The gust of wind had
driven the clouds away and the sun flashed out brilliantly.
A moment later the performance was going on with a rush, the band
playing a lively tune.
Phil, when he reached the dressing tent, learned that Signor
Navaro was seriously hurt, though his son was suffering merely
from shock. The father had sustained several broken bones.
Phil approached the injured performer and leaned over him. The
man was conscious.
"I'm sorry, very sorry, sir," breathed the boy sympathetically.
"You needn't be. You'll get what you want," murmured the circus
man.
"I don't understand," wondered Phil.
"You'll get my act."
"Is that what you think I have been working for?"
Signor Navaro nodded.
"You are mistaken. Of course, if you are not able to perform any
more this season I shall try to get it, but when you are able to
go to work I shall give it up willingly, even if I succeed in
getting it during that time. Is that why you played that trick
on me?" demanded the lad.
"You know?" questioned Signor Navaro, with a start.
Phil gave a slight nod.
"Why did you put the file in my trunk--the file you cut the wire
with?"
"I thought I dropped it in my own trunk.
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