"He is a performer in a circus."

"A performer? Shucks! He's no more performer than I am."

"Watch him and perhaps you may change your mind," answered Billy,
who had overheard the remark. "That boy is one of the finest
circus performers in this country. Do you think he could stand
out on that plank, more than thirty feet above the ground, if he
were not a performer? Why, I wouldn't be up there for a million
dollars, and you wouldn't, either."

"That's right," answered the farmer himself. "That beats all the
circus performances I ever saw. What is the kid going to do?"

"I don't know," confessed Billy. "He knows and that's enough."

Phil, having tested the plank to his satisfaction and studied
his balance, now cast his eyes up to the little cupola on top
of the silo. Then he began slowly swinging the loop of the
rope over his head, after the fashion of a cowboy about to make
a cast.

They were at a loss to understand what he was trying to do, but
every man there was sure in his own mind what Phil Forrest would
do--fall off.

Suddenly he let go of the loop. It soared upward. Then they
began to understand. He was trying to rope the cupola.