to consciousness, which he finally succeeded in doing before
the surgeon arrived.

"Did I fall?" asked Phil, suddenly opening his eyes.

"A high dive," nodded Mr. Sparling.

Phil cast his eyes up to the dome where he saw the canvas
drawing taut. He knew that he had succeeded and he
smiled contentedly.

By the time the surgeon arrived the boy was on his feet.

"How do you feel?"

"I'm a little sore, Mr. Sparling. But I guess I'll be fit in a
few minutes."

"Able to walk over to my tent? If not, I'll have some of the
fellows carry you."

"Oh, no; I can walk if I can get my legs started moving.
They don't seem to be working the way they should this morning,"
laughed the lad. "My, that tent weighs something doesn't it?"

"It does," agreed the showman.

Just then the surgeon arrived. After a brief examination he
announced that Phil was not injured, unless, perhaps, he might
have injured himself internally by subjecting himself to the