But Joe did not seem to care. He drew his salary regularly, and as he was not known to gamble or to have other noticeably bad habits, there was considerable speculation as to what he did with his money.

"He doesn't send any to his folks, for he hasn't any folks," said Tonzo Lascalla. "He told me so. His foster father is well off, and doesn't need any cash from Joe, and he hasn't any other relatives, except maybe some in England he never heard of."

"Maybe he's saving to hire a lawyer to get his English fortune for him," suggested Sid Lascalla.

"Maybe," agreed his partner.

But, as a matter of fact, Joe had about given up hope of ever hearing anything favorable from England. His inquiries had come to naught, though Bill Watson insisted that Janet Willoughby, which was Mrs. Strong's name before her marriage, came from a wealthy and aristocratic family.

The circus moved on from town to town, and Joe was more and more satisfied with his purchase of the trained seal. Lizzie in the tank with Joe was certainly an added attraction. The seal seemed to like the under-water work as much as Joe did. She ate her fish as Joe ate his bananas, and was a pretty sight as she cavorted around in the water with the boy fish swimming by her side.

Joe took frequent rides on his motor-cycle, Helen often accompanying him, and when one day he found he was able to stay under water for four minutes and twenty seconds he ascribed his success to his swift riding in the open air.

"I'll go after the world's record before the season is over," he said to Helen.

"I hope you make it," she said.

"One thing bothers me, though," said Joe. "I can't use the goldfish in the tank when I act with Lizzie. She'd do nothing but eat them. And it's quite a bother to have to take the fish out every time just before I let Lizzie go into the water. I could have two tanks, I suppose, doing part of my act in one with the goldfish, and then changing to another with the seal. But I have enough duffle to cart about as it is. I don't want another big tank."

"No, it would be a nuisance," agreed Helen.

"I've tried and tried to think of a way to use the double act, but I can't," Joe went on. "I took a couple of goldfish into the tank with Lizzie and me one day, but she gobbled them up before I could turn over. I didn't repeat that experiment."

Helen seemed to be thinking deeply. Suddenly she clapped her hands, her eyes sparkled, and she cried:

"Oh, Joe! I believe I have it!"

"Have what?"

"The solution of your trouble. I think I know a way in which you can use the goldfish and the seal in the same tank."

"How, by putting a muzzle on Lizzie?"

"No, but by using a tank with double glass sides. Let me show you what I mean!"



CHAPTER XX

ACROSS THE TRESTLE

Helen, with a pencil and piece of paper, began rapidly making a little sketch. Joe looked over her shoulder. They were in the outer section of the dressing tent, waiting for their turn to go on with their acts.

"See," Helen explained, "you can easily put double glass sides on your tank by slipping sheets of glass inside the four present outer sides, leaving a space of five or six inches between them. Fill this space with water, and put the goldfish in that. Then they can swim around, and Lizzie can't get at them because they'll be protected by the glass."

She made a sectional view of the tank with its double sides and held it up triumphantly to Joe.

"Will that solve the puzzle?" she asked.

"Why, I really believe it will!" exclaimed Joe, after a moment's thought. "Yes, I could have metal clips, made water-tight with rubber, fitted inside the tank. Taking five inches off each side wouldn't mean much loss. Then I could slip four sheets of glass down in the metal clips, and, as you say, fill the intervening space with water for the goldfish."

"Exactly," cried Helen. "The audience can't tell whether the fish are in the tank with you or not, for the water and glass, being transparent, will make it look exactly as if you and the fish and the seal were in the same bit of water."

"Good!" cried Joe. "I'll do it! The very thing, Helen!"

The fact that persons looking directly at a glass tank of water can not tell how far back the water and tank extends is taken advantage of by moving picture operators in producing novel effects. Only the other day was shown a scene where a man apparently went down to the bottom of a river. Fish swam all about him, there was a portion of a wreck half buried in the sand and mud, and waving aquatic plants seemed to reach out and twine themselves around the man, while fish swam above and below him.

This effect was produced by having the man go through certain actions behind a square glass tank in which the sand, aquatic plants, wreck and fish had been placed. The fish could swim about, but the man was not in the water at all but behind the tank, the water and glass offering no obstruction to the camera.

It was that principle which Helen suggested to Joe. He and the seal would be doing their act behind a glass and water screen, in which fish were swimming and aquatic plants gently waving.

Joe lost no time in putting the plan into operation. He ordered the glass and metal holding clips, with the water-tight rubber gaskets, from the same firm in New York that had originally made Benny's tank. They still had the patterns, and knew just the proper size and kind of glass to send, and Joe had no difficulty in malting his tank a double one.

The experiment was tried in private one afternoon just before the performance. The plants and goldfish were put in the thin outer tank which extended all around the inner one. The fish, of course, swam about as they were in the habit of doing. The fact that they were in a much more restricted space did not seem to perplex or vex them.

Then Joe got into the inner tank, and Lizzie was allowed to follow him. No sooner did the seal see herself surrounded by the fish she loved to eat than she made a dash for a big golden one.

Of course Lizzie bumped her nose against the protecting glass, but this did not deter her. Joe watched the sea-lion curiously. Again she made a dash for a fish, evidently thinking she had not been quick enough to get the first one. Again came a painful bump.

Joe continued to swim about as he always did when Lizzie was in the tank. It was not until after her third failure that the intelligent seal began to think something was wrong. Then she swam alongside the inner glass. Just beyond, three-quarters of an inch away, but as secure as though the space were miles, swam the goldfish. Lizzie could not get them, and then she turned her big eyes on Joe as if to ask what sort of trick this was to play on a good, performing seal.

If Joe had not been under water he would have laughed. He did this when he came up, however, and he gave Lizzie more than her usual allowance of common fish to make up for her disappointment over the gold ones.

But Helen's solution of the problem was perfect. The circus folk formed a critical rehearsal audience and as Joe swam about in the inner tank with the seal, and as the goldfish flitted about in the outer tank, Jim Tracy said:

"It couldn't be better. The illusion is perfect. No one looking at it as the crowd will view it, could tell but that it was all one tank. Helen, you're a fine suggester. First I know, you'll be going into business for yourself."

"Not while I have Rosebud," she answered, blushing. "But I'm glad my plan worked."

Joe was glad also. Not only was he enabled to get a much more spectacular effect by having the goldfish and his seal in the same act, but it saved a lot of work in taking out the fish every time he wanted to perform with Lizzie. And as it had been necessary to take the goldfish out twice a day—for the afternoon and night performance—much work was entailed. And there is so much to do, anyhow, in moving a circus from place to place, that everything which makes for economy of time or motion is very welcome and eagerly adopted.

That afternoon the audience seemed to appreciate very much the aquatic act. It certainly made a pretty scene with Joe, in his red scaly suit, going through all manner of performances in the water, while the dark seal swam in and out, sometimes circling around his head, again darting through his looped arms, while on all sides they were surrounded by goldfish and gracefully waving green grass and plants.

It was one of the showiest acts in the circus, and taking advantage one day of a particularly gracious reception on the part of the crowd, and when he had lengthened his stay under water by two seconds, Joe asked for more money.

Jim Tracy whistled in mild surprise, but he did not make half the objections he had made on the other occasion.

"I'm under a lot more expense," Joe explained. "Lizzie cost me money, and I have to buy fish for her every day. Besides, the extra tank fittings cost considerable."

