Phil nodded.
He was listening intently. His keen ears caught a distant roar that caused him to gaze apprehensively aloft.
"I am afraid we are going to have trouble," he said.
"It has been in the air all the evening," was the low answer.
"Wonder if they have the menagerie tent out of the way?"
It was being taken down at that moment, the elephants having been removed to the train, as had part of the cages.
All at once there was a roar that sent the blood from the faces of the spectators. The boss canvasman's whistle trilled excitedly.
"There go the dressing tents," said Phil calmly as a ripping and rending was heard off by the paddock. "I hope it hasn't taken my trunk with it. Glad I locked the trunk before coming into the ring."
The band stopped playing suddenly. The tent was in absolute silence.
"It's a cyclone!" shouted a voice among the spectators.
A murmur ran over the assemblage. In a moment they would be in a mad rush, trampling each other under foot in their efforts to escape.