"I should say so--if I can do it good enough."

"Well, try, anyhow. If you're not up to average, Benares will train you.
He's taken a fancy to you, and he'll help you along. Some of the
tumblers leave us here, and they're shy on a full number. If they take
you, stick hard for ten dollars."

"A month?" said Andy.

"No, a week."

"Gracious!" exclaimed Andy, "that's too good to come out true."

"Stick and strive, Wildwood--the motto will win," declared Marco.

When Andy went to the performers' tent at two o'clock, he found over
fifty persons there. In its centre a balancing bar had been put up. An
old circus horse stood at one side. Some low trapezes were swung from a
post. A number of the circus people were lounging on benches in one
corner of the tent. In another corner on other benches some twenty
persons, mostly boys, were gathered.

"Here, you're not on show yet," spoke Benares, the trapezist, pulling
Andy beside him as he passed along. "Your turn will come after they get
rid of those aspirants yonder."

CHAPTER XXI

A FULL-FLEDGED ACROBAT

The circus manager sat in a chair at the edge of a little sawdust ring
that had been marked out for the occasion. The ringmaster stood near
him, in charge of the ceremonies.

"Now, then, my friends," observed this individual in a sharp, snappy
way, "you people want a chance to get on as performers. That's good. We
are always looking for fresh talent. Show your paces. Who's first?"

A big, loutish fellow with an ungainly walk stepped forward. He was
wrapped up in a tarpaulin. As he let it drop it was like a
transformation scene.

It seemed that some of the mischievous candy peddlers had got hold of
him. They had induced him to appear for trial in costume.

He wore a pair of tights three sizes too small for him. They had
powdered his hair with fine sawdust and daubed his face with chalk and
dyes. They had stuffed out his stockings until his calves resembled
sticks of knotted wood.

The manager nearly fell over in his chair with repressed laughter. The
audience was one vast chuckle.

"Well, sir," spoke up the ringmaster, with difficulty keeping a straight
face, "what can you do?"

"I'd like to be a clown," grinned the victim.

"A clown, sir. Good. Let's see you act."

The fellow capered into the ring. One stocking came down, letting out a
quart of sawdust. One tight split up to the knee as he made a jig step
that brought the tears to the eyes of Billy