CHAPTER VIII
THE CIRCUS BOY WINS
"Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much!" answered the lad, hiseyes glowing.
"You're a square kid and I like you."
"I appreciate your kindness, I assure you, and I will write aletter to the owner of the show about you this evening when I getback to the car. Have you any ladders that we can borrow, and along rope?"
"I reckon you'll find all them things in the hay barn.Help yourself. I've got to run up to the back farm, butmaybe I'll be back before you get through your job.So long."
Phil hurried back to the road, where Billy and the wagonwere waiting. The lad's feet felt lighter than usual.
"Well, what luck?" demanded Billy.
"I may be a poor apology as a billposter, but as a diplomat I'm awinner, Billy."
"You--you don't mean you got the silo?" gasped Conley.
"I got the silo, and I can have the hog pen too, if I want it,and perhaps the farmer's house thrown in for good measure,"answered Phil, his face flushed from his first triumph as apublicity showman.
"Well, of all the nerve!"
"That's what the farmer said," laughed Phil. "But he changedhis mind."
"What do you think of that?" demanded Billy, turning tothe driver.
"The kid is all right."
"You're right; he is. The next question, now that you have gotthe silo, is what are you going to do with it?"
"Post it," answered Phil promptly.
"You can never do it."
"I'll show you what a circus man can do."
"Come along and unload your truck. Help me get some ladders outof the barn."
Wonderingly, Billy did as he was bid, and the driver, now growninterested, hitched his horses to the fence and followed them.
The silo was empty. Phil measured the distance to the top withhis eyes.
"About forty feet I should say," he decided. "We shall have todo some climbing."
The ladders were far too short, but by splicing two of themtogether, they reached up to an opening in the silo some ten feetfrom the top.
Phil hunted about until he found a long plank; then setting thespliced ladders up inside the silo he mounted to the opening,carrying one end of a coil of rope with him. Upon reaching theopening he directed Billy to tie the other end of the rope tothe plank. This being done, Phil hauled the board up to wherehe was sitting perched on the frame of the opening.
"I'd like to know what you're going to do?"
"If you will come up here I will show you."
"Not on your life," replied Billy promptly. "I know when I'mwell off, and if you don't look out, Boss Snowden will gethis wish."
"What wish was that?"
"That you might fall off a barn and break your neck."
The Circus Boy's merry laugh floated down to them as he worked inan effort to get the plank into position. By tying the rope toone end of the plank to support it he gradually worked the plankout through the opening, after a time managing to shove the endnearest to him under a beam.
"There, I'd like to see you turn a trick like that, BillyConley," he shouted.
"_I_ wouldn't," retorted Billy. "What's the next move?"
"In a minute. Watch me!"
The lad made a large loop in the rope in the shape of aslip knot. All preparations being made he boldly walked outon the plank which, secured at one end like a springboard,bent and trembled beneath his weight.
The men down below gasped.
The farmer, having changed his mind, had come out to watch theoperation rather than visit the back farm. Two neighbors had bythis time joined him.
"Who's the fellow up there?" asked one.
"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 finestcircus performers in this country. Do you think he could standout on that plank, more than thirty feet above the ground, if hewere not a performer? Why, I wouldn't be up there for a milliondollars, and you wouldn't, either."
"That's right," answered the farmer himself. "That beats all thecircus 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 studiedhis balance, now cast his eyes up to the little cupola on topof the silo. Then he began slowly swinging the loop of therope over his head, after the fashion of a cowboy about to makea cast.
They were at a loss to understand what he was trying to do, butevery man there was sure in his own mind what Phil Forrest woulddo--fall off.
Suddenly he let go of the loop. It soared upward. Then theybegan to understand. He was trying to rope the cupola.
The rope fell short by about three feet, as nearly as he was ableto judge.
"Oh, pshaw!" muttered Phil. "That was a clumsy throw. I wouldmake just about as good a cowboy as I am a billposters.Well, here goes for another try."
He put all his strength into the throw this time.
The rope sped true, dropping as neatly over the peak of thecupola as if the thrower had been standing directly overthe projection.
A cheer rose from the men below.
It died on their lips.
"He's falling!" they cried with one voice.
The farmers stood gaping. But Billy, with the quick instincts ofa showman, darted beneath the plank hoping to catch and break thelad's fall.
Phil had leaned too far backward in making his cast. He had losthis balance and toppled over. Here his training in aerial workserved him in good stead. As he felt himself going he turnedquickly facing toward the outer end of the plank.
Like a flash both hands shot out. They closed about the end ofthe plank by a desperately narrow margin.
The plank bent until it seemed as if it must snap underhis weight. Then it shot upward, carrying the boy withit, he kicking his feet together as he was lifted andlaughing out of pure bravado.
Phil knew he was safe now. The drop had tested the plank, sothat there was now slight danger of its breaking.
On the second rebound he swung himself to the upper side of itand stood up.
"Hurrah!" he shouted.
Billy was pale and trembling.
"If you do that again I'll have an attack of heart disease,Phil!" he called. "Now, what are you going to do? The rope ishanging seven or eight feet away from you."
"Hello, that's so. I hadn't observed that before. I shouldnot have let go of it. Never mind, I'll get it unlesssomething breaks. See here, Billy, you get from under there."
