ides the
street procession. And what a busy time in the tents! Leapers getting
ready, double-somersault men getting ready, clowns stuffing out false
stomachs and chalking their faces, kings of the air buckling on their
spangles. Ouf! How glad we all were when five o'clock came, and the
concert was over, and the "big top," with its spreading amphitheater and
its four great center-poles, stood silent and empty!

It was at this five-o'clock hour one day that I first saw little
Nelson, the ten-year-old trapeze performer, and that picture remains
among the pleasantest of my circus memories. I can recall more exciting
things, like the fight between two jealous wrestlers, or the mystery of
the lost Chinese giant, or the story of a wrecked train, when the wild
animals escaped and the fat lady was rescued with difficulty from a
burning car. And I can recall sad things, the case of that poor trapeze
girl, two weeks a widow, who nevertheless went through her act twice a
day and tripped away kissing her hands to the crowd while her heart was
breaking. And saddest of all was the case of beautiful "Zazel," once the
much-advertised "human cannonball," then suddenly a helpless cripple
after a fall from the dome of the tent. Her husband, one of the circus
men, told me how she lived for more than a year in a plaster case swung
down from the ceiling, and of her sweetness and patience through it all.
And she finally recovered, I am glad to say, so that she could walk--a
pale, weak image of this once splendid circus queen.

But let me come to Nelson. This sturdy little fellow was one of the
circus children, "born on the sawdust," brought up to regard lion cages
as the proper background for a nursery, and thinking of father and
mother in connection with the flying bars and bareback feats. It was
Nelson's ambition to follow in his father's steps and become a great
artist on the trapeze. Indeed, at this time he felt himself already an
artist, and at the hour of rest would walk forth into the middle ring
all alone and with greatest dignity go through his practice. He would
not be treated as a child, and scorned any suggestion that he go out and
play. Play? He had work to do. Look here! Do you know any _man_ who can
throw a prettier row of flip-flaps than this? And wait! Here's a
forward somersault! Is it well done or not? Did he come over with a
good lift? Like his father, you think? Ah! I can still see his chest
swell with pride.

Nelson wa