"All right, Joe. I'm not making any kick," said the ring-master. "You're certainly worth a lot to us, and we can't afford to lose you. I wouldn't say that to every performer, or they'd get such a swelled head that there'd be no doing anything with them. But you're different, I'm glad to say. Yes, you shall have more money. The act is worth it, especially since you got Lizzie. First you know you'll be a millionaire, my boy."

"Not in this business, I guess," laughed Joe.

Joe found himself liking more and more his motor-cycle rides. Helen, too, enjoyed them very much. She was even learning to manage the machine herself, though, as yet, she had not ventured to drive it at more than a slow speed, and then on some little-frequented road.

As soon as the circus reached a town where it was to show, and Joe and Helen had had their breakfast, and had seen, one to his tank and seal and the other to her horse, they would set off for a ride through the beautiful country. It took them away from the atmosphere of the circus, and rested them mentally and physically. They were in better trim for the strenuous and exacting work that was to follow.

Helen had greatly elaborated her act since the time when Joe had first seen it. She had taken a little dog—the same one that had refused to act with Joe in the tank—and had trained it to ride with her on Rosebud's back. The dog did some simple tricks, and that, with the beautiful and intelligent horse and Helen, who herself was strikingly pretty, made an act that always was well applauded.

"I only hope you two don't have a break-down when you're out on the road motor-cycling some day," said Jim Tracy. "If you do, and don't get back to the show on time—well, I don't know what I'll do."

Joe had not thought of that, and thereafter he was careful not to go too far away, so, in case of some accident to the machine, he could hire a horse and wagon to bring him and Helen back. But the machine had not yet given him trouble and he hoped it would not.

"I'm very glad I bought it from Babson," he said, "though the day I got it and the seal I seemed to be going it pretty heavy in the matter of expenditures."

Then, one day, Joe had his accident. It was not a very serious one, merely the breaking of the motor-cycle transmission chain, but as far as making the machine go without it, Joe might as well have had a bad smash-up.

Helen was not with him, and he was glad of this, for when the break came he was on his way back to the circus grounds, as it was nearing time for the afternoon performance.

Joe tried to mend the chain himself, but a link was needed and he had no spare one. He was looking about on the country road for some place where he could hire a horse and carriage, when he met a small boy who told him there was a garage about a mile away. Joe decided that if he could get his chain repaired he could make better time than by engaging a horse.

Accordingly he pushed the heavy machine along a sandy road until he came to the garage and repair shop. To his delight, the machinist said he could easily repair the chain, and he set about it.

But Joe had consumed more time in his weary walk than he was aware of, and when the chain was mended and he set off again, he had barely time to reach the circus on time, even if he rode at top speed, and had excellent roads all the way.

He was returning by a different route from the one he had taken on going out, and now he regretted it, for the way was longer.

"I'm afraid I'm not going to make it," Joe decided as he looked at his watch. "I've cut my schedule too fine."

He came to a small village and inquired of some loungers if there was not a shorter route to the circus town than the one he had been told to take.

"Well, there is a short cut," said a man, "if you can ride the railroad track. Otherwise you can't get over the river without going five miles out of your way. The railroad bridge over the river is the only one around here, and it's a long, high bridge at that."

"I guess I can ride the railroad," said Joe. "What sort of a bed is it—cracked stone?"

"No, cinders."

Joe was glad to hear that, for cracked stone would have worked havoc to his tires.

"He can't ride no railroad line," declared another man, positively.

"Why not?" Joe wanted to know.

"You can't ride over the railroad trestle, and it's more than a mile long, counting the approaches. If you walk you won't make any better time than if you went around the long way. You can't ride that machine over the open ties. It would rattle it all to pieces. The only way you can do is to walk and push it."

Joe thought for a moment.

"I think I can ride the trestle," he said.

"How?" demanded the man.

"By keeping on the steel rail. That's smooth enough."

"You never can do it!" declared the man who had offered the objection. "You never can do it in this world. You'll be off in no time, and it's a long fall to the river. You can't do it!"

"Can't I?" asked Joe coolly. "You come and watch me. I'm going to ride my motor-cycle across the railroad trestle bridge on the single rail!"

Several in the crowd looked at him admiringly, while others shook their heads.

"He'll kill himself!" murmured one old man.

"He sure has got nerve!" exclaimed a boy, admiringly.

Meanwhile a crowd of villagers followed Joe as he rode off in the direction of the railroad. It was his only chance of getting to the circus on time.



CHAPTER XXI

IN STRANGE PERIL

Joe was running his machine at reduced speed as he went off in the direction that had been indicated as the location of the railroad tracks. Beside him ran some of the more fleet-footed of the youths of the town, and behind them came some men. All were hurrying to see if Joe would make good his boast.

Yet, it was not so much a boast as it was a determination to do this risky act in order not to be late at the circus and so disappoint a big crowd and cause trouble for the management.

"It's my own fault for going off so far into the country," mused Joe, "and I've got to make up for it as best I can."

"Turn down here to the railroad," a lad called to Joe. "This is the short cut."

Joe steered his machine down a lane, and he soon saw stretching ahead of him the cinder-covered embankment of a single line of railroad. In the distance Joe could see a big depression where the river ran. The stream itself was not very large, but it flowed at the very bottom of a wide and deep valley, and to cross this a long trestle had been necessary.

"Think you can ride it, young man?" asked an elderly man, as Joe halted, for he had to push the machine up the embankment.

"I'm going to make a big attempt," was the answer. "You see, I'm behind my schedule and I've got to make it up."

"You're taking a big risk."

"Well, I'm used to risks," answered Joe with a smile. "I'm a circus trapeze performer."

"That accounts for part of it," went on the man with a smile. "I wish you luck."

"Thanks," murmured Joe as he began to push the heavy motor-cycle up the embankment. Willing hands assisted him, and he soon stood on the railroad tracks themselves. He found that the road-bed was in good condition. The ties, or sleepers, as the wooden supports of the rails are called, were well embedded in cinders, which had been finely pulverized by the action of the weather and by many feet walking over them, for the railroad tracks were often used as a short cut by the people of the neighborhood.

"This won't be half bad to ride on," said Joe, as he kicked at the cinders.

"No, but the trestle is the sticker," some one remarked. "You can't ride on that without being shaken to pieces on the ties."

"I'm not going to try," Joe said. "As I told you, I'm going to take to a rail."

"You'll never do it!" was the prediction. "I thought you were joking when you said that."

"It's no joke for me if I miss getting to the circus on time," said Joe grimly. "And if you watch you'll at least see me start. I'm not going to guarantee where I'll end," he concluded as he took a careful survey of the trestle which stretched out before him for more than a mile.

Joe was not going into this without having thought carefully of it in advance, in spite of the short time it had taken him to make up his mind. He was used to doing that—thinking and deciding quickly. The very nature of his calling made it necessary for him to do this. One does not have much time to make up one's mind when flying through the air from a high trapeze.

Joe felt reasonably sure that if he could get his machine started at a fast rate of speed, and could get it, at that speed, on top of the smooth, and none too wide, rail, he could hold it there. It is a well-known fact in physics that a body in motion tends to follow a straight line, until forced out of that course by some external force. If a stone is thrown it will go in a straight line until the attraction of the earth's gravitation pulls it down.

