as
the show was resumed.

"Plucky chap, that clown," Mr. Linton said.

In the fresh air the men had laid the tamer down gently, and a doctor
was bending over him examining him by the flickering light of torches
held by hands that found it hard to be steady.

"Not so much damaged as he might be," the doctor announced, rising.
"That shoulder will take a bit of healing, but he looks healthy. His
padded uniform has saved his life. Let's get him to the private hospital
up the street. Everything necessary is there, and I'd like to have his
shoulder dressed before he regains consciousness."

The men lifted the improvised stretcher again, and passed on with it.
Norah and her father were following, when a voice called them. The wife
of the circus proprietor ran after them--a strange figure enough, in her
scarlet riding dress, the paint on her face streaked with tear marks.

"I'd like to know who you are," she said, catching Norah's hand. "But
for you my man 'ud 'a been in the ring with that brute. None of us had
the sense to think o' bringin' in the cubs. Tell me your name, dearie."

Norah told her unwillingly. "Nothing to make a fuss over," she added, in
great confusion.

"I guess you saved Joe's life, an' perhaps my Dave's as well," the woman
said. "We won't forget you. Good night, sir, an' thank you both."

Norah had no wish to be thanked, being of opinion that she had done less
than nothing at all. She was feeling rather sick, and--amazing feeling
for Norah--inclined to cry. She was very glad to get into bed at the
hotel, and eagerly welcomed her father's suggestion that he should sit
for a while in her room. Norah did not know that it was dawn before Mr.
Linton left his watch by the restless sleeper, quiet now, and sought his
own couch.

She woke late, from a dream of lions and elephants, and men who moaned
softly. Her father was by her bedside.

"Breakfast, lazy bones," he said.

"How's the tamer?" queried Norah, sitting up.

"Getting on all right. He wants to see you."

"Me!" said Norah. "Whatever for?"

"We've got to find that out," said her father, withdrawing.

They found out after breakfast, when a grateful, white-faced man,
swathed in bandages, stammered broken thanks.

"For it was you callin' out that saved me first," he said. "I'd never 'a
thought to jump, but I heard you sing out to me, an' if I hadn't she'd a
broke my neck, sure. An' then it was you thought o' bringing in the
cubs. Well, missy