Phil did so, but his face refused to smile. He couldn't have
smiled at that moment to save his life.

All at once he wrenched himself loose from Mr. Sparling's grip,
and ran full speed for the dressing tent. He had not gone more
than a dozen feet before he tripped over a rope, landing on head
and shoulders. But Phil was up like a rubber man and off again
as if every animal in the menagerie was pursuing him.

The spectators catching the meaning of his flight, stood up in
their seats and howled lustily.

Phil Forrest had made a hit that comes to few men in the sawdust
arena.



CHAPTER XV

A STROKE OF GOOD FORTUNE

"That was a knockout, kid," nodded Mr. Miaco, with emphasis. "I'm
laughing on the inside of me yet. I don't dare let my face
laugh, for fear the wrinkles will break through my makeup."

"Thank you," smiled Phil, tugging at his silk tights, that fitted
so closely as to cause him considerable trouble in stripping them
off.

"You'll have the whole show jealous of you if you don't watch