y doing. I'm hired to do certain work--for
trapeze performing is work, though it may look like fun to the public.
Well, I'm on my way, as the fellow said when the powder mill blew up,"
and Joe smiled whimsically.

It was a long and tiresome trip to the town where the circus was
performing, and Joe did not reach the "lot" until the afternoon
performance was over.

The sight of the tents, the smell that came from the crushed grass, the
sawdust, the jungle odor of wild animals--all this was as perfume to
Joe Strong. He breathed in deep of it and his eyes lighted up as he
saw the fluttering flags, and noted the activity of the circus men who
were getting ready for the night show--filling the portable gasoline
lamps, putting on new mantles which would glow later with white
incandescence to show off the spectacle in the "main top." As Joe took
in all this he said to himself:

"I'm to be a part of it! That's the best ever!"

It was some little time before he could find Jim Tracy, but at length
he came upon the ring-master, who was trying to do a dozen things at
once, and settle half a dozen other matters on which his opinion was
wanted.

"Oh, hello, Joe?" Jim called to the young performer. "Glad you got
here. We need you. Want to go on to-night?"

"Just as you say. But I really need a little practice."

"All right. Then just hang around and pick up information. We don't
have to travel to-night, so you'll have it easy to start. I'll show
you where you'll dress when you get going. I'll have to give you some
one else's suit until we can order one your size, but I guess you won't
mind."

"No, indeed."

Joe was looking about with eager eyes, hoping for a glimpse of Helen
Morton. However, he was not gratified just then.

"Now, Joe," went on the ring-master, coming over after having settled a
dispute concerning differences of opinions between a woman with trained
dogs and a clown who exhibited an "educated" pig, "if you'll come with
me, I'll----"

"Well, what is it now?" asked Jim Tracy, exasperation in his voice. A
dark-complexioned, foreign-looking man had approached him, and had said
something in a low voice.

"No, I won't take him back, and you needn't ask!" declared Jim. "You
can tell Sim Dobley, otherwise known as Rafello Lascalla, that he's
done his last hanging by his heels in my show. I don't want anything
more to do with him. I don't care if he is outside. You tell him to
stay there. He d