk about the return of the prodigal! You'll make the folks here open their eyes, Joe. It isn't everybody who runs away from home who comes back as you do."

Joe told his chums some of his experiences, and they went with him out to the circus grounds, where he took them about, as only a privileged character can, showing them how the show was "put together."

"It sure is great!" exclaimed Charlie, ruffling up his red hair.

Joe fairly outdid himself in the performances that day. He went through his best feats, alone and with the Lascalla Brothers, with a snap and a swing that made the veteran performers look well to their own laurels. Joe did some wonderful leaping and turning of somersaults in the air, one difficult backward triple turn evoking a thundering round of applause.

And none applauded any more fervently than little Willie Norman.

"I know him!" the little lad confided to a group about him. "That's Joe Strong. He gave me a ticket to the show for nothing, mind you! I know him all right!"

"Oh, you do not!" chaffed another boy.

"I do so, and I'm going to speak to him after the show!"

This Willie proudly did, thereby refuting the skepticism of his neighbor. For the word soon passed among the town-folk that Joe Strong, who used to live with Deacon Blackford, was with the circus, and after the show he held an informal little reception in the dressing tent which a number of men and boys, and not a few women, attended.

All were curious to see behind the scenes, and Joe showed them some interesting sights. He invited his four chums to have supper with him, and the delight of Harry, Charlie, Henry and Tom may be imagined as they sat in the tent with the other circus folk, listening to the strange jargon of talk, and seeing just how the performers behaved in private.

Altogether Joe's appearance in Bedford made quite a sensation, and he was glad of the chance it afforded him to see his former friends and acquaintances, and also to let them see for themselves that circus people and actors are not all as black as they are painted. Joe was glad he could do this for the sake of his father and mother, as he realized that the wrong views held by Deacon and Mrs. Blackford were shared by many.

Joe bade good-bye to his chums and traveled on with the show, leaving, probably, many rather envious hearts behind. For there is a glamour about a circus and the theatre that blinds the youthful to the hard knocks and trouble that invariably accompany those who perform in public.

Even with Joe's superb health there were times when he would have been glad of a day's rest. But he had it only on Sundays, and whether he felt like it or not he had to perform twice a day. Of course usually he liked it, for he was enthusiastic about his work. But all is not joy and happiness in a circus. As a matter of fact Joe worked harder than most boys, and though it seemed all pleasure, there was much of it that was real labor. New tricks are not learned in an hour, and many a long day Joe and his partners spent in perfecting what afterward looked to be a simple turn.

But, all in all, Joe liked it immensely and he would not have changed for the world—at least just then.

The circus reached the town of Portland, where they expected to do a good business as it was a large manufacturing place. Here Helen found awaiting her a letter from the law firm.

"Oh, Joe!" the girl exclaimed. "I'm going to get my money here—at least that part of my fortune which isn't tied up in bonds and mortgages. We must celebrate! I think I'll give a little dinner at the hotel for you, Bill Watson and some of my friends."

"All right, Helen. Count me in."

The letter stated that a representative of the firm would call upon Helen that day in Portland, and turn over to her the cash due from her grandfather's estate.

That afternoon Helen sent word to Joe that she wanted to see him, and in her dressing room he found a young man, toward whom Joe at once felt an instinctive dislike. The man had shifty eyes, and Joe always distrusted men who could not look him straight in the face.

"This is Mr. Sanford, from the law firm, Joe," said Helen. "He has brought me my money."

"Is he your lawyer?" asked Mr. Sanford, looking toward Joe.

"No, just a friend," Helen answered.

"Is he going to look after your money for you?"

"I think Miss Morton is capable of looking after it herself," Joe put in, a bit sharply.

"Oh, of course. I didn't mean anything. Now if you'll give me your attention, Miss Morton, I'll go over the details with you."

"You needn't wait, Joe, unless you want to," Helen said. "I'd like to have you arrange about the little supper at the hotel, if you will, though."

"Sure I will!" Joe exclaimed.

The circus was to remain over night, and this would give Helen a chance for her feast, which she thought had better take place at the Portland hotel, as it would be more private than the circus tent. Joe went off to arrange for it, leaving Helen with the lawyer's clerk.



CHAPTER XIX

JOE IS SUSPICIOUS

Joe's day was already a full one, though he did not tell Helen so. He gladly undertook to arrange the little supper for her at the hotel, and it was only a coincidence that it happened on the night of a day when he had decided to work in a new trick on his trapeze, when he performed alone. It was not exactly a new trick, in the sense that it had never been done before. In fact there is very little new in trapeze work nowadays, but Joe had decided to give a little different turn to an old act. It required some preparation, and he needed to do this during the day. He was going to "put on" the trick at night, and not at the matinee.

But for the time being he gave up his hours to arranging for Helen the supper which would take place after the night performance.

Joe saw the hotel proprietor and arranged for a private room with a supper to be served for twenty-five. Helen had many more friends than that among the circus folk, but she had to limit her hospitality, though she would have liked to have them all at her little celebration. She chose, however, after Joe and Bill Watson and Benny Turton, the women performers who were more intimately associated with her in her acts, and some of the men whose acquaintance she had made since joining the Sampson show.

Joe hurried to the hotel, did what was necessary there, and then went back to the tent. He intended, when the afternoon show was over, to do some practice on his new act.

As he passed into the big tent, which was now deserted, he met Jim Tracy, who, of course, was invited to Helen's supper.

"What's all this I hear about our little lady?" asked the ring-master.

"Well, I guess it's all true," Joe answered. "She has come into a little money."

"Glad to hear it! I'll be with you to-night. Oh, by the way, Joe, I had a letter from the railroad people about our wreck, or, rather, derailment."

"Did you? What did they say?"

"They couldn't find any evidence that the fish plate was put in the switch purposely. It might have dropped there. Of course some tramp might have put it there to get revenge for being put off a train, but it would be hard to prove. And as for getting evidence against Sim Dobley—why, it's out of the question. But you want to keep on looking out for yourself."

"I will," Joe promised.

After thinking the matter over Joe had decided it would be best to speak to the ring-master about the threatening letter, which had been received so close to the time when the derailment occurred. Jim Tracy had at once agreed with Joe that the discharged acrobat might possibly have been mad and rash enough to try to wreck the train, and the railroad detectives had been communicated with. But nothing had come of the investigation, and the accident had been set down as one of the many unexplained happenings that occur on railroads.

A search had been made for Dobley, but he seemed to have disappeared for the time being, and Joe was glad of it.

"Ready for the new stunt?" asked Tracy, as he passed on.

"Yes; I'll pull it off to-night if nothing happens," Joe said.

He was glad there were few people in the big tent when he entered it after the afternoon performance, to put in some hard practice. Joe's own trapeze was in place, but he lowered it to the ground, and went carefully over every inch of the ropes, canvas straps, snaps, and the various fastenings to make sure nothing was wrong. He found everything all right.

It was not exactly that he was suspicious of the Lascalla Brothers, but he was taking no chances.

Joe's act worked well in practice. When he had performed his trick for the last time he saw Benny Turton, the "human fish," coming into the tent to look after his tank, about which the young performer was very particular.

"How do you like that, Ben?" asked Joe, as he finished the new trick.

"First rate. That's a thriller all right, Joe! That'll make 'em sit up and take notice. I'll have to work in something new myself if you keep on piling up the stuff."

"Oh, I guess you could do that, Ben."

The "human fish" shook his head.

"No," he said slowly, "I don't know what's the matter with me lately, Joe, but I don't seem to have ambition for anything. I go through my regular stunts, but that's all I want to do. I don't even stay under water as long as I used to, and Jim Tracy was kicking again to-day. He said I'd have to do better, but I don't see how I can. Of course he was nice about it, as he always is, but I know he's disappointed in me."