But in Joe's case gravitation would have no effect, as he would be on the ground all the while, or what was practically the ground. What he would have to guard against would be a deviation of more than an inch from left or right. If he swerved ever so little, his machine would leave the rail and he would either plunge over the side of the high trestle, or he would find himself bumping over the ties.

"And I wouldn't want either of those things to happen," mused Joe, with a grim smile on his face.

But Joe Strong knew that a swiftly moving motor-cycle or bicycle has a very strong tendency to follow a straight course. It is easy to keep one's bicycle in a straight line when going fast. There is hardly any need of balancing, and one may ride along even without having the hands on the steering bars.

A motor-cycle moves much faster than a bicycle, and so has a greater chance of keeping in a straight line. This was what Joe was counting on when he proposed to ride on the narrow rail over the high trestle.

He must work rapidly now. It was drawing nearer to the time for the opening of the afternoon performance, and Joe felt that his absence up to this time must be worrying the ring-master, who liked his performers on hand in plenty of time before the show was to open.

Joe looked about for a means of getting up on the rail. It would not do to have some one hold his machine there, and so start. For that would mean his front wheel would swerve more or less because of an endeavor to get his balance, and he would be off the rail almost as soon as he was on it.

"I've got to get a flying start, and hit the rail at a good pace," reasoned Joe. "How can I do it?"

Almost at once the answer came to him. Near the place where he and the curious villagers had mounted to the railroad embankment were some planks. They had been taken out of a cattle-guard, to be replaced by new ones.

"I can make a temporary runway of the old planks," reasoned Joe, "and guide myself to the rail with them."

He quickly explained to the men and boys his need. They grasped the idea at once and began to help.

In a few minutes a platform of planks was laid on either side of a rail where it was spiked to the sleepers which were embedded in the cinders. The trestle started a few feet beyond where the temporary runway, or guiding planks, ended.

Joe used three planks—that is the runway was three planks wide, and they were laid one on either side of the rail, with the middle one directly over the strip of steel. Where the runway came to an end some dirt was used to make an even slope down to the rail, thus taking up the thickness of the plank.

Joe wheeled his machine to the far end of the wooden structure which was made firm by having cinder-dust banked against it. The motor-cycle was held up by willing hands on either side, and Joe started it. With a pop, a rattle and a roar the powerful machine was in motion.

"Let go!" cried Joe, as he threw in the gear.

Off he went. Joe held the handles firm, and his eye was fixed on that shining strip of steel along which—if he had luck—he would soon be speeding.

He opened up the throttle wide. He wanted speed and he needed it as quickly as he could get it, for on speed alone could he depend to keep the machine on the narrow steel path.

Joe heard a shout behind him, and, almost before he knew it, he was at the end of the runway and his front wheel was on the rail.

"So far so good!" thought Joe grimly. If he could only keep the machine there all would be well.

And then began such a ride as probably never before was witnessed. For Joe Strong, holding his machine with firm muscles, his nerves as quiet as only he knew how to make them, his eyes fixed on that shiny strip of steel, was driving his motor-cycle across the high trestle on a single rail.

Below him, at his right hand, was the deep valley, more than a hundred feet down. It was covered with trees and rocks, with here and there a grassy patch.

"If I fall on that side I hope I can pick out a bit of turf to land on," thought Joe. But he did not intend to fall.

Straight and true he held the front wheel. It needed no pressure on the handle bars. It would keep straight of itself now, for the motor-cycle was going at great speed. That alone would keep it in a true course if no pressure from Joe swerved it. And his hands were on the bars with as delicate a touch as a woman might have used.

In about half a minute Joe was out over the stream which the trestle spanned.

"This would be the best place of all to take a tumble," mused the lad. He knew if he did fall here he would at least have a chance for his life. For he could kick the machine away from him, and dive into the water. And he felt that it was not too high a fall to take with comparative safety if there was any depth at all to the stream.

But almost before Joe realized it he had flashed over the water, and he was again speeding over the valley itself, with hard ground, rocks, stones and sharp-pointed trees beneath him.

Of course, in case Joe's machine did leave the rail he might fall on the other side. There would be comparative safety, save that he might be badly cut and bruised by the motor-cycle falling on top of him.

On and on he sped. True to the rail he held the front wheel. He was at the height of his speed now, and every second added to his safety, for the faster he went the nearer true to a straight line could he hold the machine.

"Almost over," thought Joe. A quick glance ahead showed him where the trestle came to an end. He had nearly made good his boast.

It was a good mile across the high trestle, and Joe said afterward that he made it in less than a minute. And he must have done so. That rate of speed was necessary in order to keep the machine straight.

Joe looked down. No longer did he see below him the open ties.

He was over the trestle!

He had done what he had said he would do, and crossed on the rail.

With a movement of the handle bars he sent the front wheel down on the cinder bed. He could ride on a broader path now. A little jar, as first one wheel and then the other left the rail, told him that his daring ride was over.

Joe slowed down, and turned to wave a reassuring hand to the crowd at the other end of the trestle. They waved their hands in return, and doubtless they cheered, though Joe could not hear them, as the wind was in the wrong direction.

"Well, that's over!" he said, thankfully enough, though his heart was beating scarcely faster than if he had done some trapeze act, and his nerves were under perfect control.

"I'm glad I didn't meet any train," thought Joe. But he had inquired of his new friends before undertaking the ride about the time of the trains, and had learned that none was scheduled to cross the trestle for some time. Of course there might have been a special, but that did not happen.

Joe was safe. He rode along the even road-bed for some distance and then, following the directions the villagers had given him, he turned down the embankment into a country road. A little later he was on the highway that led to the town where the circus was showing.

"I'll get there just about in time," thought Joe as he looked at his watch.

"Well, I was just thinking about sending out a searching party for you, Joe," remarked Jim Tracy, as our hero rode swiftly up to the show grounds.

"I'm not late," was the reply.

"No. But it was getting near your time, and I wanted to make sure you were on hand."

"Well, I am," replied Joe. But he did not tell until some time afterward what a narrow escape he had had from being late, nor what a risky ride he had taken.

"Oh, Joe, how dared you do it?" asked Helen, when he mentioned it to her. "How dared you? It was so dangerous!"

"Why, I guess I just didn't think anything at all about the danger," said Joe with a smile. "I knew it was the only way, and so——"

"You took it," finished Helen. "That's just like you, Joe."

Joe went through his trapeze work in the big tent that afternoon with as much vim and vigor as though he had not, an hour before, taken such a chance with his life. And he followed that up by doing his tank act with his usual success. He did not stay under water quite so long, however, as he found that he was tiring a little, and he wanted to save himself for the night's performance, when a bigger crowd would be present.

And at night Joe went two seconds ahead of his previous best record.

"You'll crowd the world's record yet," predicted Jim Tracy.

The show moved on, and at the next town it received an unexpected bit of advertising. For a reporter in the town where Joe had started on his sensational trestle ride had been given the facts by some of the eyewitnesses, to whom Joe had given his name.

The reporter wrote a thrilling story, and it was published in the paper of the city where the circus was billed the following day.

It was not until then that most of Joe's fellow performers heard about his feat, and it made a great sensation.

"Why didn't you save that act for the circus?" asked Jim Tracy. "It would have made a big hit and brought a crowd."

