The boss canvasman ordered three of his men to get the trapeze
performers' big net that lay in a heap near the ring nearest the
dressing tent, for there were two rings now in the Great Sparling
Combined Shows.

They dragged it over as quickly as possible; then willing hands
grabbed it and stretched the heavy net out. At Mr. Sparling's
direction the four corners of the net were manned and the
safety device raised from the ground, ready to catch the lad
should he fall.

"Now let go and drop!" roared Mr. Sparling.

They heard Phil laugh from his lofty perch.

"Jump, I say!"

"What, and let the tent down on you all?"

By this time the lad had curled his feet up over his head, and
they saw that he was bracing his feet against the iron ring,
literally holding the tent up with his own powerful muscles.
Of course, as a matter of fact, Phil was holding a very small
part of the weight of the tent, but as it was, the strain
was terrific.

Hanging head down, his face flushed until it seemed as if the
blood must burst through the skin, he hung there as calmly as if
he were not in imminent peril of his life. Then, too, there was