Phil responded rather reluctantly. He would have much preferred to sit out in the paddock talking circus with Little Dimples.

He found Mr. Sparling striding up and down in front of the elephant enclosure.

"I hope nothing very serious happened, Mr. Sparling," greeted Phil, approaching him.

"If you mean damages, no. A few people knocked down, mostly due to their own carelessness. I've got the claim-adjuster at work settling with all we can get hold of. But we'll get it all back tonight, my boy. We'll have a turn-away this afternoon, too, unless I am greatly mistaken. Why, they're lining up outside the front door now."

"I'm glad for both these things," smiled Phil. "Especially so because no one was killed."

"No. But one of our bareback riders was put out of business for a time."

"Is that so? Who?"

"Monsieur Liebman."

"Oh, that's too bad. What happened to him?"

"Someone ran him down. He was thrown and sprained his ankle.

He won't ride for sometime, I reckon. But come over here and sit down. I want to have a little chat with you."

Mr. Sparling crossed the tent, sitting down on a bale of straw just back of the monkey cage. The simians were chattering loudly, as if discussing the exciting incidents of the morning.

But as soon as they saw the showman they flocked to the back of the cage, hanging by the bars, watching him to find out what he was going to do.

He made a place for Phil beside him.

"Sit down."

"Thank you."

"I was just running up in my mind, on my way back, that, in actual figures, you've saved me about ten thousand dollars.

Perhaps it might be double that. But that's near enough for all practical purposes."

"I saved you--" marveled Phil, flushing.

"Yes."

"How?"

"Well, you began last year, and you have started off at the same old pace this season. Today you have gone and done it again.

That was one of the nerviest things I ever saw. I wouldn't have given a copper cent for your life, and I'll bet you wouldn't, either."

"N-o-o," reflected Phil slowly, "I thought I was a goner."

"While the rest of our crowd were hiking for cover, like a lot of 'cold feet,' you were diving right into the heart of the trouble, picking up my princ.i.p.al equestrienne. Then you sent her away and stopped to face the herd of bulls. Jumping giraffes, but it was a sight!"

By this time the monkeys had gone back to finish their animated discussion.

"I do not deserve any credit for that. I was caught and I thought I might as well face the music."

"Bosh! I heard you calling for Emperor, and I knew right away that that little head of yours was working like the wheels of a chariot in a Roman race. I knew what you were trying to do, but I'd have bet a thousand yards of canvas you never would.

You did, though," and the showman sighed.

Phil was very much embarra.s.sed and sat kicking his heels into the soft turf, wishing that Mr. Sparling would talk about something else.

"The whole town is talking about it. I'm going to have the press agent wire the story on ahead. I told him, just before I came in, that if he'd follow you he'd get 'copy' enough to last him all the rest of his natural life. All that crowd out there has come because there was a young circus boy with the show, who had a head on his shoulders and the pluck to back his gray matter."

"Have you talked with Mr. Kennedy?" asked Phil, wishing to change the personal trend of the conversation.

"Yes; why?"

"Did he say what he thought was the matter with Jupiter?"

"He didn't know. He knew only that Jupiter had been 'off' for nearly two days. Kennedy said something about a bad stomach.

Why do you ask that question?" demanded the showman, with a shrewd glance at the boy.

"Because I have been wondering about Jupiter quite a little since morning. I've been thinking, Mr. Sparling."

"Now what are you driving at? You've got something in your head.

Out with it!"

"It may sound foolish, but--"

"But what?"

"While Jupiter was bad, he showed none of the signs that come from a fit of purely bad temper--that is, before the stampede."

"That's right."

"Then what brought it on?" asked Phil looking Mr. Sparling squarely in the eyes.

For a few seconds man and boy looked at each other without a word.

"What's your idea?" asked the showman quietly.

"It's my opinion that somebody doctored him--gave him something--"

The showman uttered a long, low whistle.

"You've hit it! You've hit it!" he exclaimed, bringing a hand down on the lad's knee with such force that Phil winced.

"It's one of those rascally canvasmen that I discharged. Oh, if ever I get my hands on him it will be a sorry day for him!

You haven't seen him about, have you?"

"I thought I caught a glimpse of him on the street yesterday during the parade, but he disappeared so quickly that I could not be sure."

Mr. Sparling nodded reflectively.

"You probably heard how Emperor ducked him and--"