Jumbo suddenly decided that he would go back to the paddock. With him, to decide was to act. Taking a fresh burst of speed, he shot straight at the red curtains. To reach these he was obliged to pass close to the bandstand, where the band was playing as if the very existence of the show depended upon them.
Teddy’s grip was relaxing. His arm was so benumbed that he could not feel that he had any arm on that side at all.
His fingers slowly relaxed their grip on the cinch girth. In a moment he had bounced back to the educated mule’s rump. In another instant he would be plumped to the hard ground with a jolt that would shake him to his foundations.
But Jumbo had other plans—more spectacular plans—in mind. He put them into execution at once. The moment he felt his burden slipping over his back that active end grew busy again. Jumbo humped himself, letting out a volley of kicks so lightning-like in their swiftness that human eye could not follow.
Teddy had slipped half over the mule’s rump when the volley began.
“Catch him! He’ll be killed!” shouted someone.
All at once the figure of Teddy Tucker shot straight up into the air, propelled there by the educated mule. The lad’s body described what somebody afterwards characterized as “graceful somersault in the air,” then began its downward flight.
He landed right in the midst of the band.
Crash!
There was a yell of warning, a jingle and clatter of brass, several chairs went down under the impact, the floor gave way and half the band, with Teddy Tucker in the middle of the heap, sank out of sight.