"Is the plank likely to fall?" asked Billy innocently.
"The plank? No. I am likely to take a tumble," answeredPhil, with a short laugh. All at once he grew seriousand still. "I think I can make it," he decided.
His resolution formed, the lad crouched low, so as not to throwso great a leverage on the plank that it would slip from underhim when he leaped. He prepared for the spring.
"Don't do it!" howled Billy, now thoroughly frightened."Don't you see what he's up to? He's going to jump offthe plank and try to catch hold of the rope hanging fromthe cupola. He'll never make it. He'll miss it sure ashe's a foot high. This is awful!"
"Don't bother me, Billy. Mr. Farmer, is that cupola strongenough to bear my weight on a sudden jolt?"
"It ought to hold a ton, dead weight."
"Then I guess it will hold me. Don't talk to me down there.Here goes!"
It seemed a foolhardy thing to do. To the average person itwould have meant almost sure death. It must be remembered,however, that Phil Forrest was a circus performer, that he feltas thoroughly at home far above the ground as he did whenstanding directly on it.
He leaped out into the air, cleared the intervening space betweenthe plank and the rope, his fingers closing over the latter witha sureness born of long experience.
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His body swung far over toward the other side of the silo,settling down with a sickening jolt, as the loop over the cupolaslipped down tight.
"Hooray!" cried Phil, twisting the rope about one leg and wavinga hand to those below him.
They drew a long, relieved sigh. The farmers, one after theother, took off their hats and mopped their foreheads.
"Warm, isn't it?" grinned the owner of the silo.
"Now, pass up your brush and paste on this rope." Phil hadbrought a small rope with him for this very purpose.
Billy got busy at once and in a few minutes Phil had the brushand paste in his hands, with which he proceeded to smear as muchof the side of the silo as was within reach. It will beremembered that he was hanging on the rope by one leg, aroundwhich the rope was twisted as only showmen know how to do.
"Now, the paper," called Phil.
This was passed up to him in the same way. In a few moments hehad pasted on a great sheet, having first pulled himself up tothe eaves to secure the top of the sheet just under them.
"Now that you have one sheet on, how are you going to get aroundto the other side to put others on?" demanded Conley.
"Oh, I'll show you. Be patient down there. I have got to changea leg; this one is getting numb."
"I should think it would," muttered Billy.
Phil changed legs, as he termed it; then, grasping the eaves withboth hands, he pulled himself along, the slip-noose over thecupola turning about on its pivot without a hitch.
This done Phil called for more paper, which was put up inshort order. Thus he continued with his work until he had puta plaster, as Bill Conley characterized it, all the way aroundthe farmer's silo. It might have been seen nearly ten milesaway in all directions. No such billing had ever before beendone in that part of the country, nor perhaps anywhere else.
"There! I'd like to see the Ringlings, or Hagenbecks orBarnum and Bailey or any of the other big ones, beat that.They're welcome to cover this paper if they can, eh, Billy?"laughed Phil, pushing himself away from the side of the siloand leaning far back to get a better view of it. "I callthat pretty fine. How about it?"
"The greatest ever," agreed Billy. His vocabulary was toolimited to express his thoughts fully, but he did fairly wellwith what he had.
Having satisfied himself that his work was well done, Phil lethimself down slowly, not using his hands at all, in doing so,but taking a spiral course downward.
"H-u-m-m, I'm a little stiff," he said when his feet touchedthe ground. "Am I a billposter or am I not a billposter, Billy?"
"You are the champeen of 'em all! I take off my hat to you."Which Conley did, then and there.
"I am afraid I shall not be able to get that rope down, sir,"said Phil politely to the farmer. "I am sorry. I had notfigured on that before. If you will be good enough to tell mehow much the rope is worth I shall be glad to pay you for it.I can cut it off up near the little door there, so it will notlook quite so bad. Shall I do it?"
"No. You needn't bother. As for paying for the rope I won'ttake a cent. I've had more fun than the price of a dozenropes could buy. Why, young man, do you know I never seenanything in a circus that could touch the outside edge of theperformance you've been giving us this afternoon? You boyshad your dinners?"
"No," confessed the Circus Boy. "I guess we had forgottenall about eating."
"Then come right in the house. My wife will get yousomething, and I want to introduce her to a real livecircus man--that's you."
"Thank you."
Phil's eyes were bright. He was happy in the accomplishment of apiece of work that was not done every day. In fact, this one wasdestined to go down in show history as a remarkable achievement.
They sat down to a fine dinner, and Phil entertained the familyfor an hour relating his experiences in the show world.
When the hour came for leaving, the farmer urged them to remain,but the men had work to do and a long drive ahead of them.
They drove away, Phil waving his hat and the farmer and his wifewaving hat and apron respectively.
As the rig reached a hill, some three miles away, Phil and Billyturned to survey their work.
"Looks like a fire, doesn't it, Billy?"
"It sure does. It would call out the fire department if therewas one here."
"And the best of it is, that posting will be up there when theshow comes this way next season. It is a standing advertisementfor the Great Sparling Shows. But I suppose Mr. Snowden wouldsay it wasn't much of a job."