"Hey, you!"

Teddy gave no heed to him.

"Get out of there! Think you own this show?"

The lad made believe that he did not hear.

The ringmaster's long whip lash curled through the air, going off
with a crack that sounded as if a pistol had been fired, and
within an inch of Teddy's nose.

Teddy sprang back, slapping a hand to his face, believing that he
had been hit. Then there followed a series of disconcerting
snaps all around his head as the long lash began to work, but so
skillfully was it wielded that the end of it did not touch him.

But Teddy had had enough. He turned and ran for the seats.

"Come up here," cried Phil, laughing immoderately. "Here's a
seat right beside us and there won't be any ringmaster to bother
you."

Considerably crestfallen, the lad climbed up to where Phil and
Mrs. Cahill were sitting.

"You mustn't go down there, you know, Teddy. They don't allow
outsiders in the ring while the performance is going on. Someone
might get hurt--"