The orchestra checked its music. An intense strain pervaded. The audience swayed, but that only. There was a profound silence.
"One, two, three," said Thacher, at intervals.
"Come," answered old Benares.
At the end of a long, swift swing of his body, Thacher let go of Andy, who spun across a ten feet space that looked twenty to the audience below. Andy felt a light contact, old Benares' double grip caught under his arms.
The act was the merest novice trick analyzed by an expert, but it set the audience wild.
A prodigious cheer arose, clapping of hands, juvenile yells of admiration. The band came in with a ringing march. Old Benares righted himself, Andy with him.
"Su-paarb!" he said. "Can you hold on alone—one little minute?"
"Sure," said Andy.
The trapezist reached up and untied the descending rope, secured it to the bar, and shouted to those standing below.
Two ring hands ran out into the sawdust, caught the other end, and held it perfectly taut.