“Open the door and let the man out!” shouted Phil, with great presence of mind. But no one seemed to have the power to move.  
One sweep of the powerful claw and one side of the lad’s clothes was literally¹ stripped from him, though he had managed to shrink back just far enough to save himself from the needle like claws of the tiger.
 
At this moment men came rushing from other parts of the tent. Some bore iron rods, while two or three carried tent poles and sticks—anything that the circus men could lay their hands upon.
 
Mr. Sparling was in the lead of the procession that dashed through the crowd, hurling² the people right and left as they ran.
 
With every spring of the tiger Phil was being thrown against the bars with terrific force, but still he clung to the tail that was wrapped about his arm, hanging on with desperate courage.
 
Though the lad was getting severe punishment, he was accomplishing just what he had hoped for—to keep Bengal busy until help arrived to liberate³ the unconscious trainer, who lay huddled⁴ against the bars on the opposite side of the cage.
 
“Poke one of the tent poles in to him and let him bite it!” roared Mr. Sparling. “Half a dozen of you get around behind the cage and when we have his attention one of you pull Bob out. Keep your poles in the opening when you open the door, so Bengal doesn’t jump out. Everybody stand back!”
 
The commands of the showman came out like so many explosions of a pistol. But it had its effect. His men sprang to their work like machines.
 
In the meantime Mr. Sparling himself had grabbed the tail of the beast, taking a hold higher up than Phil’s.
 
“Pull the boy off. He’s hanging on like a bull dog. If you had half his sense you’d have put a stop to this mix-up minutes ago.”
 
Teddy by this time had gotten in under the ropes again, and, grasping his companion about the waist, he held on until he had untwisted the tiger’s tail from his companion’s arm and released Phil, staggering back with his burden against the rope.
 
Phil’s limp body, the moment Teddy let go of him, collapsed⁵ in a heap.
 
The circus men were too busy at the moment to notice him. One of the men had thrust a short tent pole between the bars. Bengal was upon it like an avalanche⁶.
 
Biting, clawing, uttering fierce growls⁷, he tore the hard wood into shreds⁸, the man at the other end poking⁹ at the beast with all his might.
 
Cautiously the rear door of the cage was opened. Two men grasped Bob by the shoulders and hauled him out with a quick pull.
 
The crowd shouted in approval.
 
“All out! Let go!” shouted Mr. Sparling.
 
It took the strength of two men to pull the tent pole from Bengal’s grip. The instant he lost the pole the beast whirled and pounced¹⁰ upon the spot where he had left his victim.
 
Finding that he had lost his prey¹¹, the savage¹² beast uttered roar upon roar, that made every spectator in the tent tremble and draw back, fearing the animal would break through the bars and attack them.
 
“Where’s that boy?”
 
“Here he is, and I guess he’s hurt,” answered Teddy.
 
“Give him to me. I’ll get him outside where we can get some decent air into him. Is he much hurt?”
 
“I—I don’t know.”
 
The showman grabbed Phil, and as a helper lifted the bottom of the tent’s side wall, Mr. Sparling ran to his own small tent with the unconscious Phil.
 
“Fetch a pail of water.”
 
Teddy ran for the cook tent to get the water. He was amazed to find no cook tent there. Instead, there remained only the open plot of grass, trampled¹³ down, with a litter of papers and refuse scattered¹⁴ about.
 
By the time he had dashed back to the tent to inquire where he could find a pail, one of the showmen had brought some water and Mr. Sparling was bathing Phil’s face with it.
 
He had made a hasty examination of the unconscious boy’s wounds, which he did not believe were serious.
 
Phil soon came to, and by that time the show’s doctor had arrived, having been in attendance on the wounded animal trainer.
 
“No; he’ll be sore for a few days, but there’s nothing dangerous about those scratches, I should say. I’ll dress the wounds and he can go on about his business,” was the surgeon’s verdict.
 