"I didn't have time to stage it properly," Joe said. "I was thinking of saving myself a fine for being late at the show."

But an unusually big crowd came to the show anyhow, brought by having read of Joe's thrilling ride. He was a sort of center of attraction as he went through his trapeze and tank acts.

Unexpected and impulsive as Joe's ride was, it formed the forerunner of what was afterward a big feature in his life, as will appear in due time.

For a week or more the circus moved along its mapped-out route, and nothing of moment occurred. The usual crowds came and went, the performers went through their acts successfully, and Joe and his trained seal did their turns to the great amusement and entertainment of the audiences, as well as satisfaction to the circus management. The swimming of Joe and the seal, the showy goldfish and the general setting of the act made it a most novel one.

"Is there any more word from Benny?" asked Helen one day.

"Nothing definite," Joe said. "He is still in the same condition. I have written to the doctor to make inquiries and find out if there is, in this country or abroad, any new means of treatment that could be given. Often foreign doctors know things those over here haven't heard of yet."

"Oh, I do hope they discover something," sighed Helen. "Poor Benny! I feel so sorry for him!"

The circus grounds in the town of Westford were located near a great reservoir which supplied water to several neighboring municipalities. And Westford was reached by the Sampson Brothers' Show about two weeks after Joe's sensational ride on the trestle.

After breakfast Joe and Helen strolled about the grounds, and having seen that the performing horse and the glass tank had reached the grounds safely, Joe proposed that he and Helen go for a little motor-cycle ride.

"But you'll have to promise not to take me over any railroad trestles," Helen warned him.

"I'll promise," agreed Joe.

They did not go far, and on their way back, as they passed the reservoir, they saw a big crowd gathered on the bank near a gate-house.

"Looks as if something was going on," said Joe, stopping the machine.

"Maybe some one is rivaling you in a high diving stunt," said Helen, half playfully.

They alighted and made their way into the throng.

"What's up?" asked Joe of a man.

"A diver is caught down in the outlet pipe," was the unexpected answer.

"A diver!" repeated Joe.

"Yes. A man in a diving suit went down to fix something that went wrong with one of the valves, and they can't get him up. He's been down several hours now and they're afraid he's dead!"



CHAPTER XXII

A DEEP DIVE

"What is it?" asked Helen, who had not understood what Joe's informant had said.

"It's a diver caught down at the mouth of the outlet pipe of the reservoir," the man explained. "They're trying to get him up but they don't seem to get him."

"Why not?" Joe wanted to know.

"Because they can't pull any harder on the life line than they have been pulling for fear either of breaking the line or of injuring the diver. And they have to be careful, too, of fouling his air hose. If that breaks it would be death for him."

"How terrible!" exclaimed Helen. "Can nothing be done to save him?"

"They're trying everything they can think of, Miss," was the man's answer. "The water company has sent for another diver to go down and see what the trouble is, but it will be half a day before he can get here, and by that time——"

He did not finish, but Joe and Helen knew what was meant.

The big crowd about the reservoir was excited, and yet it was a tense, quiet sort of excitement. It was a grim waiting for what might, at any moment, happen. Either the diver would be hauled up, or he would perish deep down there under the calm water.

"How did it happen?" asked Joe. The man seemed to know considerable about the accident.

"It was this way," he replied. "The reservoir is a new one, and it hasn't worked just right since the water was let in. That is, the main supply pipe, by which the water goes out to other and smaller pipes to be distributed to the different municipalities, gets clogged up every now and then.

"At first they thought it was because some refuse matter, left on the ground when the reservoir was built, had gotten into the valves. But a diver went down and found there was something the matter with the valves themselves. They open and close the valves from the gate house over there," and he indicated it, standing on the main dam wall of the big reservoir.

"After the diver found what was wrong," the man went on, "the water concern planned to have it fixed, and for some days now the work has been going on. The diver would go down, his tools would be lowered to him, and he has been working under water. You see they don't want to let the water out of the reservoir because it would leave some towns without a supply, which would be dangerous, if even for a day.

"So the diver has been working down there, and it's pretty deep, too, about forty feet. There's a good deal of pressure at that depth, though of course divers have gone deeper."

"Yes," assented Joe. "And how did the accident happen?"

"Nobody knows, exactly. Tom Rand, the diver, went down as usual this morning, and his tools were let down to him. But he hadn't been down long, as I understand it, before he signaled to be hauled up. He signaled in a hurry, too, so something must have happened.

"The men at the air pump and the helpers tried to get him up, but they couldn't. He was stuck down there, and, as I said, they don't dare pull too hard for fear of cutting him in two, making a hole in the diving suit, or breaking the rope. They don't know what to do."

"Why, this is terrible!" exclaimed Helen.

"Yes, Miss, it certainly is. To think of that poor man, caught down under the water in some way and not able to be got up. Of course he can breathe, for the air hose is still working, and the men are at the pump constantly. But it's impossible to stand that pressure very long at a time, and he'll soon give out from exhaustion, if nothing else happens. They've sent for another diver, but, as I said, he'll be some time getting here, and then it may be too late."

"Isn't there another diving suit to be had?" asked Joe.

"No," the man answered.

Helen looked at Joe. She read the thought that was in his mind.

"Did you ever go down in a diving suit?" she asked him in a low voice.

"No, but I'd take a chance if they had one. However, as there isn't I can't. But perhaps——"

Joe was interrupted by a shout from the crowd. He and Helen, with the man who had been giving them the information, stood a little to one side.

"Hello!" exclaimed Joe, "I wonder what happened then?"

"Come with me and we'll find out," proposed the man. "I can take you over to the gate house where the diver's helpers are at work. I'm a member of the town water committee," he went on. "You folks are with the circus, aren't you?"

"Yes," Joe answered. "But we won't have much of a crowd at the afternoon show if they all stay here at the reservoir to see the diver rescued."

"That's right," conceded Mr. Blair, as he said his name was. "But we'll go and see what happened. I can take you in all right."

They made their way through the crowd, which was thronged as near to the scene of the accident as the men and boys, women and girls, could get. Several constables stood on guard, but at a nod from Mr. Blair they let him pass, with Joe and Helen.

"Oh, Joe!" she murmured, as she held his arm. "I'm so afraid something dreadful will happen."

"Perhaps not," he answered reassuringly.

They found the men at the pump and the other helpers very much excited, and it was this excitement which had communicated itself to the crowd.

"What happened?" asked Mr. Blair. "Are you getting him up?"

"I only wish we were," wearily said a man who was at the signal line. "We've not been able to move him an inch, and just now he signaled for more air. I'm afraid something has gone wrong down there—I mean something new. Maybe his suit is punctured and he's being drowned."

"Oh, if we could only do something!" exclaimed Mr. Blair. He stood with Joe, just outside the gate house. On the broad top of the dam, a few feet above the surface of the water, the pumping apparatus was set up. Near it were the tools used by the diver in the repair work.

Going down into the water was the air hose, through which oxygen was supplied. A few bubbles rising to the surface told that the hose was still connected with the diver's helmet. In addition to the hose a light but strong line led into the water. A man held this in his hand, and it was by a series of jerks on this that the diver below communicated with his helpers above. Then there was a heavy rope made fast to a ring in the wall. The other end was attached to the diver's belt.

