At last the elephant had risen as high as he could go. He was
standing almost straight up and down, and on his head the slender
figure of the boy appeared almost unreal to those off on the
seats.

Thunders of applause swept over the assemblage. People rose up
in their seats, the younger ones hurling hats high in the air and
uttering catcalls and shrill whistles, until pandemonium reigned
under the "big top," as the circus tent proper is called by the
showmen.

"Swing your hat at them!"

The trainer had to shout to make himself heard, and as it was
Phil caught the words as from afar off.

He took off his soft hat and waved it on high, gazing wonderingly
off over the seats. He could distinguish nothing save a waving,
undulating mass of moving life and color.

It was intoxicating. And Phil Forrest went suddenly dizzy again.

"I'm losing my head," rebuked the lad. "If I don't pull myself
together I shall surely fall off. Then they will have something
to laugh at rather than to applaud."

He took himself firmly in hand. But the applause did not abate
one whit.