Before the words were out of his mouth a piercing scream roused the audience almost to the verge of panic.
Phil, whose attention had been drawn to the people for the moment, shot a swift glance up into the somber haze of the peak of the big top.
Something had happened. But what?
“They’re falling!” he gasped.
The blow had loosened nearly every bit of the aerial apparatus under the circus tent.
“There go the trapeze performers!”
Down they came, landing with a whack in the net with their apparatus tumbling after them. But they were out of the net in a twinkling, none the worse for their accident. Almost at the same moment there were other screams.
“There go the rings!”
There was no net under the flying ring performers. Two of them shot toward the ground. When they struck, one was on top of the other. The man at the bottom was Signor Navaro, his son having fallen prone across him. The two other performers in the act had grabbed a rope and saved themselves.
Men picked the two fallen performers up hastily and bore them to the dressing tent, where Phil hastened the moment he was sure that all danger of a panic had passed. The gust of wind had driven the clouds away and the sun flashed out brilliantly.