"Oh, I guess not, Ben. Maybe you'll do better to-night."

"I hope so. Anyhow you'll have a thriller for them."

"You're coming to Helen's party, aren't you?"

"Oh, sure, Joe. I wouldn't miss that. I'm glad she's got some money," and Ben spoke rather despondently.

Joe made arrangements with his helper to look after the special appliances needed for the new trick, and went to supper. He did not see Helen, and guessed that she was still busy with the law clerk.

"I hope she doesn't trust too much to that chap," mused Joe. "I don't just like his looks."

The big tent was crowded when Joe began his performance that night. He received his usual applause, and then gave the signal that he was about to put on his new act. He was hoisted up to the top trapeze, which was a short one, and to this Joe had fastened a longer one.

He sat upon the bar of this, swinging to and fro, working himself into position until he was resting on the "hocks," as performers call that portion of the leg just above the knee.

Suddenly Joe seemed to fall over backward, and there was a cry of alarm from the crowd. But he remained in position, swinging by his insteps.

In the trapeze world this is known as "drop back to instep hang." Joe had done it most effectively, but that was not all of the trick.

Quickly he grasped the ropes of the lower trapeze. He twined his legs about these, and then, with a thrilling yell, he let himself slide, head down along the ropes, holding only by his intertwined legs and insteps, which he had padded with asbestos to take up the heat of friction.

Down the long ropes he slid until he came to a sudden stop as his outstretched hands grasped the lower bar. There he hung suspended a moment, while the audience sat thrilled, thinking it had been an accidental fall and a most miraculous escape. But Joe had planned it all out in advance, and knew it was safe, especially as the life net was under him.

He suspended himself on the bar a moment, and then made a back somersault, and amid the booming of the drum he dropped into the net and made his bows in response to the applause.

The new feat was appreciated at once, but it was some time before the crowd realized that the fall backward was not accidental.

Joe was congratulated by his fellow performers, though, as might be expected, there was some little jealousy. But Joe was used to that by this time.

It was a merry little party that gathered later in the hotel room for Helen's supper. She sat at the head of the table, with Joe on one side and Bill Watson, the veteran clown, on the other.

"Well, did you make out all right with your lawyer friend?" Joe asked.

"Oh, yes, Joe, I never had so much money at one time in my life before."

"What did you do with it?"

"I kept out enough to pay for this supper, and the rest I put in the circus ticket wagon safe."

"What, all your cash?"

"Oh, I didn't take it all, Joe."

"You didn't take it all?"

"No. Mr. Sanford—he's the law clerk, you know—said I ought not to have so much money with me, so he offered to take care for me all I didn't want to use right away."

"He's going to take care of it for you?" Joe repeated.

"Yes. He says he can invest it for me. But eat your supper, Joe."

Somehow or other Joe Strong did not feel much like eating. He had a sudden and undefinable suspicion of that law clerk.



CHAPTER XX

A FALL

There were merry hearts at the little celebration given by Helen Morton—"Mademoiselle Mortonti"—in recognition of coming into her inheritance. That is, the hearts were all merry save that of Joe Strong.

For a few seconds after Helen had made the statement about having left her money with the law clerk for investment, Joe could only stare at her. On her part the young circus rider seemed to think there was nothing unusual in what she had done.

"Congratulations, Miss Morton!" called Bill Watson, as he waved his napkin in the air. "Congratulations!"

"Why don't you call me Helen as you used to?" asked the girl.

"Oh, you're quite a rich young lady now, and I didn't think you would want me to be so familiar," he replied with a laugh.

"Goodness! I hope every one isn't going to get so formal all at once," she remarked, with a look at Joe.

"I won't—not unless you want me to," he answered.

"But why don't you eat?" she asked him. "You sit there as if you had no appetite. I'm as hungry as a bear—one of our own circus bears, too. Come, why don't you eat and be happy?"

"I—I'm thinking," Joe remarked.

"This isn't the time to think!" she exclaimed. "Oh, I'm so glad I have a little money. I won't have to worry now if I shouldn't be able to go on with my circus act. I could take a vacation if I wanted to, couldn't I?"

"Are you going to?" asked Joe. Somehow he felt a sudden sinking sensation in the region of his heart. At least he judged it was his heart that was affected.

"No, not right away," Helen answered. "I'm going to stay with the show until it goes into winter quarters, anyhow."

"And after that?"

"Oh, I don't know."

The little celebration went merrily on. Helen's health was proposed many times, being pledged in lemonade, grape juice and ginger ale. She blushed with pleasure as she sat between Joe and the veteran clown, for many nice things were said about her, as one after another of her guests congratulated her on her good fortune.

"Speech! Speech!" some one called out.

"What do they mean?" asked Helen of Bill Watson.

"They want you to say something," the clown said.

"Oh, I never could—never in the world!" and Helen blushed more vividly than before.

"Try it," urged Joe. "Just thank them. You can do that."

Much confused, Helen arose at her place.

"I'd rather ride in a circus ring ten times over than make a speech," she confessed in an aside to Joe.

"Go on," he urged.

"My dear friends," she began tremblingly, "I want to thank you for all the nice things you have said about me, and I want to say that I'm glad—glad——" She paused and blushed again.

"Glad to be here," prompted Joe.

"Yes, that's it—glad to be here, and I—er—I—— Oh, you finish for me, Joe!" she begged, as she sat down amid laughter.

Then the supper went on, more merrily than before. But it had to come to an end at last, for the show people needed their rest if they were to perform well the next day. And most of them, especially those like Joe and the acrobats, who depended on their nerve as well as their strength, needed unbroken slumber.

As Joe walked back to the railroad, where their sleeping cars were standing on a siding, the young trapeze performer asked Helen about her business transaction with the law clerk. He had not had a chance to do this at the supper.

"Well," began the girl, "as you know, he brought me the cash, Joe. Oh, how nice those new bills did look. He had it all in new bills for me. Mr. Pike told him to do that, he said, as they didn't know whether I could use a check, traveling about as I am. Anyhow he had the bills for me—about three thousand dollars it was. The rest of my little fortune, you know, is in stocks and bonds. I only get the interest, but this cash was from the sale of some of grandfather's property."

"Then you didn't keep the cash yourself?" Joe asked.

"No. Mr. Sanford said it wouldn't be safe for me to carry so much money around with me. Do you think it would?"

"Of course not," Joe agreed. "But you could have let our treasurer keep it for you. He could have banked it."

"Yes; Mr. Sanford thought of that, he said. But he also said if my money was in the bank I wouldn't get more than three per cent. on it. I don't know exactly what he means—I never was any good at fractions, and I know nothing about business. But, anyhow, Mr. Sanford kindly explained that I would get more interest on my money if it was invested than if it was in a bank. And he offered to invest for me all I didn't need at once. Wasn't he kind?"

"Perhaps," admitted Joe, rather dubiously. "How is he going to invest it?"

"Oh, he knows lots of ways, he said, being in the law office. But he said he thought it would be best to buy oil stock with it. Oil stock was sure to go up in price, he said; and I would make money on that as well as interest, or dividends—or something like that. Wasn't he good?"

"To himself maybe, yes," answered Joe.

"What do you mean?" inquired Helen.

"Oh, well, maybe it's all right," Joe said. He did not want to alarm the girl unnecessarily, but he had a deeper suspicion than before of Sanford.

"I think it's just fine," Helen went on. "I have quite some cash with me—I'm going to let our treasurer keep that, and give me some when I need it. Then, from time to time, I'll get dividends on my oil stock."

"Maybe," said Joe, in a low voice.

"What?" asked Helen, quickly. "What do you mean?"

"Never mind," proceeded Joe. "Anyhow we had a good time to-night."

