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 appet.i.te. 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.