And these three things—a rope, a line and a hose descending into the mysterious water—were the only links that connected the diver with life. That he was still alive was evident, for now and then there came a feeble pull on the life-line.

Two men had hold of the heavy rope, the end of which was in the diver's belt, and, from time to time, they pulled on it, hoping that the unfortunate man had been able to free himself, so he could be pulled up.

But the rope remained taut—it did not give. The diver was still caught in the outlet pipe—just how no one could say.

"Can't they drain the reservoir?" asked Joe. "Surely, to save a life, the towns could do without water for a while."

"Oh, we'd drain it in a minute if we could," said Mr. Blair. "But you see now we can't get the main outlet pipe open. It's in that one that the diver is stuck. Only a little water is now flowing through it. We have opened all the small outlets we can, but it will take three or four days to empty the reservoir through them."

"Three or four days," murmured Joe. "And in the meanwhile——"

He did not care to finish the sentence.

Again came a quick signal on the life-line.

"He wants more air!" cried the man who interpreted the jerks. "Give him more air, boys!"

The men at the wheel of the air pump worked it faster. Though why an increased pressure was wanted no one knew.

"Helen," said Joe in a low voice, "I'm going to try to save that man. I can't bear to stand here and think he may be slowly dying down there," and he pointed to the calm water, unruffled save by the few escaping bubbles of air.

"But how can you?" asked the girl. "There isn't another diving suit to be had here, Joe, even if you were used to one."

"I'll go down without one!" declared Joe. "In fact, I think I can work better without one than in one. I'm going down and try to save him!"

"Oh, if you only can!" she answered. "It would be great! But you will be careful—won't you?"

Joe nodded. Helen did not ask him not to go. She knew Joe too well for that. The young circus performer stepped up to Mr. Blair.

"If they'll let me," said Joe, "I'd like to go down and try to free that diver from whatever is holding him."

"You go down? Are you a diver?"

"Not the kind that uses a suit, no. But I do a diving and tank act in the circus."

Joe's offer and his talk had aroused instant attention from the crowd about him and from the men at the air pumps and life-line.

"I guess you'll find, young man, brave and generous as your offer is," said one of the air-pumpers, "that diving in a circus tank is some different from going down forty feet."

"I realize that," said Joe quietly.

"And what about holding your breath?" asked Mr. Blair. "Can you do it?"

"He can hold it for nearly four and a half minutes," said Helen quickly.

"Whew!" whistled one of the diver's helpers. He knew what that record meant.

"If you'll let me, I'll go down without a suit," offered Joe. "I'm not saying I can save your man, but I simply can't stand here and let him die without making an effort."

"Good for you!" cried one of the pump-men. "Some of us tried to go down, but we couldn't fetch that far, not being able to hold our breath. If you'll try, it will be the only chance poor Tom has, for he can't last much longer, and by the time the other diver gets here—well, it'll be too late, that's all. Go ahead, young man, and try."

Murmurs of appreciation greeted Joe's announcement. There was a hurried consultation among the members of the town water committee, of which Mr. Blair was one.

"Shall I go down?" asked Joe.

"Yes!" cried Mr. Blair. "Go, and we'll all pray that you may be successful," he added solemnly. "It is a terrible thing to stand by and know a fellow being is dying, as Rand may be," and he motioned to the water, still gently agitated by the air bubbles.

Joe Strong lost no time. He was told there were some old clothes in the gate house which he could use, and soon, attired in a pair of trousers cut off short and in an old shirt, he took his place on the reservoir wall just above the spot where the lifeline disappeared in the water.

It was going to be a deep dive, and Joe knew it. And now, if ever, was the time for him to break the record in holding his breath. For he might be able to free the diver in a few seconds, or it might take minutes.

Joe inflated and deflated his lungs several times. The crowd watched him as if fascinated. Helen caught Joe's glance and nodded encouragingly to him, but there was a look of anxiety on her face.

"If Joe should be caught as the diver is," she thought for a flash. And then she dismissed the dreadful idea, for she dared not dwell on it.

"Well, I'm ready," said Joe, after a pause.

"May you succeed!" whispered Mr. Blair.

Joe took in a long breath—the longest, he felt, he had ever taken. Then he made his deep dive.



CHAPTER XXIII

BROUGHT TO LIFE

Down through the limpid depths of the great reservoir of water went Joe Strong. He was swimming toward the bottom as fast as he could go, for he wanted to get there quickly and begin the work of rescue, and he knew every second counted.

He had his eyes open, of course, and he was glad the sun was shining brightly overhead, so he could have light to work by. In forty feet of water not much sunlight penetrates, even on a bright day, but Joe had been told that the diver had a small electric light with him, and this, perhaps, would still be glowing. The current was turned on, that Joe knew, but the lamp might have been broken in the accident that had happened.

Down, down, down went the young diver—a veritable "boy fish" now if ever there was such a thing. Joe had a glimpse of the air hose, like some long, thin water snake, beside him. It went down into the depths, as did the life-line and the thicker hoisting rope.

"And where they end—there's the diver," reasoned Joe. He used the air hose as a guide and swam as near to it as he could. In a few seconds he found himself nearing the bottom of the reservoir. It was of natural formation, for the dam had been built across a narrow valley, and when the water came in, it covered from view the site of a small forest, much of which had been cleared away, leaving only stumps and rocks.

Suddenly, before Joe's eyes, loomed a strange shape. It was almost like that of some deep-sea monster, with great, round, staring, glassy eyes, and as Joe turned a somersault and landed on his feet he stood beside the imprisoned diver. The latter was aware of something unusual going on, and turned to stare at Joe through the glass of his helmet. Joe could not see the man's face in that light, but he knew it must show deadly fear.

In a trice Joe decided what he must do. It was not easy to stay beneath the water, for his natural buoyancy had a tendency to force him up, and his first act, after landing and feeling himself shooting back toward the surface, was to reach out and grasp the heavy rope that he knew was fastened about the diver's waist. There could be no harm to the diver in this, Joe reasoned, since the men up above were putting a much greater strain on the hempen cable. And by holding thus to the rope Joe prevented himself from going up.

Though the diver must have been greatly astonished to see a young man in a pair of old trousers and a ragged shirt suddenly appear beside him in the reservoir, Tom Rand could show nothing of what he felt. Talking was out of the question.

Suddenly the water about Joe and the diver was illuminated, and Joe looked to see the electric, waterproof light glowing. The diver had turned the switch to give his rescuer every chance to work.

And in that light Joe saw what the trouble was. One of the diver's leaden-weighted feet was caught in the valve of the pipe in such a way that he was held a prisoner. No wonder the men up above had not been able to pull loose Tom Rand. To do so they would have had to pull apart his diving suit, or at least pull off one leg of it, and this would have meant drowning the diver.

Joe, holding to the heavy rope, was a few feet off the bottom of the reservoir now. To work effectively he must stand directly on the bottom, and he must be held down in some way. When a diver makes a descent he is pulled down by shoes which are heavily weighted with lead. Otherwise the buoyancy of the diving dress, filled as it is with air, would send him to the surface. And in Joe's case his human body, with his lungs inflated with air, would have come up after his dive had he not held himself down. But he must seek a new means of hold, if he was to work to release the unfortunate man.