"Did you enjoy it?"

"I certainly did, Helen."

They parted near the train, Joe to go to his car and Helen to hers.

"Oh, by the way," Joe called after her. "Did Mr. Sanford say what oil company it was he was going to invest your money in?"

"Yes, he told me. It's the Circle City Oil Syndicate. He has some stock in it, he told me, and it's a fine concern. Oh, Joe, I'm so glad I have inherited a little fortune."

"So am I," Joe returned, wondering at the same time if he would ever hear anything encouraging of his mother's relatives in England.

"The Circle City Oil Syndicate," Joe murmured as he entered his car. "I must look them up. This fellow, Sanford, may be all right, but he struck me as being a pretty slick individual, who would look out for himself first, and the firm's clients afterward. He'll bear investigating."

However, nothing could be done that night. The clerk had gone back with the larger part of Helen's money, and Joe did not want to cause her worry by speaking of his suspicions.

The circus did a good business the next day, drawing even larger throngs than to the previous performances. The story of Helen's good fortune was printed in the local paper, with an account of the celebration supper she gave, and when she rode into the ring on Rosebud the applause that greeted her was very pronounced.

Joe repeated his "drop back to instep hang" that afternoon. It was rather a perilous feat and he was not so sure of it as he was of his other exercises. But it was a "thriller" and that was what the public seemed to want—something that made them gasp, sit up, and hold their breath while they waited to see if "anything would happen" to the reckless performer.

Joe climbed up to his small trapeze, swung on it and then fell backward for his first instep hang. He accomplished this successfully, and then came the thrilling slide down the longer ropes.

Down Joe shot, depending on stopping himself with his outstretched and down-hanging hands when he reached the second bar.

But the inevitable "something" happened. Joe's hands slipped from the bar, his head struck it a glancing blow, and the next instant he felt himself falling head first down toward the life net.



CHAPTER XXI

JOE HEARS SOMETHING

Women and children screamed, and there were hoarse shouts from the men who witnessed Joe's fall. At first some thought it was only part of the acrobatic trick, but a single glance at the desperate struggles of the young trapeze performer dispelled this idea.

For Joe was struggling desperately in the air to prevent himself from falling head first into the life net.

It might be thought that one could fall into a loose, sagging net in any position and not be hurt. But this is not so. A fall into a net from a great height is often as dangerous as landing on the ground. Circus folk must know how to fall properly.

If the person falling lands on his head he is likely to dislocate, if not to break, his neck, and falling on one's face may sometimes be dangerous. The best way, of course, is to land on one's feet, and this was what Joe was trying to bring about.

When he realized that he had missed grasping the bar of the second trapeze (though he could not understand his failure) he knew he must turn over, and that quickly, or he would strike on his head in the net. He tried to turn a somersault, but he was at a disadvantage, not having prepared for that in advance.

"I've got to turn! I've got to turn!" he thought desperately, as he fell through space.

He did manage to get partly over and when he landed in the net he took the force of the blow partly on his head and partly on his shoulder. Everything seemed to get black around him, and there was a roaring in his ears. Then Joe Strong knew nothing. He had been knocked unconscious by the fall.

The circus audience—or that part of it immediately near Joe's trapezes—was at once aware that something unusual had occurred.

Some women arose, as though to rush out. Others screamed and one or two children began to cry. A slight panic was imminent, and Jim Tracy realized this.

From where she was putting her horse, Rosebud, through his paces Helen saw what happened to Joe. In an instant she jumped from the saddle, and ran across the ring toward the net in which he lay, an inert form.

Other circus performers and attendants rushed to aid Joe, and this added to the confusion and excitement. Many in the audience were standing up, trying to see what had happened, and those behind, whose view was obstructed, cried:

"Sit down! Down in front!"

"Give us some music!" ordered Jim Tracy of the band, which had stopped playing when Joe performed his trick in order that it might be more impressive. A lively tune was started, and though it may seem heartless, in view of the fact that a performer possibly was killed, it was the best thing to do under the circumstances, for it calmed the audience.

Tender hands lifted Joe out of the net, and carried him toward the dressing room.

"Go on with the show!" the ring-master ordered the performers who had left their stations. "Go on with the show. We'll look after him. There are plenty of us to do it."

And the show went on. It had to.

"Is he—is he badly hurt?" faltered Helen, as she walked beside the four men who were carrying Joe on a stretcher which had been brought from the first aid tent. The circus was always ready to look after those hurt in accidents.

"I don't think so—he took the fall pretty well—only partly on his head," said Bill Watson, who had stopped his laughable antics to rush over to Joe. "He may be only stunned."

"I hope so," breathed Helen.

"You'd better get back to your ring," suggested Bill. "Finish your act."

"It was almost over," Helen objected. "I can't go back—now. Not until I see how he is."

"All right—come along then," said the old clown, sympathetically. He guessed how matters were between Helen and Joe. "I don't believe the boss will mind much. There's enough of the show left for 'em to look at."

He glanced down at Joe, who lay unconscious on the stretcher. They were now in the canvas screened passage between the dressing tent and the larger one, where the performance had been resumed. Helen put out her hand and touched Joe's forehead. He seemed to stir slightly.

"Have they sent for a doctor?" she asked.

"They'll get one from the crowd," replied Bill. "There's always one or more in a circus audience."

And he was right. As they placed Joe on a cot that had been quickly made ready for him, a physician, summoned from the audience by the ring-master, came to see what he could do. Silently Helen, Bill and the others stood about while the medical man made his examination.

"Will he die?" Helen asked in a whisper.

"Not at once—in fact not for some years to come, I think," replied the physician with a smile. "He has had a bad fall, and he will be laid up for a time. But it is not serious."

Helen's face showed the relief she felt.

"He'll have to go to a hospital, though," continued the medical man. "His neck is badly strained, and so are the muscles of his shoulder. He won't be able to swing on a trapeze for a week or so."

Bill Watson whistled a low note. He knew what it meant for a circus performer to be laid up.

"Please take him to a hospital," cried Helen impulsively, "and see that he has a good physician and a nurse—I mean, you look after him yourself," she added quickly, as she saw the doctor smiling at her.

"And have a trained nurse for him. I'll pay the bill," she went on. "I'm so glad that money came to me. I'll use some of it for Joe."

"She just inherited a little fortune," explained Bill in a whispered aside to the medical man. "They're quite fond of each other—those two."

"So it seems. Well, he'll need a nurse and medical treatment for a while to come. I'll go and arrange to have him taken to the hospital. Has he any friends that ought to be notified—not that he is going to die, but they might like to know."

"I guess he hasn't any friends but us here in the circus. His father and mother are dead, and he ran away from his foster-father—a good thing, too, I guess. Well, the show will have to go on and leave him here, I suppose."

"Oh, yes, certainly. He can't travel with you."

The ambulance came and took Joe away. Jim Tracy communicated with the hospital authorities, ordering them to give the young trapeze performer the best possible care in a private room, adding that the management would pay the bill.

"That has already been taken care of," the superintendent of the hospital informed the ring-master. "A Miss Morton has left funds for Mr. Strong's case."

"Well, I'll be jiggered!" exclaimed Jim Tracy. Then he smiled.

The circus neared its close. The animal tent came down, the lions, tigers, horses and elephants were taken to their cars. The performers donned their street clothes and went to their sleeping cars.

Helen, Benny Turton and Bill Watson paid a visit to the hospital just before it was time for the circus train to leave. Joe had not recovered consciousness, but he was resting easily, the nurse said.

"Tell him to join the show whenever he is able," was the message Jim Tracy had left for Joe, "and not to worry. Everything will be all right."

"Good-bye," whispered Helen close to Joe's ear, But he did not hear her.

And the circus moved on, leaving stricken Joe behind.

