“Well, couldn’t you go with us and—and sort of explain things?”
Jerry’s face lighted eagerly.
“Guess I could if you want me to,” he answered.
“All right. We’ll look for you here, then. What time does it begin?”
“Half-past two. I’ll be here and I’ll look for you. You won’t see as good a show as usual, though,” he continued apologetically. “You see, we ain’t got Donello any more. He left us day before yesterday.”
“Who’s he?” asked Bob.
“He’s the fellow does the high dive,” answered Jerry. “Ain’t you seen the show bills? He climbs up a ladder on to a little platform about thirty feet in the air an’ dives into a tank an’ turns a somersault comin’ down. The bills say that there ain’t but three feet of water in the tank, but that ain’t so, ’cause the tank’s set down in the ground about two feet. It’s a fine trick, that is, an’ the first time I seen it I was most scared to death. But he an’ Mr. Murray had a quarrel, an’ he lit out. Mr. Murray’s been telegraphin’ around ever since tryin’ to get some one to take his place, but I guess he ain’t found anyone.”
“How far did you say he dives?” asked Dan.
“’Bout thirty feet, but it looks a lot more. An’ when he gets up there he says ‘Ready!’ in a little squeaky voice that sounds like he was about a mile away. An’ then the drums beat an’ he comes down headfirst a ways. Then he flips himself over, an’ the ringmaster he shouts ‘In mid-air!’ an’ then Donello he comes plump into the tank headfirst; an’ everyone sets up a shoutin’ an’ a clappin’. It’s certainly”—Jerry searched for a word—“in-spi-rating.”
“It must be,” said Dan gravely. “I wonder what time it is.”