There was a jerk, a dizzy whirl through the air, and our friend lay "high," but by no means "dry," upon the earth.
The crowd gathered round. He heard Tom Tadgers's voice in a terrified wail: "He's dead! he's dead!"
Then some one else spoke: "Bring water."
That was adding insult to injury. Up as straight as a ramrod sat the afflicted Philemon. "If anybody dares to put another drop of water on me, I'll—I'll—I'll go home!" gasped he.
There was a burst of merriment at that tremendous threat, and the young hero was lifted on some one's shoulder, and borne along in triumph. Strange to say, he was not even bruised, and he almost forgot his mishap, when, an hour later, he was permitted to help in spreading tan around the open space where Madame Lucetta Almazida was to ride the famous horse Pegasus, and perform her "world-renowned feat" of jumping through seventeen hoops and a "barrel wrapped in flames."
That noon Philemon was actually invited to dine with Mons. Duval, the "incomparable gymnast," and a host of other circus celebrities.
"You're a plucky little fellow, and fit to feed along o' us," said Mons. Duval, with a grin.
Philemon was much pleased by the compliment, which, though perchance not expressed in the most refined language, showed a kindly appreciation of his merits.
He entirely forgot Tom Tadgers, who, not having had the luck to meet with an accident, was left outside. In fact, Philemon saw Tom no more that day, and the latter, at the close of the afternoon, met Silas Elder once more, and rode peacefully home, where he went to bed, quite omitting to say a word to anybody about Philemon.
In the mean time that worthy ate his dinner with his new companions. He wondered vaguely what his mother would say if she knew where he was.