It was nearly morning when he came out of his unconsciousness with a start that shook the bed.

"Quiet now," said the soothing voice of the nurse.

Joe looked at her, wonder showing in his eyes. Then his gaze roved around the hospital room. He looked down at the white coverings on his enameled bed and then, realizing where he was, he asked:

"What happened?"

"You had a fall from your trapeze, they tell me," the nurse said.

"Oh, yes, I remember now. Am I badly hurt?"

"The doctor does not think so. But you must be quiet now. You are to take this."

She held a glass of medicine to his lips.

"But I must know about it," Joe insisted. "I've got to go on with the show. Has the circus left?"

"Hours ago, yes. It's all right. You are to stay here with us until you are better. A Mr. Tracy told me to tell you."

"Oh, yes, Jim—the ring-master. Well I—I guess I'll have to stay whether I want to or not."

Joe had tried to raise his head from the pillow, but a severe pain, shooting through his neck and shoulders, warned him that he had better lie quietly. He also became aware that his head was bandaged.

"I must be in pretty bad shape," he said.

"No, not so very," replied the trained nurse cheerfully. "But you must keep quiet if you are to get well quickly. The doctor will be in to see you soon."

Joe sunk into a sort of doze, and when he awakened again the doctor was in his room.

"Well, how about me?" asked the young performer.

"You might be a whole lot worse," replied the medical man with a smile. "It's just a bad wrench and sprain. You'll be lame and sore for maybe two weeks, but eventually you'll be able to go back, risking your neck again."

"Oh, there's not such an awful lot of risks," Joe said. "This was just an accident—my first of any account. I can't understand how my hands slipped off the bar. Guess I didn't put enough resin on them. How long will I be here?"

"Oh, perhaps a week—maybe less."

"Did they bring my pocketbook—I mean my money?"

"You don't have to worry about that," said the doctor. "It has all been attended to. A Miss Morton made all the arrangements."

"Oh," was all Joe said, but he did a lot of thinking.

Joe's injury was more painful than serious. His sore muscles had to be treated with liniment and electricity, and often massaged. This took time, but in less than a week he was able to be out of bed and could sit in an easy chair, out on one of the verandas.

Of course Joe wrote to Helen as soon as he could, thanking her and his other friends for what they had done for him. In return he received a letter from Helen, telling him how she—and all of the circus folk—missed him.

There was also a card from Benny Turton, and a note from Jim Tracy, telling Joe that his place was ready for him whenever he could come back. But he was not to hurry himself. They had put no one in his place on the bill, simply cutting his act out. The Lascalla Brothers worked with another trapeze performer, who gave up his own act temporarily to take Joe's position.

"Well, I guess everything will be all right," reflected our hero. "But I'll join the show again as soon as I can."

Joe was sitting on the sunny veranda one afternoon in a sort of doze. Other convalescent patients were near him, and he had been listening, rather idly, to their talk. He was startled to hear one man say:

"Well, I'd have been all right, and I could have my own automobile now, if I hadn't been foolish enough to speculate in oil stocks."

"What kind did you buy?" another patient asked.

"Oh, one of those advertised so much—they made all sorts of claims for it, and I was simple enough to believe them. I put every cent I had saved up in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and now I can whistle for my cash—just when I need it too, with hospital and doctor bills to pay."

"Can't you get any of it back?"

"I don't think so. In fact I'd sell my stock now for a dollar a share and be glad to get it. I paid twenty-five. Well, it can't be helped."

Joe looked up and looked over at the speaker. He was a middle-aged man, and he recognized him as a patient who had come in for treatment for rheumatism.

Joe wondered whether he had heard aright.

"The Circle City Oil Syndicate," mused Joe. "That's the one Helen has her money in—or, rather, the one that San ford put her money in for her. I wonder if it can be the same company. I must find out, and if it is——"

Joe did not know just what he would do. What he had overheard caused him to be vaguely uneasy. His old suspicions came back to him.



CHAPTER XXII

BAD NEWS

Joe Strong waited until he had a chance to speak privately to the man who had admitted losing money in oil stocks. This hospital patient was a Mr. Anton Buchard, and his room was not far from Joe's.

"Excuse me," began the young trapeze performer in opening the talk. "But a short time ago I happened to overhear what you were telling your friend about some oil stocks—the Circle City Syndicate. I didn't mean to listen, but I couldn't help hearing what you were saying."

"Oh, don't let that part worry you," said Mr. Buchard. "It's no secret that I lost my money in that wild-cat speculation. But are you interested in it?"

"To a certain extent I am," Joe answered.

"I hope you didn't buy any of the worthless stock."

"No, but a friend of mine was induced to. That is—er—she—she has some stock of the Circle City Oil Syndicate. It may not be the same as that you were speaking of."

"No, that is true. There are many oil concerns in the market, and lots of them are legitimate, and are making money. But there are plenty of others which are frauds. And the one I invested in is that kind.

"Of course, as you say, it may not be the same as that in which your friend holds stock, even if it has the same name. Would you know any of the officers or directors of the concern in which your friend holds stock?"

"I'm afraid not," Joe replied. "I did not see her stock certificates. She bought them through a law clerk named Sanford."

Mr. Buchard shook his head.

"I don't recognize that name," he said. "But of course anybody could sell the stock. How did your friend ever come to be interested in this concern?"

Thereupon Joe told of Helen's inheritance, mentioning the fact that he and she both were in the circus.

"The circus, eh!" exclaimed the man. "Well, now that's interesting! I remember, when I was a boy, it was my great ambition to run away and join a circus. But I dare say it isn't such a life of roses as I imagined."

"There's plenty of hard work," Joe told him, "and then something like this is likely to happen to you at any time—especially if you are on the trapeze," and he motioned to the bandages still around his neck and shoulders.

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Mr. Buchard, when Joe had finished telling of Helen's fortune. "I'm going out of here in a couple of days. I'm getting much better—that is until the next attack. I'll get out my worthless certificates of stock in the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and bring you one. You can then see the names of the officers and directors, and can compare them with the names on Miss Morton's stock. If they are the same it's pretty sure to be the same company."

"And if it is," asked Joe, "would you advise her to sell out?"

"Sell out! My dear boy, I only hope she will be able to. I wish I had known in time—I'd have sold out quickly enough. I never should have bought the stuff. But it's too late to worry about that now. The money is lost.

"Yes, that's what I'll do. I'll bring you a stock certificate and you can compare it with Miss Morton's when you see her. Are you going out soon?"

"In a few days, I hope. I want to get back to the circus."

"I don't blame you. It isn't very cheerful here, though they do the best they can for you."

Mr. Buchard was as good as his word. The day after he left the hospital he came back to call on Joe.

"Here's a certificate," he said, handing over an elaborately engraved yellow-backed sheet of paper. "Take it with you, and show it to Miss Morton."

"Thank you," the young trapeze performer responded. "I'll mail yours back to you as soon as I've compared the names."

"Oh, you don't need to do that," said Mr. Buchard with a rueful laugh. "It isn't worth the price of a good cigar."

Joe wrote to Helen, telling her he would soon be with the circus again, but he did not mention the stock certificate.

"There'll be time enough to tell her when I find out if it's the same concern," he reasoned. "It may not be. After all, the stock Sanford sold her may be valuable."

But Joe's hope was a faint one.

The day came when he was able to leave the hospital. He found that not only had all bills been paid, but that there was an allowance to his credit. Helen had thought he would need money to travel with, and had left him a sum.

"Of course I'll pay her back when I get the chance," Joe reflected. "The circus will pay the hospital and doctor's bills—they always do. And I've got money enough saved up to pay Helen back."

Joe was really making a good salary, and he was careful of his money, not wasting it as some of the more reckless performers did.

