“Do you think you could stand up on his head?” came the voice of the trainer just loud enough for Phil to hear.
“Me? Stand on the elephant’s head?”
“Yes. Think you can do it?”
“If I had a net underneath to catch me, maybe I’d try it.”
“Emperor won’t let you fall. When I give the word he’ll wrap his trunk around your legs. That will hold you steady from the waist down. If you can keep the rest of yourself from lopping over you’ll be all right. It’ll make a hit—see if it don’t.”
“I—I’ll try it.”
“Wait till I give the word, then get up on all fours, but don’t straighten up till you feel the trunk about you. We’ll make a showman of you before you know it.”
“I seem to be the whole show as it is,” grumbled Phil.
“You are, just now—you and Emperor. Good thing the other performers are not in the ring, or they would all be jealous of you.”
“I wish Uncle Abner could see me now. Wouldn’t he be mad!” grinned Phil, as the memory of his crabbed relative came back to him. “He’d come right out after me with his stick, he’d be so angry. But I guess Emperor wouldn’t let him touch me,” decided the boy proudly, with an affectionate pat to which the elephant responded with a cough that sounded not unlike the explosion of a dynamite cartridge.