CHAPTER XX.
THE RETURN TO THE SAWDUST LIFE
“Is he dead?”
“No; you can’t kill a thick-head like that,” snarled the ringmaster.
The audience was still roaring.
With angry imprecations the members of the band who had fallen through were untangling themselves as rapidly as possible. Teddy, in the meantime, had dragged himself from beneath the heap and slunk out from under the broken platform. He lost no time in escaping to the paddock, but the bandmaster, espying him, started after the lad, waving his baton threateningly.
No sooner had Teddy gained the seclusion of the dressing tent than James Sparling burst in.
“Where’s that boy? Where’s that boy?”
“Here he is,” grinned a performer, thrusting Teddy forward, much against the lad’s inclinations.
Mr. Sparling surveyed him with narrow eyes.
“You young rascal! Trying to break up my show, are you?”