He came to the open gap around the centre pole, seized the bound edge of
the canvas, and gazed down.

Ten feet across was old Benares, just getting ready for some evolutions.
Directly under Andy was the trapeze holding the man he supposed to be
Thacher. Over his head swung a smaller trapeze.

Andy lay flat along the sloping canvas and stuck his head further down.

"Mr. Thacher! Mr. Thacher!" he shouted.

"Eh, why, hello! Who are you?"

In wonderment the trapezist gazed up at the earnest, agitated face
gazing down at him.

At that juncture there was an ominous rip. Andy's weight it seemed had
pressed too forcibly down upon a rotted section of the canvas.

A strip about a foot wide tore free, binding and all, from the edge
nearest the centre pole. It split six feet sheer. Andy's feet went over
his head, but he kept a tight grip on the end of the strip.

Dangling in mid air sixty feet above the saw-dust ring, Andy swung in
space dizzy-headed, his first appearance before the circus public.



CHAPTER XI