He said good-bye to his nurse, to the orderlies and to the physician who had attended him.

"Now don't try to rush things," the doctor warned Joe. "You must favor your neck and shoulder muscles for a couple of weeks yet. They will be lame and sore if you don't. Take it easy, and gradually work up to your former exploits. If you do that you'll be all right."

Joe promised to be careful, and then, with the stock certificate safely in his pocket—though it was of no value, he reflected—he set out to rejoin the circus, which had moved on several hundred miles since his accident.

"I wonder if she'll lose her money," mused Joe, as he rode on in the train. "It would be too bad if she did. Of course it isn't all in this oil syndicate, but enough of it is to make a big hole in her little fortune. Hang it all, if this oil stock turns out bad I'll take that Sanford up to the top of the tent and drop him off."

He smiled grimly at this novel form of revenge. But really he was very much in earnest.

"Something will have to be done," Joe decided. But he did not know just what.

In due time he reached the town where the circus was showing. As Joe's train pulled in he saw, on a siding, the big yellow cars, with the name Sampson Brothers painted on their sides. There were the flat vehicles on which the big animal cages stood, box cars for the horses and elephants and the sleeping cars in which the company traveled.

"Oh, but it's good to get back!" exclaimed Joe.

The parade was in progress as he walked along the main street. He did not stop to watch it, having seen it often enough. Besides he was anxious to talk to Helen, and he knew he would find her at the tent at this hour, since she was not in the parade.

As Joe turned in at the circus lots he saw several of the attendants and canvasmen.

"Hello!" they called cheerily. "Glad to see you with us again!"

"And I'm glad to be back!" Joe exclaimed heartily. "How's everything?"

"Oh, fine."

"Had any trouble?"

"Not much since you had yours. Had to shoot Princess a couple of towns back."

"You mean the lioness?"

"Yes. She went on a rampage and there was nearly a bad accident, so we had to kill her."

"Too bad," remarked Joe, for he knew what a loss it meant to a show when a fine animal, such as Princess was, must be disposed of. "Still it was better than to have her kill her trainer or some one," he added.

"That's right," agreed a canvasman.

Joe passed on to the dressing tent. Helen saw him coming and ran to meet him.

"Oh, Joe!" she exclaimed. "I am so glad to see you! Are you all right again?"

"Quite, thank you. I'm a little lame and stiff yet, but I'll soon get limbered up when I get in my tights and feel myself swinging from a trapeze."

"Oh, but you must be careful, Joe."'

"I will. I don't want to have another accident. And now about yourself. How have you been?"

"Fine."

"And Rosebud?"

"The same as ever. I've taught him a new trick. I must show you. I haven't put it on in public yet."

"I shall like to see him. Well, you haven't had any more fortunes left to you, have you?"

"No, indeed. I wish I had. But I can increase what I have."

"How?"

"Just buy more oil stock. I had a letter from Mr. Sanford, saying he could get me some more. It's going up in price; so he advised me to buy at once."

"Are you going to?"

"Would you?" Helen asked.

"I'll tell you later," Joe answered. "Have you one of the stock certificates you did buy?"

"Yes. In my trunk. Do you want to see it?"

Joe did and said so. Helen got it for him and Joe compared it with the one the man in the hospital had given him. His heart sank as he saw that the names of the officers and directors were the same. The Circle City Oil Syndicate was a failure.

Joe's face must have reflected his emotions, for Helen asked him:

"What's the matter? Is anything wrong?"

"I am afraid I have bad news for you," Joe replied.

"In what way? You're not going to——"

"It's about your stock. I'm sorry to tell you that your oil stock is worthless—part of your fortune is gone, Helen!"



CHAPTER XXIII

HELEN GOES

Helen looked dazed for a few seconds. She stared at Joe as though she did not understand what he had said. She looked at the oil stock certificates in his hand. Joe continued to regard them dubiously.

"Worthless—my investment worthless?" Helen asked, after a bit.

"That's what I'm afraid of," Joe replied. "Of course I don't know much about stocks, bonds and so on, but a man said this stock certificate wasn't worth the price of a good cigar," and he held up the one the hospital patient had given him. "Yours is the same kind, Helen, I'm sorry to say."

"How do you know, Joe? Let me see them."

Joe gave her the two papers—elaborately printed, and lavishly enough engraved to be government money, but aside from that worthless.

Then Joe told of the incident in the hospital—how he had accidentally heard the man speak of the Circle City Oil Syndicate, and the conversation that followed.

"If what he says is true, Helen, your money is gone," Joe finished.

"Yes, I'm afraid so." she said slowly. "Oh, dear, isn't it too bad? And I was just thinking how nice it would be if I could increase my fortune. Now I am likely to lose it. I wish I had known more about business. I'd never have let this man fool me."

"I wish I had, too," remarked Joe. "Then I'd have advised you not to risk your money in oil. But perhaps it isn't too late yet."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean we may be able to sell back this stock. Of course it would hardly be right to sell it to an innocent person, who did not know of its worthlessness, for then they would lose also. But I mean the Syndicate might buy it back, rather than have it become known that the concern was worthless. I don't know much about such things."

"Neither do I," agreed Helen. "I'll tell you what let's do, Joe. Let's ask Bill Watson. He use to be in business before he became a clown, and he might tell us what to do."

"A good idea," commented Joe. "We'll do it."

The old clown was in the dressing room, but he came out when Helen and Joe summoned him, half his face "made up," with streaks of red, white and blue grease paint.

"Oh, Bill, we're in such trouble!" cried Helen,

"Trouble!" exclaimed Bill. The word seemed hardly to fit in with his grotesque character. "What trouble?"

"It's about my money," Helen went on. "I'm going to lose it all, Joe thinks."

"Oh, not all!" exclaimed the young trapeze performer quickly. "Only what you invested in oil stock. Here's the story, Bill," and Joe related his part of it, Helen supplying the information needed from her end.

"Now," went on Joe, as he concluded, "what we want to know is—can Helen save any of this oil money?"

Bill Watson was silent a moment. Then he slowly shook his head.

"I'm afraid not," he answered. "Money invested in wild-cat oil wells is seldom recovered. Of course you could bring a lawsuit against this Sanford, but the chances are he's skipped out by this time."

"Oh, no, he hasn't," Helen exclaimed. "I had a letter from him only the other day. He asked me if I didn't want to buy some more stock. I know where to find him."

Once more the veteran clown shook his head.

"He might allow you to find him if he thought you were bringing him more cash for his worthless schemes," he said, "but if he found out you wanted to serve papers on him in a suit, or to get hold of him to make him give back the money he took from you, Helen, that would be a different story. I'm afraid you wouldn't see much of Mr. Sanford then. He'd be mighty scarce."

"Could we sell back the stock to the oil company?" Joe wanted to know.

"Hardly," answered the clown. "They make that stock to sell to the public, and they never buy it back unless there's a chance for them to make money. And, according to Joe's tale, there isn't in this case."

"Not by what that man said," affirmed the young trapeze performer.

"I suppose the only thing to do," went on the old clown, "would be to give the case into the hands of a good lawyer, and let him see what he could do with it. Turn over the stock to him, give him power to act for you, Helen, and wait for what comes. You'll be traveling on with the show, and you can't do much, nor Joe either, though I know he would help you if he could, and so would I."

"That's what!" exclaimed Joe heartily.

"I'll do just as you say," agreed Helen. "But it does seem too bad to lose my money, and I counted on doing so much with it. But it can't be helped."

She was more cheerful over it than Joe thought she would be. He suspected that she had not altogether lost hope, but as for himself Joe counted the money gone, and it was not a small sum to lose.

