Andy lay flat along the sloping canvas and stuck his head further down.
"Mr. Thacher! Mr. Thacher!" he shouted.
"Eh, why, hello! Who are you?"
In wonderment the trapezist gazed up at the earnest, agitated face gazing down at him.
At that juncture there was an ominous rip. Andy's weight it seemed had pressed too forcibly down upon a rotted section of the canvas.
A strip about a foot wide tore free, binding and all, from the edge nearest the centre pole. It split six feet sheer. Andy's feet went over his head, but he kept a tight grip on the end of the strip.
Dangling in mid air sixty feet above the saw-dust ring, Andy swung in space dizzy-headed, his first appearance before the circus public.
CHAPTER XI
SAWDUST AND SPANGLES
Andy stared down at a sea of faces. They seemed far away. The circus manager had stepped briskly out into the ring.