Joe looked down at the water-covered ground, now illuminated by the electric light. He saw just what he needed. Near the outlet pipe, in the valve of which the diver's foot was caught, was an old stump. There was a root exposed—a root with a sort of loop—and under this Joe thrust one foot. It was almost like the stirrup of a saddle, only instead of holding Joe's foot up, the root held it down.

"Now I can have both my hands free," thought Joe, as he fixed his foot firmly in the loop of the root.

Joe looked through the glass-windowed copper helmet. He could see the man's face now, and on it was a look of horror, mingled with new and sudden hope.

The boy fish pointed to the valve in the outlet pipe, and made a motion as though prying on a crowbar. He wanted to indicate that he needed some sort of lever to work with.

Tom Rand understood at once, and slightly nodded his big head. Then he stooped down and, after feeling about in the mud near his uncaught foot, he picked up a short bar of iron.

Joe nodded to show that was what he wanted, and he moved as close as he dared to where the lead-weighted foot was caught. Joe had to be careful in two respects. He did not dare go too near the pipe, for a stream of water was rushing through it and there was considerable suction, though not as much as there would be when the valve was fully opened. And Joe's feet, not being encased in big rubber boots, were small enough to be drawn into the same hole where Rand's was caught.

The diver was standing with most of his weight on his left foot. It was the right one that was caught, and this was thrust forward and outward, at an angle of about forty-five degrees from the upright one. And it was being caught in this peculiar position that had prevented the diver from aiding himself.

He could not lean forward far enough to bring effective pressure on the iron lever that had been lowered to him, or he might have pried his own foot loose, or have opened the valve wide enough to enable him to withdraw it.

"And he's been standing in that painful position for hours," thought Joe, "trying to help himself and not being able to. No wonder he wanted more air. He must be pretty nearly exhausted with the water pressure and the horror of it all."

Joe himself was suffering from the weight of water and from the labor of holding his breath. This labor was increased at the depth in which he was. It was deeper than he had ever gone down before—five times as deep as his glass tank in the circus.

Joe took the iron bar in both hands and worked himself as near to the outlet pipe as he dared go.

One end of the bar was pointed, and Joe inserted this between the lead sole of the diver's boot and pried cautiously. He was working as fast as he could, and he realized that more than a minute of his precious four—or, at best, four and a half—had passed. And he had only begun. Could he stand it? Could he hold his breath long enough to make the rescue?

"I will do it! I will!" Joe told himself down there under the water.

Several times he put all the weight he could bring to bear on the iron bar, and Joe was well muscled. But the foot was still held fast. Joe was afraid of using too much force for fear of making a hole in the boot, or of causing the diving suit to leak. But the foot would not stir.

Joe wished he had a longer bar, so he could get more leverage, but there was no time to signal for one. Nor could Tom Rand help him by pressing on the end. The diver could not lean forward far enough.

"I've got to do it all by myself," thought Joe grimly.

Again and again he pried with all the force he dared use. Something tapped him on the shoulder. He looked around to see the diver beckoning to him. Joe leaned back and saw, by the motions made by Rand's fingers, that the diver was trying to tell him to pry on the valve itself.

Joe turned back to his work again. His heart was beating like a hammer now. Every muscle ached with the strain and his head felt as if it would burst. Joe knew he must have passed the four-minute period. How much longer could he stay under?

Not long, he feared. He had about reached his limit in this depth of water. He felt that he simply must let out a breath and draw in——

No! He couldn't do that. To breathe in now would mean slow suffocation. He must hold out.

He put the pointed end of the iron lever in a crack in the valve. He pressed with all his available strength. Nothing gave. Again Joe shoved down. His head seemed to swim, and it was black before his eyes. Still the imprisoned foot was caught.

Once more Joe pressed, and then, to his joy, he felt something give way. So suddenly did it happen that the bar fell from his hand. Then came a great rush of water. Joe had opened the valve so wide that the water was flowing out in a great volume.

He felt himself being sucked forward. Desperately he forced himself back. His foot, held under the root, seemed as if it would be torn from his leg.

Then he felt great arms about him. He knew them to be those of the diver. In the light of the electric lamp Joe saw the man pull his leg loose, and then, while consciousness almost left Joe, he felt himself being carried toward the surface.

The diver had been able to free himself when Joe opened the valve. In an instant he had signaled to be pulled up, and as he shot toward the surface, seeing Joe's great danger he had clasped him in his arms. Together the rescuer and rescued were pulled up, and an instant later Joe, who felt that he simply could not hold his breath another fraction of a second, found himself in the air and gulped in great mouthfuls of it. Oh, what a relief it was! For a moment, in the great need of it, he forgot what he had done.

But others did not forget it, and no sooner was it seen that the diver, alive, was out of the underwater trap, and that Joe, in his arms, had also come up, than a great cheer was shouted forth.

Eager hands lifted Joe and the diver to the top of the dam, and while some supported Joe, who was quite weak, others began to loosen the diver's helmet, for, until this was done, it was necessary to pump air to him.

Then a doctor, who had been in readiness to give aid in case the rescue was made in time, came up to minister to both of those who seemed to have come back from the edge of a watery grave.



CHAPTER XXIV

NEW HOPE

Joe's first realization, after he had regained his nearly spent breath and accepted a blanket which he wrapped around him, was that Helen was standing near him, holding his hand.

"Oh, Joe!" she murmured. "I am so glad—so glad—and proud of you!"

He smiled, rather a weak smile it is true, but it was a smile.

"Better look out," he said. "I'll get you wet."

"I don't care," she replied.

"She wouldn't go away," said Mr. Blair, who had Joe's other hand and was vigorously shaking it. "I tried to make her go when—when four minutes passed and you didn't come up. We thought maybe you were caught fast, too."

"Was I down four minutes?" asked Joe.

"Four minutes and forty seconds," said Helen. "I kept track by my wrist watch. It was awful, Joe, to see the seconds ticking off. I could hardly do it—but—I did," she finished with a smile.

"Four minutes and forty seconds," murmured Joe. "Then I've beaten the world's record."

"Yes," said Helen.

"If it had only been in the circus tank," Joe went on. "It would have been a big advertisement for the show."

"I fancy you'll get advertisement enough out of it as it is," said Mr. Blair significantly, as he glanced at the enthusiastic crowd which the constables had hard work to prevent from overwhelming Joe, the diver and others on the wall of the reservoir. "And here come the newspaper men to have a talk with you. They've been here ever since word went out that the diver was held down there under the water."

But Dr. Wertz, who had been giving some medicine to the diver, now came over to Joe and insisted on examining him before he would allow the reporters to interview the boy fish.

"Oh, I'm all right," Joe said. "Thank you just the same. All I need is a little fresh air."

"But my dear young man, you were under water a long while—nearly five minutes. You may be injured."

"Oh, I guess not," Joe said. "I am used to it, you see," and he quickly explained.

"Ach! So? Yes!" exclaimed Dr. Wertz, who spoke at times with a pronounced German accent. "And have you felt no ill effects of the water pressure on your vocal chords or your ear drums?"

"Why, no, I haven't," said Joe, and a strange thought came into his mind. "You see, I haven't been at it long. But a friend of mine was disabled from doing the act I'm doing in the circus."

"So? I think I should like to have a talk with you, young man, about yourself and that friend of yours when there is time," said Dr. Wertz. "Just now let me look you over."