"Come on, Helen," he said. "I noticed a lawyer's office on the main street as I was looking at the parade. We'll go there and get him to take the case. We'll be out of here to-night and we can leave matters in his hands, with instructions to send us word when he has the money back."

"And I'm afraid you'll never get that word," said the old clown.

There was time enough before the afternoon performance for Joe and Helen to pay a visit to the law office. Joe also reported to Jim Tracy, who was glad to see him.

"I don't want you to get on the trapeze to-day," said the ring-master. "Take a little light practice first for a few days. And do all you can for her," he added in a low voice, motioning to Helen.

"I sure will!" Joe exclaimed fervently.

The lawyer listened to the story as Joe and Helen told it to him, and agreed to take the case against Sanford and the Circle City Oil Syndicate for a small fee.

"I'll do the best I can," he said, "but I'm afraid I can't promise you much in results. Let me have the papers and your future address."

Joe put on his suit of tights for that afternoon, though he did not take part in the trapeze work. He fancied that the Lascalla Brothers were not very glad to see him, but this may have been fancy, for they were cordial enough as far as words went.

"Maybe they thought I would be laid up permanently," reasoned Joe. "Then they could have their former partner back. I wonder if he's been around lately?"

He made some inquiries, but no one had noticed Sim Dobley hanging about the lots as he had done shortly after his discharge. Nor had there been, as Joe had a faint suspicion there might be, any connection between the train wreck and the discharged employee.

"I don't believe Sim would be so desperate as to wreck a train just to get even with me," decided Joe. "I guess it was just a coincidence. He only wrote that threatening letter as a bluff."

Helen Morton did not allow her distress over the prospective loss of her money to interfere with her circus act. She put Rosebud through his paces in the ring, and received her share of applause at the antics of the clever horse. Helen did a new little trick—the one she had told Joe about.

She tossed flags of different nations to different parts of the ring, and then told Rosebud to fetch them to her, one after the other, calling for them by name.

The intelligent horse made no mistakes, bringing the right flag each time.

"And now," said Helen at the conclusion of her act, "show me what all good little children do when they go to bed at night."

Rosebud bent his forelegs and bowed his head between them as if he were saying his prayers.

"That's a good horse!" ejaculated Helen. "Now come and get your sugar and give me a kiss," and the animal daintily picked up a lump of the sweet stuff from Helen's hand, and then lightly touched her cheek with his velvety muzzle.

Then with a leap the pretty young rider vaulted into the saddle and rode out of the ring amid applause.

"You're doing beautifully, Helen!" was Joe's compliment, as Helen rode out.

"I may be all right on a horse," she answered, "but I don't know much about money and business."

The show moved on that night, and the next day, when the tent was set up, Joe indulged in light practice. He found the soreness almost gone, and as he worked alone, and with the Lascalla Brothers, his stiffness also disappeared.

"I think I'll go on to-night," he told the ring-master.

"All right, Joe. We'll be glad to have you, of course. But don't take any chances."

Mail was distributed among the circus folk that day following the afternoon performance. Joe had letters from some people to whom he had written in regard to his mother's relatives in England. One gave him the address of a London solicitor, as lawyers are designated over there, and Joe determined to write to him.

"Though I guess my chances of getting an inheritance are pretty slim," he told Helen. "I'm not lucky, like you."

"I hope you don't call me lucky!" she exclaimed. "Having money doesn't do me any good. I lose it as fast as I get it."

She had a letter from her lawyer, stating that he had looked further into the case since she had left the papers with him, and that he had less hope than ever of ever being able to get back the cash paid for the oil stock.

Joe did not intend to work in any new tricks the first evening of his reappearance after the accident. But when he got started he felt so well after his rest and his light practice, that he made up his mind he would put on a couple of novelties. Not exactly novelties, either, for they are known to most gymnasts though not often done in a circus.

Joe went up to the top of the tent. Near the small platform, from which he jumped in the long swing, to catch Tonzo Lascalla in the trapeze, Joe had fastened a long cotton rope about two inches in diameter.

He caught hold of the rope in both hands and passed it between his thighs, letting it rest on the calf of his left leg. He then brought the rope around over the instep of his left foot, holding it in position with pressure by the right foot, which was pressed against the left.

"Here I come!" Joe cried, and then, letting go with his hands, Joe stretched out his arms, and came down the rope in that fashion, the pressure of his feet on the rope that passed between them regulating his speed.

It was a more difficult feat than it appeared, this descending a rope without using one's hands, but it seemed to thrill the crowd sufficiently.

But Joe had not finished. He knew another spectacular act in rope work, which looked difficult and dangerous, and yet was easier to perform than the one he had just done. Often in trapeze work this is the case.

The spectator may be thrilled by some seemingly dangerous and risky act, when, as a matter of fact, it is easy for the performer, who thinks little of it. On the other hand that which often seems from the circus seats to be very easy may be so hard on the muscles and nerves as to be actually dreaded by the performer.

Having himself hauled up to the top of the tent again, Joe once more took hold of the rope. He held himself in position, the rope between his legs, which he thrust out at right angles to his body, his toes pointing straight out. Suddenly he "circled back" to an inverted hang, his head now pointing to the ground many feet below. Then he quickly passed the rope about his waist, under his right armpit, crossed his feet with the rope between them, the toes of the right foot pressing the cotton strands against the arch of his left foot.

"Ready!" cried Joe.

There was a boom of the big drum, a ruffle of the snare, and Joe slid down the rope head first with outstretched arms, coming to a sudden stop with his head hardly an inch from the hard ground. But Joe knew just what he was doing and he could regulate his descent to the fraction of an inch by the pressure of his legs and feet on the rope.

There was a yell of delight from the audience at this feat, and Joe, turning right side up, acknowledged the ovation tendered him. Then he ran from the tent—his part in the show being over.

For a week the circus showed, moving from town to city. It was approaching the end of the season. The show would soon go into winter quarters, and the performers disperse until summer came again.

Helen had heard nothing favorable from the lawyer, and she and Joe had about given up hope of getting back the money.

The circus had reached a good-sized city in the course of its travels, and was to play there two days. On the afternoon of the first day, just before the opening of the performance, Joe went to Helen's tent to speak to her about something.

"She isn't here," Mrs. Talfo, the fat lady, told him. "She's gone."

"Gone!" echoed Joe. "Isn't she going to play this afternoon?"

"I believe not—no."

"But where did she go?"

"You'll have to ask Jim Tracy. I saw her talking to him. She seemed quite excited about something."

"I wonder if anything could have happened," mused Joe. "They couldn't have discharged her. That act's too good. But it looks funny. She wouldn't have left of her own accord without saying good-bye. I wonder what happened."



CHAPTER XXIV

JOE FOLLOWS

Some little time elapsed before Joe found a chance to speak to Jim Tracy. There had been a slight accident to one of the circus wagons in unloading from the train for that day's show, and the ring-master was kept very busy. One of the elephants was slightly hurt also.

But finally the confusion was straightened out, and our hero had a chance to ask the question that was troubling him.

"What had become of Helen?"

"Why, I don't know where she went," Jim Tracy said. "She came to me almost as soon as we got in this morning, and wanted to know if she could have the afternoon off."

"Cut out her act?" Joe asked.

"That's it. Of course I didn't want to lose her out of the show, but as long as we're going to be here two days, and considering the fact that she hadn't had a day off since the show started out this season, I said she might go. And so she went—at least I suppose she did."

"Yes, she's gone," Joe replied. "But where?"

Jim Tracy did not know and said so. He was too busy to talk much more about it.

"She'll be back in time for the evening performance—that's all I know," he told Joe.

The young trapeze' performer sought out the old clown and told him what had taken place.

"Helen gone!" exclaimed Bill. "That's queer!"

"I thought maybe you'd know about it, Bill."

