"I hope so," breathed Helen.
"You'd better get back to your ring," suggested Bill. "Finish your act."
"It was almost over," Helen objected. "I can't go back—now. Not until I see how he is."
"All right—come along then," said the old clown, sympathetically. He guessed how matters were between Helen and Joe. "I don't believe the boss will mind much. There's enough of the show left for 'em to look at."
He glanced down at Joe, who lay unconscious on the stretcher. They were now in the canvas screened passage between the dressing tent and the larger one, where the performance had been resumed. Helen put out her hand and touched Joe's forehead. He seemed to stir slightly.
"Have they sent for a doctor?" she asked.
"They'll get one from the crowd," replied Bill. "There's always one or more in a circus audience."
And he was right. As they placed Joe on a cot that had been quickly made ready for him, a physician, summoned from the audience by the ring-master, came to see what he could do. Silently Helen, Bill and the others stood about while the medical man made his examination.
"Will he die?" Helen asked in a whisper.
"Not at once—in fact not for some years to come, I think," replied the physician with a smile. "He has had a bad fall, and he will be laid up for a time. But it is not serious."