"It's a good thing I got up s.p.u.n.k to ask for it," mused Joe. "I guess I didn't do so badly when I ran away from the deacon's."

Joe thought back to the time when he had first made the acquaintance of Professor Rosello, the magician, rescuing him at the fireworks explosion. From then on Joe's rise had been steady until now he was earning a salary many a mature man would be glad to receive.

"It may seem a funny way to make a living, turning somersaults in the air, and seeing how long I can stay under water," mused Joe, "but it brings in the money, and that's what counts."

Joe was quite disappointed at the failure to get the diving dog worked into his act. He knew the necessity for something novel from time to time in performances destined to please the public, and he saw, all about him, men and women connected with the circus always striving to get some new effect, or do an old act in a new way.

The clowns were particularly anxious in this respect, for the public tires of nothing so quickly as of something funny. A thing may beget a laugh the first time, and even up to the fourth or fifth time, and then the cry is:

"Give us something new!"

The clowns knew this, and, from the veteran Bill Watson to the newest member of the staff, they were continually cudgeling their brains for novelty. All were afraid lest some fellow-clown steal their ideas; consequently they each worked on them in secret until he had them perfected and ready to give to the public. After that, of course no clown would be allowed to do what another offered for the amus.e.m.e.nt of the audiences.

Sometimes the simplest thing was made the basis for a funny act. Bill Watson could come out, attired in a suit half black and half white with his face tinted to match, and by going through the motions of a baseball player in his own inimitable way, raise a gale of laughter.

Some of the other clowns would go through the pretense of eating a meal, some one would pretend to go sailing in a soap box, while one team would do a "barber act." Each act was good and funny because of the peculiar way it was done.

So, seeing this spirit all about him, Joe was sorry he had not been able to add something new to his act. Of course, the goldfish had added greatly to it since Benny had been forced to give up his performance.

It did not seem likely that Benny Turton would take up his act again for some time, as a report received from the hospital said that a delicate and dangerous operation would have to be performed if he was to hear and speak again. Therefore, as the days went by, Joe kept his eyes open for a chance to supplement his tank act. There was not much he could do that was new or different in his trapeze work, though he still kept himself in the van of the profession and did as many hair-raising feats as before. He performed on the trapeze alone now, having dropped his act with the Lascalla Brothers because he could not fit it in with the water work. With this Joe was well pleased; for while the Spaniards worked well with him, Joe could not help feeling that they did not like him for having taken the place of Sim Dobley, who had been discharged.

"Well, Joe, I hear you're pulling down a pretty good salary now,"

remarked Tonzo Lascalla to our hero one day.

"Who told you?" asked Joe, for he had not mentioned the increase to any one but Helen, and she had said she would not tell.

"Oh, those things are soon known in the circus," explained the Spaniard. "We're glad to hear about your good luck though. What do you say to a little celebration in town? We're going to lay over here Sunday."

"What do you mean?" asked Joe.

"I mean why don't you 'blow yourself,' as the boys say over here. Give a sort of supper to the crowd."

"I'm afraid I can't afford it," replied Joe, with a shake of his head.

"I'd like to, but it would take a good deal more salary than I'm getting to entertain the circus."

"Oh, I didn't mean the whole outfit," said Tonzo. "I mean just thirty or forty of those you know best."

Joe shook his head.

"I can't afford it," he replied.

"What! With the money you're getting? Why, I hear you've had your salary nearly doubled!"

"Well, I'm doing double work, am I not?" asked Joe.

"Of course you are, but----"

Tonzo shook his head, and there was an unpleasant sneer on his face as he turned away from Joe.

A little later Joe saw Tonzo and Sid talking together. He could not help hearing what they said, as they were in their dressing room, while he was in his, putting on the red, scaly suit which he wore in the tank.

"Will he do it?" asked Sid of Tonzo.

"No. He claims he can't afford it."

"And getting nearly twice as much as we do! Say, he must be a regular tight-wad!"

"That's what he is," said Tonzo bitterly. "Afraid to spend his money!"

The words stung Joe. He paused in his dressing.

"Tight-wad?" he mused. "So that's what they call me. Well, it isn't a very nice name, but if they think I'm going to spend my money on blow-outs for the crowd they're mistaken. I'm not going to be so foolish."

Joe knew that Tonzo had not proposed dissipation, for circus performers, particularly those who take their lives in their hands on high trapezes, cannot afford to live a riotous life, even for one night. Their nerves would be shattered for days to come, and once a performer's nerve is gone he is useless to himself and to others. But Joe was not going to waste his money on even an ordinary supper for the crowd.

"But I sure do hate to be called a tight-wad," he mused, "especially when I don't deserve it."

However, he seemed to have acquired that reputation unwittingly.

Several times after that he heard sneering remarks directed toward himself, and once or twice some laughing reference was made to the "blow-out" he was going to give.

Joe flushed at these slurs, but he did not give in.

CHAPTER XIV

HELEN IS WORRIED

Joe Strong stood in a secluded part of the circus lot early one morning before breakfast. The show had reached the place only a little while before, there having been a delay because of a slight accident. Most of the performers, with increased appet.i.tes, were wending their way to the dining tents, but Joe, with coat and vest off, with shoulders thrown back and head held high in the air, was taking in long breaths and expelling them again to the utmost capacity of his lungs.

"What in the world are you doing, Joe?" asked Helen, who was on her way to breakfast. "Are you trying to rival Mr. Jefferson when he breaks a chain on his chest?" for this was one of the feats of the strong man.

"Hardly that," laughed Joe, as he let out a long breath.

"Then what are you doing?"

"Practising deep breathing for my tank work. I'm going to try for the four-minute record to-day."

"Are you really?" Helen was much interested.

"I don't say I'm going to do it," went on Joe, for he was anything but boastful. "But this seems a good day to make the attempt. It's clear and crisp after the rain, and I seem to be able to hold my breath longer on a day like this than when it's warm and muggy. So I thought I'd get in a little early practice before I got too loggy with a big breakfast."

"A good idea," Helen said. "I'll wait for you and we'll eat together."

"Thanks," remarked Joe. "But I'll be ten minutes yet, and your appet.i.te may not stand such a delay."

"Oh, yes, it will," laughed Helen. "I'll run over and see how Rosebud is while you finish your practice," and she turned toward the horse tent where her trick pet was contentedly munching his breakfast of oats.