"Me? No, not a thing. She never said a word to me. Are you sure you and she didn't have any—er—little tiff?"

"Of course not!" and Joe blushed under his tan. "She didn't tell me she was going."

"Oh, well, she'll be back to-night, Jim says. I guess she's all right. Now I've got to get busy."

But Joe was not satisfied. It was not like Helen to go off in this way, and he felt there was something strange about it.

"I do hope she isn't going to try to make any more investments with her money—that is with what she has left," he mused. "Maybe she heard of some other kind of stock she can buy, and she thinks from the profits of that she can make up for what she is sure to lose in the oil investment. Poor Helen! It certainly is hard luck!"

Joe thought so much of his new theory that he visited the circus treasurer with whom Helen had left some of her money.

"No, it's here in the safe—what she left with me," the treasurer said. "Too bad about her losing that nice sum, wasn't it? It will take her quite a while to save that much."

"I wish I had hold of the law clerk who tricked her into buying the oil stock," said Joe with energy. "I'd make him eat the certificates, and then I'd—well, I don't know what I would do."

"But you haven't got him," said the treasurer, "and I guess their kind take good care to keep out of the way of those they've swindled."

"I guess so," Joe agreed.

There was nothing he could do at present, and he had soon to go on with his act. But Joe Strong made up his mind if Helen were not back early to make a thorough search for her.

"That is if I can get any trace of her," he went on. "She may run into danger without knowing it, for she hasn't had much experience in life, even if she is a circus rider."

Joe was himself again now. His muscles seemed to have benefited by the rest, and the young trapeze performer went through all his old acts, alone and with the Lascalla Brothers, and Joe also put on one or two new things, or, rather, variations of old ones.

In one part of his performance he balanced himself upon his neck and shoulders on a trapeze high up in the top of the tent. He was almost standing upon his head. While this is not difficult for a performer to do when the trapeze is stationary it is not easy when the apparatus is swinging. Joe was going to try that.

A ring hand pulled on a light rope attached to the trapeze on which Joe was thus balanced on his neck and set the bar and ropes in motion. They moved slowly, and through only a short arc at first. But in a little while Joe, in his perilous position, was executing a long swing.

His feet were pressed against the ropes and his hands were on his hips. He balanced his body instinctively in this posture. But this was not all of the trick.

When the trapeze was swinging as high as he wanted it, Joe suddenly brought his legs together. For an instant he poised there on the bar, supporting himself on his neck and shoulders, as straight as an arrow.

Then, with a shout to warn those below, he fell over in a graceful curve, and began a series of rapid somersaults in the air.

Down he fell, the hushed attention of the big crowd being drawn to him. Just before reaching the life net, Joe straightened out and fell into the meshes feet first, bouncing out on a mat and from there bowing his thanks for the applause.

Thus Joe brought his act to a close for that afternoon, and he was glad of it for he wanted to go out and see if Helen had returned. As soon as he had changed to his street clothes he sought her tent.

The women of the circus dressed together, each one in a sort of canvas screened apartment, and in the Sampson Brothers' Show they also had a sort of ante-room to the dressing tent, where they could receive their friends.

There was no one in this room when Joe entered, save some of the maids which the higher-salaried circus women kept to help them dress, "make up" and so on.

"Is Miss Morton in?" asked Joe of a maid who knew him.

"No, Mr. Strong. I don't believe she has returned yet. I'll go and look in her room, though." The maid came back shaking her head.

"She isn't there," she told Joe.

"I wonder where she can be," he mused. "Why didn't she leave some word? Are you sure there wasn't a letter or anything on her trunk?" he inquired of the maid.

"Well, I didn't look. You may go in if you like. I guess it will be all right."

None of the performers were in the dressing tent then, being out in the big one doing their acts. Joe knew his way to Helen's room, having been there many times, for there would often be little impromptu gatherings in it to talk over circus matters between the acts.

He looked about for a letter, thinking she might have left one for him before going away. He saw nothing addressed to himself, but on the ground, where it had evidently dropped, was an open note. Joe could not help reading it at a glance. To his surprise it was signed by Sanford, the tricky law clerk.

"I shall be glad to see you if you will call on me when you reach Lyledale," the letter read. "I am glad you think of buying more stock. I have some to sell. I will be at the Globe Hotel."

"Whew!" whistled Joe. "It's just as I feared. She's been doing business with Sanford again—trying to make good her loss on the oil stock. He has an appointment with her here in Lyledale. That's where she's gone—to meet him. She must have sold some of her other securities to get money to buy more stock. I must stop this. I've got to follow her. Poor Helen!"

Joe had found out what he wanted to know by accident. Helen, he reasoned, must have received the letter that day, or perhaps the day before, and had planned to meet Sanford on reaching Lyledale where the circus was then playing. In order to do this she had to be excused from the afternoon performance.

"But I'll put a stop to that deal if I can," Joe declared. "I'll tell her how foolish and risky it is to invest any more money with Sanford. I only hope she'll believe me."

Joe's time was his own until the night performance. He decided he would at once follow Helen to the hotel and there remonstrate with her, if it were not too late.

"Queer that she kept it a secret from all of us," remarked Joe as he started for town. "I guess she knew we'd try to stop her from throwing good money after bad, as they say. Well, now to see what luck I'll have."

The Globe Hotel was the best and largest in town. Joe had no difficulty in finding it, and on inquiring at the desk was told that Mr. Sanford was a guest at the place.

"He has two rooms," the clerk told Joe. "One he uses as an office, where he does business."

"Oh, then he's been here before?" Joe asked.

"Oh, yes, often. I don't know what his business is, but I think, he is a sort of stock and bond dealer."

"More like a stock and bond swindler," thought Joe.

"Mr. Sanford will see you in a few minutes," the bellboy reported to Joe, having come back from taking up our hero's card. "There's a lady in the office with him now."

"A young lady?" Joe asked.

"Yes," nodded the bellboy.

"I'll go up now!" decided Joe. "I think he might just as well see me now as later."

"Maybe he won't like it," the clerk warned him.

"I don't care whether he likes it or not!" cried Joe. "It may be too late if I don't go up now. You needn't bother to announce me," he said to the bell-boy who offered to accompany Joe to show the way. "I guess I can find the room all right."

Joe rode up in the elevator, and turned down the corridor leading to the two rooms occupied by Sanford. Pausing at the door of the outer room, Joe heard voices. He recognized one as Helen's.

"She's there all right," mused Joe. "I hope I'm not too late!"

He was about to enter when he heard Helen say: "Please give it back to me. It isn't fair to take advantage of me this way."

"You went into this with your eyes open," Sanford replied. "It was a straight business deal, and I'm not to blame for the way it turned out. Now this stock——"

Joe waited no longer. He fairly burst into the room, crying:

"Helen, don't waste any more money on his worthless investments!"



CHAPTER XXV

THE LAST PERFORMANCE

It would have been difficult to say who was the more surprised by the sudden entrance of Joe Strong—Helen or the law clerk. Both seemed startled.

Once more Joe cried:

"Helen, don't throw away any more of your money on his stocks!"

"How dare you come in here?" demanded Sanford.

"Never mind about that," answered Joe coolly. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not going to see you get any more of her money."

"Oh, Joe. How did you know I was here?" asked Helen. "I didn't want any one to know I came."

"I found out. I feared this was what you'd do."

"Do what, Joe?"

"Buy more stock in the hope of making good your losses on the Circle City investment."

"But, Joe, I'm not doing that. I don't want to buy any more stock. I've had too much as it is."

"Then what in the world did you come here for?" cried Sanford. "You intimated that you wanted more stock. That's why I met you here—to sell it to you."

"Yes, I thought that's what you'd think," replied Helen, and she seemed less excited now than Joe Strong. "But what I came for was to sell you back these worthless oil certificates. I want my money back."

