is eyes grew larger and rounder.

"'Er name's Lobb," explained Tilda. "I oughter a-told yer."

"'Ow did it 'appen?" asked Sam in an awed voice.

"Igsplosion," said the Fat Lady.

"Is--is there _goin'_ to be one?"

The match burned low in Sam's trembling fingers, and he dropped it with
an exclamation of pain.

"There _was_ one," said the Fat Lady. "At Gavel's roundabouts.
Leastways, the folks came chargin' into my tent, which is next door,
cryin' out that the boiler was blowin' up. I travel with Gavel, sir--as
his Fat Lady--"

"Oh!" Sam drew a long breath.

"Which, when I heard it, sir, and the outcries, I burst out through the
back of the tent--bein' a timorous woman--and ran for shelter.
My fright, sir, I'll leave you to imagine. And then, as I crawled under
the boards here, a dog flew at me--and bein' taken unawares--on all
fours, too--I rolled over with my legs twisted--and here I am stuck.
There's one joist pinnin' my left shoulder, and my leg's jammed under
another; and stir I cannot."

Sam lit another match.

"I was fearin'--" he began, but broke off. "If you could manage, ma'am,
to draw up your knee an inch or so--or if you wouldn' mind my takin' a
pull--"

"Not at all," said Mrs. Lobb. "I'm used to bein' pinched."

Sam gripped the knee-pan firmly, and hauled.

"O-ow!" cried Mrs. Lobb. But the wrench had set her free to uncross her
legs, and she did so, murmuring her gratitude.

There had been (Sam now explained) a false alarm. In the midst of
the merry-making, and while the roundabouts were crowded and going
at full speed, the boy in charge of the engine had taken occasion
to announce to the lady at the pay-table that his pressure was a
hundred-and-forty-seven, and what had taken the safety valve he couldn't
think. Whereupon the lady at the pay-table had started up, scattering
her coins, and shrieked; and this had started the stampede. "Which,"
added Sam in a whisper to Tilda, "was lucky for us in a way; becos
Glasson, after tacklin' Mortimer be'ind the scenes an' threatenin' to
have his blood in a bottle, had started off with Gavel to fetch the
perlice. An' the question is if they won't be watchin' the gates by
this time."

"In _my_ young days," announced the Fat Lady, with disconcerting
suddenness, "it was thought rude to whisper."

Tilda took a swift resolution.

"The truth is, ma'am, we're in trouble, an' 'idin' 'ere. I wouldn' dare
to tell yer, on'y they say that people