Carl said no more. He followed Leo to the dressing-room and hurried into his street clothing.
Overhead the pair could hear the tramp of many feet. Presently came the crash of a breaking bench.
“Some of the audience are getting mad,” Leo muttered to himself. “I fancy——”
“We must run for it,” gasped Carl, in a low voice. “Hark! Some of the toughs that were in the gallery have threatened to mob the entire company!”
“I am ready to go,” said Leo, as he picked up his valise.
He turned to go out into the hallway. Then he leaped back and slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Too late. They are coming; they are here!”
The young gymnast spoke the truth. Heavy footsteps came up to the door. A hand tried the knob.
“Open that door, you confounded fakirs, or we’ll smash it down!” was the cry. “You can’t escape us! We are bound to get square with you!”
“Shall I open for them?” whispered Leo.