“Get out of there! Think you own this show?”
The lad made believe that he did not hear.
The ringmaster’s long whip lash curled through the air, going off with a crack that sounded as if a pistol had been fired, and within an inch of Teddy’s nose.
Teddy sprang back, slapping a hand to his face, believing that he had been hit. Then there followed a series of disconcerting snaps all around his head as the long lash began to work, but so skillfully was it wielded that the end of it did not touch him.
But Teddy had had enough. He turned and ran for the seats.
“Come up here,” cried Phil, laughing immoderately. “Here’s a seat right beside us and there won’t be any ringmaster to bother you.”
Considerably crestfallen, the lad climbed up to where Phil and Mrs. Cahill were sitting.
“You mustn’t go down there, you know, Teddy. They don’t allow outsiders in the ring while the performance is going on. Someone might get hurt—”
“They let you in,” bristled Teddy.
“That was different. They couldn’t help themselves, and neither could I. Emperor took me in whether I would or not; and, in fact, I didn’t know I was going till I was halfway there.”