“I’ve got to ride Emperor in tonight,” objected Phil.
 
“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You’ll get into my wagon¹⁵ and go to bed. That’s what you will do, and right quick, at that.”
 
“But,” urged the lad, “the people will all think I am seriously hurt if they see no more of me. Don’t you think it would be a good plan for me to show myself? They are liable to be uneasy all through the performance. If I show myself they will settle down and forget all about it in a few minutes.”
 
Mr. Sparling turned to his assistant with a significant nod.
 
“I told you that boy was a natural born showman. You can’t stop that kind with a club. Can you stand up alone?”
 
“Yes.”
 
Phil scrambled¹⁶ to his feet, steadying himself with a hand on the table.
 
“I’ll be all right after I walk about a bit. How long before the elephants go in?”
 
“You’ve got fifteen minutes yet.”
 
“Then I may go on?”
 
“Yes, yes, go on. You’ll never be satisfied if you don’t. But I ought to take you over my knee and give you a sound walloping.”
 
“Thank you. How is Mr.—Mr.—the trainer?”
 
“He isn’t badly hurt, thanks to your presence of mind, young man,” answered the surgeon.
 
“That makes two people you’ve saved today, Forrest,” emphasized Mr. Sparling. “We will call that a day’s work. You have earned your meal ticket. Better run back to the dressing¹⁷ tent and ask them to fix up some clothes for you. Ask for Mrs. Waite, the wardrobe woman. Teddy Tucker, you run in and tell Mr. Kennedy, who has charge of the elephants, that Phil will ride tonight, and to wait until he gets in.”
 
Both boys hurried away on their respective missions. All that Mrs. Waite had that would come anywhere near fitting Phil was a yellow robe that looked like a night gown. Phil grinned as he tucked it under his arm and hurried back to the menagerie tent. As he passed through the “big top” he saw that it was filling up rapidly.
 
“I guess we are going to have a good house tonight,” muttered the lad with a pleased smile. It did not occur to him that he himself was responsible for a large part of the attendance—that the part he had played in the exciting incidents of the day had done more to advertise the Great Sparling Combined Shows than any other one factor.
 
“I am all ready, Mr. Kennedy,” announced Phil, running to the elephant quarters. The horns were blowing the signal for the grand entry, so the lad grasped the head harness, as Emperor stooped, and was quickly hoisted¹⁸ to the position in which he would enter the ring.
 
When the people saw that it was indeed Phil they set up a great shout. The lad was pale but resolute¹⁹. As he went through the performance, his wounds smarted frightfully. At times the pain made him dizzy.
 
But Phil smiled bravely, waving his hands to the cheering people.
 
After the finish of the act Mr. Kennedy headed the elephants into the concourse, the open space between the rings and the seats, making a complete circuit of the tent, so that all might see Phil Forrest.
 
“This is a kind of farewell appearance, you know,” grinned Kennedy. And so the audience took it.
 
The lad’s former companions shouted all manner of things to him.
 
“Good-bye, Phil!”
 
“Don’t stick your head in the lion’s mouth.”
 
“Be careful when you twist the tiger’s tail. Better put some salt on it before you do.”
 
“We’ll look out for Uncle Abner.”
 
Phil was grinning broadly as he rode back into the menagerie tent. Everybody in town now knew that he had joined the circus, which brought forth²¹ a variety of comments. Some said it would be the end of the boy, but Phil Forrest knew that a boy could behave himself with a circus just as well as in any other occupation, and so far as his observations went, the circus people were much better than some folks he knew at home.
 
No sooner had they gotten into the menagerie tent than a sudden bustle²² and excitement were apparent. Confused shouts were heard on all sides. Teams, fully²⁰ harnessed, were being led into the tent, quarter-poles were coming down without regard to where they struck, everybody appearing to have gone suddenly crazy.
 
“They’re striking the tent,” nodded Mr. Kennedy, noting the boy’s wonderment. “You had better ............