The lad repressed an inclination¹ to cry out, for the thing that had encircled his waist and raised him up seemed to be tightening² about him.  
A familiar voice just behind him served to calm Phil’s disquieted⁴ nerves.
 
“Don’t be frightened, kid. It’s only Emperor having a little joke. He’s a funny fellow,” said the elephant’s attendant.
 
Phil had read somewhere that elephants possessed⁵ a keen sense of humor, and now he was sure of it. But he never thought he would have an opportunity to have the theory demonstrated on himself.
 
The elephants were on their way to participate in the grand entry, and there was not a minute to spare now. Emperor on his way into the other tent had come across his new-found friend and recognized him instantly, while Phil had not even heard the approach of the elephants.
 
No sooner had the elephant discovered the lad than he picked him up with his trunk, slowly hoisting⁶ the boy high in the air.
 
“Steady, Emperor! Steady!” cautioned the attendant. But Emperor needed no admonition to deal gently with his young friend. He handled Phil with almost the gentleness of a mother lifting a babe.
 
Phil Forrest experienced a thrill that ran all through him when he realized what was taking place.
 
“We can’t stop to put you down now, my boy. You’ll have to go through the performance with us. Grab the head harness when he lets you down on his head. You can sit on the head without danger, but keep hold of the harness with one hand. I’ll bet you’ll make a hit.”
 
“I will if I fall off,” answered Phil a bit unsteadily.
 
As it was, the unusual motion made him a little giddy.
 
“That’s a good stunt⁸. Stick to him, Forrest,” directed a voice as they swept on toward the ring.
 
The voice belonged to Mr. Sparling, the owner of the show. He was quick to grasp the value of Phil’s predicament—that is, its value to the show as a drawing card.
 
By now the people began to understand that something unusual was going on, and they asked each other what it was all about.
 
“It’s Phil Forrest riding the elephant,” shouted one of the lad’s school friends, recognizing him all at once. “Hooray for Phil!”
 
There were many of the pupils from his school there, and the howling and shouting that greeted him made the lad’s cheeks burn. But now, instead of wanting to crawl under something and hide, Phil felt a thrill of pleasure, of pride in the achievement that was denied to all the rest of his friends.
 
The inspiring music of the circus band, too, added to his exhilaration. He felt like throwing up his hands and shouting.
 
Suddenly he felt something tugging⁹ at his coat pocket, and glancing down gave a start as he discovered the inquisitive¹⁰ trunk of Emperor thrust deep down in the pocket.
 
When the trunk came away it brought with it a lump of sugar that Phil did not know he possessed. The sugar was promptly¹¹ conveyed to the elephant’s mouth, the beast uttering a loud scream of satisfaction.
 
“Emperor, you rascal¹²!” laughed Phil, patting the beast on the head.
 
Once more the trunk curled up in search of more sugar, but a stern command from the trainer caused the beast to lower it quickly. The time for play had passed. The moment had arrived for Emperor to do his work and he was not the animal to shirk his act. In fact, he seemed to delight in it. All elephants work better when they have with them some human being or animal on which they have centered their affections. Sometimes it is a little black and tan dog, sometimes a full-grown man. In this instance it happened to be a boy, and that boy Phil Forrest.
 
“Waltz!” commanded the trainer.
 
If Phil’s head had swum before, it spun¹³ like a top now. Round and round pirouetted the huge beasts, keeping in perfect step with the music of the band, and tighter and tighter did the lad grip the head harness of old Emperor. Phil closed his eyes after a little because he had grown so dizzy that he feared he would fall off.
 
“Hang on, kid. It’ll be Christmas by and by,” comforted the trainer humorously.
 
“That’s what I am trying to do,” answered Phil a bit unsteadily.
 
“How’s your head?”
 
“Whirling like a merry-go-round.”
 
He heard the trainer chuckling¹⁴.
 
The spectators were shouting out Phil’s name all over the big tent.
 
“Fine, fine!” chuckled¹⁵ James Sparling, rubbing his palms together. “That ought to fill the tent tonight.”
 
The spectators realized, too, that they were being treated to something not down on the bills and their shouts and laughter grew louder and louder.
 
“Do you think you could stand up on his head?” came the voice of the trainer just loud enough for Phil to hear.
 
“Me? Stand on the elephant’s head?”
 
“Yes. Think you can do it?”
 
“If I had a net underneath¹⁶ to catch me, maybe I’d try it.”
 
“Emperor won’t let you fall. When I give the word he’ll wrap his trunk around your legs. That will hold you steady from the waist down. If you can keep the rest of yourself from lopping over you’ll be all right. It’ll make a hit—see if it don’t.”
 
“I—I’ll try it.”
 
“Wait till I give the word, then get up on all fours, but don’t straighten up till you feel the trunk about you. We’ll make a showman of you before you know it.”
 
“I seem to be the whole show as it is,” grumbled¹⁷ Phil.
 
“You are, just now—you and Emperor. Good thing the other performers are not in the ring, or they would all be jealous of you.”
 
“I wish Uncle Abner could see me now. Wouldn’t he be mad!” grinned Phil, as the memory of his crabbed¹⁸ relative came back to him. “He’d come right out after me with his stick, he’d be so angry. But I guess Emperor wouldn’t let him touch me,” decided¹⁹ the boy proudly, with an affectionate pat to which the elephant responded with a cough that sounded not unlike the explosion of a dynamite............