He took Joe into the gate house, to which the diver had already been carried. Tom Rand, whose diving suit had been removed, was lying on an improvised bed. He seemed weak and ill, but he held out a rather trembling hand to Joe.

"I guess you're the chap who saved my life," he said slowly. "I can't thank you—now—too nearly all in. But I—I guess you know how I feel about it."

"Sure—yes," answered Joe. "It's an even deal. You grabbed me just in time or I'd have been in that pipe, too."

The diver nodded.

"It was a close call," he said.

Arrangements were being made to take the diver to the local hospital. He was not seriously hurt, only he had been under a strain and needed rest and quiet. The physician looked Joe over.

"Well, I can't find anything the matter with you," he said with a smile. "You certainly are a marvel at holding your breath, though. Nearly five minutes! I don't see how you did it."

"Just practice, I guess," Joe answered. "Then, too, I made up my mind I wasn't coming up without him," and he nodded toward Tom Rand.

While Joe was dressing, after vigorously rubbing himself, the diver was taken away. Dr. Wertz accompanied him, and promised to see Joe again, for our hero had certain questions he wanted to ask the physician.

Joe then gave the newspaper men the chance they had been waiting for. Several of them had flocked to the scene of the accident as soon as it was known that something mysterious had happened to the diver. And Joe was in a position to tell exactly what the situation was down under the water, though he had not yet heard just how the diver came to be caught.

Joe described his own work modestly enough, but the newspaper men were shrewd enough to guess what Joe had left out, and one may be sure, in the writing of the story, they omitted none of the thrills.

It was a "big story" and soon was being telegraphed over the country, though, of course, the local papers made the most of it, spreading it entirely across their front pages, using big headlines. Joe's picture was snapped by several photographers, one having secured a view of Joe in his ragged trousers and old shirt—the improvised bathing suit.

"Well, I suppose we might as well be getting back to the circus," said Joe to Helen, when he could get away from the reporters and photographers. An admiring crowd of boys followed him as he made his way out to his motor-cycle.

"Are you going on with your act—after what you have gone through with?" asked Helen in surprise.

"Why not?" Joe asked in some astonishment. "No one else can take my place, can he?"

"No, but I should think you'd be so exhausted that you couldn't perform."

"Oh, I'm all right," said Joe easily; but, truth to tell, he did feel the strain. "I may not try to break any under-water records," he went on, "but I'll do all the rest of it."

Some of the circus folk had witnessed the sensational rescue by Joe, and when he and Helen reached the circus grounds our hero was met by Jim Tracy.

"What's this I hear about you?" asked the ringmaster.

"Nothing bad, I hope," answered Joe with a smile.

"I should say not! Say! this will be the biggest card you ever had, or the circus either. Wait until you see what happens, Joe."

And something did happen.

Jim had the whole story from the early editions of the papers, which sold in great numbers on the circus grounds. Of course, there was a record breaking crowd at the show, for the story had spread that the young rescuer of the imprisoned diver was the boy fish who performed in the glass tank with the seal, and reserved seats near Joe's platform were at a premium.

Joe spoke to the ringmaster, saying he thought he would not try for a very long under-water stay that afternoon, as his chest hurt him a little.

"I should say you wouldn't try!" exclaimed Jim. "I wouldn't let you. And don't work on the trapeze at all. Just do as much of your tank act as you can."

"Oh, I can do all that," Joe said quickly, "and string it out a bit if I cut out the trapeze work."

"Cut it out, then—at least for to-day."

When Jim Tracy made his usual announcement about Joe, before the boy fish entered the tank, there was a burst of applause at the mention of our hero's name, some one called out:

"Three cheers for the pluckiest lad in seven counties!"

There was a roar from the big crowd in the circus tent, and Joe blushingly bowed his thanks. The papers had made his bravery known to every one, and there was a craning of necks to see him.

It was a relief to Joe to swim about in the tank after what he had done in the forty feet of water, and he floated about with Lizzie, doing graceful turns, exhibiting some of his tricks, and eating under water. The seal seemed to show much affection for her young owner, and took piece after piece of fish from his hand beneath the surface.

Joe's act was applauded again and again, and he had to take several curtain calls, though, of course, there was no curtain in the circus.

"It went well, Joe! It was big!" whispered Jim Tracy, as our hero went to his dressing-room after the act was over. "It's the biggest card yet. I'm going to have new posters printed, showing you rescuing the diver."

"Oh, I wouldn't do that."

"Sure I will. And say, Joe, if you want to ask for more money I won't object," and the ringmaster smiled.

"Well, I can always use it," Joe replied.

Jim Tracy nodded, but he wondered what Joe was doing with his large salary—that is, large in circus circles.

At night an even larger crowd came to the circus, and Joe's act seemed the center of attraction. He was glad, not only on his own account, but because it helped to advertise the circus.

Jim Tracy made a hasty change in plans and stayed two more days in the town where Joe had made the rescue, since it was the center of a large community. And each additional day and night saw the big tent jammed. Joe's fame was spreading.

He called on Tom Rand in the hospital, and was glad to find the diver much improved. Rand explained how the accident had happened.

He was adjusting the valve, which was impossible to work from the gate house above, when his foot slipped in the mud. As the pipe was partly open, his leaden-soled boot became jammed in the crack. Try as he did, he could not get loose, and he was losing hope when Joe came swimming down to him.

"I thought at first you were a big fish, such as I've often seen in my ocean-diving work," said the man. "And when I had a good look at you I sure was startled."

"Well, they call me the boy fish," Joe said with a smile.

Dr. Wertz was at the hospital, and shook his head at seeing Joe.

"I can't understand why you aren't suffering from your under-water work," said the physician. "I am, as perhaps you know, engaged by the company for whom Mr. Rand works. It employs several divers, and on tasks where there is a risk I am always on hand to be ready to aid the men if necessary. That is why I happened to be at the reservoir."

"I have made a study of diseases and ailments brought on by water pressure and diving work, and I wonder you do not show some signs of ear or throat trouble."

"I'd like to talk to you about that," said Joe. "The young man whose place I took is suffering from that. He is going deaf and dumb, they tell me," and Joe gave all the details of Benny's case.

"And you say they have given up hope of curing him?" asked Dr. Wertz.

"Yes," said Joe. "Can it be done? Would an operation help?"

"It would," said the physician quickly. "I have not done it myself, nor do I feel justified in attempting it. But there is a fellow countryman of mine, now in New York, who has operated most successfully. His fees are high, not necessarily for himself, but a complicated apparatus is necessary, and it takes several assistants and nurses who must be paid. I have no doubt but if Dr. Hassenberg operated on your friend he could cure him!"

"Then," said Joe slowly, "I wish you would arrange it for me. I want Benny cured!"



CHAPTER XXV

GOOD NEWS

These were busy days in the circus. Again the end of the season was drawing near. Fall was at hand, and in some places the Sampson Brother's Show had to compete with county fairs with their exhibitions of big pumpkins, fat pigs and monster ears of corn, to say nothing of the horse-racing.

But the circus with which Joe traveled did good business. And it is not exaggerating to say that a good deal of it was due to Joe's fame. For his rescue of the diver had been heralded over all the country, and particularly in the section where the circus was then playing.

Crowds came daily and nightly to see Joe in the tank with the trained seal, and now, more than ever, persons were taking out their watches and timing Joe's stay under water.