"Well, you won't get it!" sneered the law clerk. "You bought that stock and now——"

"Now she's going to sell it again," put in Joe. He seemed to understand the situation now.

"Helen," he went on, "I think it would be well if you left this matter in my hands. If you'll just go downstairs and to the nearest police station and ask an officer to step around here, I think we can find something for him to do."

"Police!" faltered Sanford.

"Oh, well, perhaps we won't need one," said Joe coolly, "but it's always best, in matters of this kind, to have one on hand. It doesn't cost anything. Just get an officer, Helen, and wait downstairs with him. I'll have a little talk with Sanford."

"Oh, Joe! I—I——!"

"Now, Helen, you just leave this to me. Run along."

Joe Strong seemed to dominate the situation. He displayed splendid nerve.

Helen went slowly from the room.

"The clerk will tell you where to find a policeman," Joe called to her. "You needn't tell him why one is needed. It may be that we shall get along without one, and there's no need of causing any excitement unless we have to."

"Joe—Joe," faltered Helen. "You will be careful—won't you?"

"Well," and Joe smiled quizzically, "I'll be as careful as he'll let me," and he nodded toward the law clerk.

"What do you mean?" demanded Sanford, uneasily.

"You'll see in a few minutes," said Joe calmly.

When Helen went out Joe, with a quick movement, closed and locked the hall door.

"What's that for?" cried Sanford.

"So you won't get out before I'm through with you."

The law clerk made a rush for Joe, endeavoring to push him to one side. But muscles trained on a typewriter or with a pen are no match for those used on the flying rings and trapeze.

With a single motion of his hand Joe thrust the clerk aside, fairly forcing him into a chair.

"Now then," said Joe calmly, "you and I will have a little talk. You needn't try to yell. If you do I'll stuff a bedspread in your mouth. And if you want to try conclusions with me physically—well, here you are!"

With a quick motion Joe caught the fellow up, and raised him high in the air, over his head.

"Oh—oh! Put me down! Put me down!" Sanford begged. "I—I'll fall!"

"You won't fall as long as I have hold of you," chuckled Joe. "But there's no telling when I might let go. Now let's talk business."

Trembling, Sanford found himself in the chair again.

"Did you sell Miss Morton any more stock?" demanded Joe.

"No—I—she—came here to buy, I thought, but——"

"Well, as long as she didn't it's all right. Now then about that oil stock you got her to invest her money in—is that stock good?"

"Why, of course it——"

"Isn't!" interrupted Joe, "and you knew it wasn't when you sold it to her. Now then I want you to take that stock back and return her money. And I don't want you to sell that stock to some other person, either. You just tear it up. It's worthless, and you know it. I want Miss Morton's money back for her."

"I haven't it!" whined the clerk.

"Then you know where to get it. I fancy if I tell Mr. Pike, of your law firm, what you've been up to——"

"Oh, don't tell him! Don't tell him!" whined the clerk. "He doesn't know anything about it. I—I just did this as a side line. If you tell him I'll lose my position and——"

"Well, I'll tell him all right, if you don't give back Miss Morton's money!" said Joe grimly.

"I tell you I haven't the cash."

"Then you must get it. You've been doing business here before, the hotel clerk tells me. Come now—hand over the cash—get it—and I'll let you go, though perhaps I shouldn't. If you don't pay up—well, the officer ought to be downstairs waiting for you now. Come!" cried Joe sharply. "Which is it to be—the money or jail?"

Sanford looked around like a cornered rat seeking a means of escape. There was none. Joe, big and powerful, stood between him and the door.

"Well?" asked Joe significantly.

"I—I'll pay her back the money," faltered Sanford. "But I'll have to go out to get it."

"Oh, no, you won't," said Joe cheerfully. "If you went out you might forget to come back. Here's a telephone—just use that."

Sanford sighed. His last chance was gone.

Just what or to whom he telephoned does not concern us. But in the course of an hour or so a messenger called with money enough to make good all Helen had risked in oil stock. The cash was handed to her.

"Here, you keep it for me, Joe," she said. "I don't seem to know how to manage my fortune."

"What about those stock certificates?" asked Sanford. "I want them back."

"They are worthless, by your own confession," replied Joe, "and you're not going to fool some one else on them. "We'll just keep them for souvenirs, eh, Helen?"

"Just as you say, Joe," she answered with a blush.

Sanford blustered, but to no purpose. He was beaten at his own game, and the fear of exposure and arrest brought him to terms.

"But you shouldn't have gone to him alone, Helen," remonstrated Joe, when they were on their way back to the circus with the recovered cash.

"Well, I'd been so foolish as to lose my money, that I wanted to see if I couldn't get it back again," she said. "I didn't want any of you to help me, as I'd already given trouble enough."

"Trouble!" cried Joe. "We would have been only too glad to help you."

"Well, you did it in spite of me," Helen said, with a smile. "I did not intend you should know where I had gone. How did you find out?"

"I saw a letter you dropped in the tent, and I followed. But how did you happen to locate Sanford?"

"By adopting just what Bill Watson said was the only plan. I made believe I wanted to buy more stock. Bill said that was the only way to catch Sanford. If I had tried to find him to get my money back he would have kept out of my way. But when he thought I might have more cash for him, he wrote and told me where I could find him. So I just waited until our show came here and then I called on Mr. Sanford.

"I was just begging him to give me back the money for the oil stock when you came in on us, Joe."

"Well, I'm glad I did."

"So am I. I hardly think he'd have paid me if it had not been for you. How did you make him settle?"

"Oh, I just sort of 'held him up' for it," but Joe did not explain the way he had actually "held up" the swindler.

"I'm so glad to get my money back!" Helen sighed as they reached the circus grounds, over which dusk was settling, for it was now early fall.

"And I'm glad, too," added Joe. "Then next time you buy oil stock——"

"There'll not be any next time," laughed Helen, as she went to give Rosebud his customary lumps of sugar.

And that night, in the Sampson Brother's Show, there was an impromptu little celebration over the recovery of Helen's money.

Later Joe learned that Sanford gave up his place in the law office. Perhaps the swindler was afraid Mr. Pike would find out about his underhand transactions. Sanford, it seemed, had done some law business for the oil company, and they let him sell some of the worthless stock for himself, allowing him to keep the money—that is what Joe did not make him pay back.

It was the night of the final performance. The performers went through their acts with new snap and daring, for it was the last time some of them would face the public until the following season. A few would secure engagements for the winter in theatres, but most of them would winter with the circus.

When the tents came down this time they would be shipped to Bridgeport, where many shows go into winter quarters.

"Well, Joe," remarked Helen, as she came out of the ring just as Joe finished his last thrilling feat, "what are you going to do? Will you be with us next season?"

"I don't know. I've had several offers to go with hippodrome exhibitions, and on a theatrical circuit."

"Oh, then you are going to leave us?"

Joe looked at Helen. There seemed to be a new light in her eyes. And though she was smiling, there was something of disappointment showing on her face. With parted lips she gazed at Joe.

"I thought perhaps you would stay," she murmured, her eyes downcast.

"I—I guess I will!" said Joe in a low voice. "This is a pretty good circus after all."

And so Joe stayed. And what he did in the show will be related in the next volume of this series, to be called: "Joe Strong, the Boy Fish; Or, Marvelous Doings in a Big Tank."

The chariots rattled their final dusty way around the big tent. The "barkers" came in to sell tickets for the "grand concert." The animal tent was already down for the last time that season. With the ending of the concert the bugler blew "taps." The torches went out.

"Good night, Joe," said Helen.

"Good night, Helen," he answered, and as they clasped hands in the darkness we will say good-bye to Joe Strong.



The End