slippery stick desperately.

Light as he was the boy's weight saved the pole. It bent no
further.

The cage swayed from side to side, threatening to topple over at
one end or the other.

"Get poles under the ends," shouted the boy in a shrill voice. "I
can't hold it here all day."

"Get poles, you lazy good-for-nothings!" bellowed the owner.
"Brace those ends. Look out for the elephant. Don't you see
he's headed for the cage again?"

Orders flew thick and fast, but through it all Phil Forrest hung
grimly to the side pole, taking a fresh overhand hold, now and
then, as his palms slipped down the painted stick.

Now that he had shown the way, others sprang to his assistance.
Half a dozen poles were thrust up under the roof and the cage
began slowly settling back the other way.

"Hadn't you better have some poles braced against the other side,
sir?" suggested Phil, touching his hat to Mr. Sparling, who, he
had discovered, was some person in authority. "The cage may tip
clear over on the other side, or it may drop so heavily on the
wheels as to break the axles."

"Right. Brace the off side. That's right. Now let it down