He had resumed that feature of his exhibition, and though he never again equaled his record of four minutes and forty seconds, he several times stayed under for thirty-seven seconds beyond the four minutes, thus evening up with the record established as a world's record—that is, so far as is known.

Now and then Joe introduced something new in the way of a trick, for he still kept up his sleight-of-hand practice, not knowing when it might be useful. He could not do much of that under water, but what he did do was novel in effect. Lizzie, too, was very teachable, and she and Joe became great friends. It may seem queer to have a seal for a pet, but they are very intelligent animals, and, unlike a fish, they can live out of water.

Joe heard from Tom Rand, the diver. He had fully recovered and was again back at his perilous calling. He wrote to Joe thanking him for having saved his life, but, as has been said, Joe rather counted it an even thing for had the diver not caught him in time our hero would certainly have been drawn into the pipe and killed.

The water committee of the town also passed a vote of thanks to Joe for his work, for he had saved them large expense and perhaps a suit for damages in case the diver had been drowned.

It was the last few weeks of the circus. Joe had been working hard, and so had Helen, for she had introduced some new effects with her trick horse. Joe had given up most of his trapeze work to devote more time to his tank, but he still did a few of his most thrilling feats on the bars.

"Let's go for a ride," he said to Helen one day, as he brought out his motor-cycle. "It's too nice to stay around the lot. I'll get you back in time."

"Please do," she urged. "And don't leave me in order to go diving in reservoirs, either."

"I won't," Joe promised.

They rode off through the beautiful country, and when it was nearing noon Joe turned about.

"Why are you in such a hurry to get back?" asked Helen. "We don't go on until nearly three o'clock, and we aren't far from the grounds."

"I'm expecting a telegram," Joe said, "and I want to be on hand when it comes."

"A telegram," repeated Helen. "Oh, Joe! is it about your mother's estate in England?"

Joe shook his head.

"I guess there isn't any estate," he said. "I've given up hope of that. No, this is something else."

But he offered no explanation, and though Helen felt, in view of their friendship, that he might tell her, still she did not ask.

As they reached the circus grounds and Joe was putting away his motor-cycle, he saw Tonzo Lascalla coming toward him.

"Well, and how is the millionaire to-day?" asked the trapeze performer.

"Millionaire?" asked Joe, in some surprise.

"Why, yes, you must be that since you get so much money and are never known to spend any," returned the Spaniard.

There was a sneer on his face, and his words showed how much contempt he thought he felt for Joe.

"You must have money in the bank," put in Sid, coming up just then.

"Well, suppose I have?" asked Joe, with a tinge of anger in the words, "I earn what I get, don't I?"

"Oh, you may," replied Tonzo, with a shrug of his shoulders. "You certainly keep what you get—that is sure."

"Of a certainty, yes!" chimed in Sid. "Not once have you treated the crowd on the strength of your increases in salary."

"No," returned Joe slowly, "I haven't, that's a fact. And now I want to say one thing. I know you fellows have been calling me a 'tight-wad' and all that. I stood for it because——"

At that moment a dusty youth came pushing his way up to Joe, the Lascallas and some others of the circus folk who had formed a group about the boy fish. The youth was in the uniform of a telegraph messenger, and he pushed a dusty wheel, chewing gum the while.

"Say, where's Joe Strong?" he asked of no one in particular. "I've got a wire for him. Is he de guy what does dat tank act? Say! dat's swell, all right. I'd like to see dat, I would!"

He took off his cap, and from the top extracted a telegram and a receipt sheet.

"I'm Joe Strong," said our hero quietly.

"G'wan!" answered the messenger. "Why, he must be a big guy to do all de bills says he does—rescuin' a diver an' all dat! G'wan!"

There was a laugh, but others assured the boy that Joe could make good his claim to identity.

"Sign dis," the messenger said, extending the telegram and receipt blank to Joe. The boy fish hurriedly scribbled his name, and then tore open the envelope. As he read a look of surprise and joy showed on his face.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "This is good news! Now, fellows, I'll tell you why I wouldn't spend my money treating you. I wanted to, badly enough, but I had other ways for my cash. Now I can tell you, since it's all over and a success. But first let me read you this."

He held up the message and read:

"Operation an entire success. Benny will both hear and speak. He can rejoin circus by next season and do tank work if he likes."

"Who's that from?" asked Helen, coming up in time to hear the message.

"From the celebrated surgeon—a friend of Dr. Wertz," said Joe. "I hired him to operate on Benny Turton to save him from becoming deaf and dumb. It took a lot of money, but I'm glad I had it saved. And that's why I had to pose as—a 'tight-wad,' fellows."

Joe's voice faltered, but there was a happy look on his face.

Tonzo Lascalla stepped forward. He held out his hand and said:

"I want to beg your pardon, Joe Strong. I have misjudged you!"

"So have I!" exclaimed Sid.

They were both very much in earnest, and as they shook hands there were tears in Joe's eyes. But they were happy tears. Others of the circus folk who had not understood Joe made haste to make amends, and, for a time, there was a happy group.

"And I didn't understand, either," said Helen softly as she and Joe walked away, together. "I thought you might be wasting your money foolishly. Oh, Joe, I am so happy!"

The news of Benny's recovery soon spread, and there was rejoicing among the circus folk, for the "human fish" had many friends.

"What does it all mean?" asked Jim Tracy.

"It just means that when I knew Benny needed an operation I began saving my salary to pay for it, since I knew he couldn't," said Joe. "I made him that promise, and I also promised to send to his mother each week what he had been in the habit of sending her. So, in spite of earning a big salary, I didn't have much of it for myself."

"I see," murmured the ringmaster.

"When the first doctor said there was no chance, even with an operation, for Benny's recovery, I was discouraged. But when the diver's physician talked to me I had more hope, and I got him to engage the specialist for Benny. He took charge of all the arrangements, and now the good news comes. Benny will recover and can again be the tank actor."

Jim Tracy scratched his head.

"I don't know about that," he said. "Of course, we'll take Benny back, but he may have to get a new act. We don't want to give you up—you and your seal. The circus needs you."

"To tell you the truth," said Joe, "I am thinking of giving it up."

"Giving it up!" cried the ring-master.

"Yes. I don't want what happened to Benny to happen to me. I'll finish out the season with you, of course, but after that——"

"What are you going to do?" asked Tracy.

"I'm planning some new turns," Joe said. And those of you who are interested in them and in Joe Strong are invited to follow his fortunes in the next volume of this series, to be called: "Joe Strong on the High Wire; Or, Motor-Cycle Perils of the Air."

"Well, we sure will hate to lose you," said Jim Tracy, "but I'm glad Benny will get well and come back to us."

"So am I," said Joe softly.

Somewhere in the circus tent a bugle blew. At once all over the circus grounds there were signs of activity.

"Pretty nearly time to start," observed the ring-master.

"Yes," agreed Joe. "And I'm going to try for the long record this afternoon—as long as when I was in the reservoir with diver Tom Rand."

"Good!" exclaimed Jim Tracy. "I hope you do it."

A little later Joe, in his red, scaly suit, was in the glass tank with the goldfish and the trained seal, while all about were throngs of wondering persons marveling at the endurance powers of the boy fish.

And so, for a time, we will take leave of Joe Strong.

The End.