“Nobody seems to know what really did happen,” he mused. “Dr. Irvine says the wire broke. That doesn’t seem possible.”
Off in the little dog tent of the owner of the show, Mr. James Sparling, on the day following the accident, was asking himself almost the same questions.
He sent for Mr. Kennedy after having disposed of his early morning business. There was a scowl on the owner’s face, but it had not been caused by the telegram which lay on the desk before him, informing him that Phil was not seriously hurt. That was a source of keen satisfaction to the showman, for he felt that he could not afford to lose the young circus boy.
Teddy was so upset over it, however, that the boss had about made up his mind to let Phil’s companion go back and join him.
While the showman was thinking the matter over, Mr. Kennedy appeared at the opening of the dog tent.
“Morning,” he greeted, which was responded to by a muttered “Huh!” from James Sparling.
“Come in. What are you standing out there for?”
Kennedy was so used to this form of salutation that he paid no further attention to it than to obey the summons.
He entered and stood waiting for his employer to speak.
“I want you to tell me exactly what occurred last night, when young Forrest got hurt, Kennedy.”