“It was about ninth down the list yesterday afternoon,” he mused, softly.  “They begin the show about eight o’clock.  It’s now about nine.  I calculate the Benares Brothers come on this evening at about a quarter to ten.  Four miles.  I can run that in half an hour.  Yes, I shall be in time.”

Andy pressed his arms to his sides, took breath to conserve his staying powers, and maintained a steady, telling pace.

The lights of Centreville began to show nearer.  He heard a town bell strike the half-hour as he came in sight of the grounds and the illuminated big tent of the show.

The band inside was blaring away.  The side shows were not doing much business.  Some were getting ready for the removal.  There were not many people around the main entrance.  Andy, quite breathless, rushed up to the ticket taker there.

“I want to go in for just a minute,” he said—­“I must see the manager.”

“Cut for it—­no gags go here,” retorted the man rudely.

“It’s pretty important.  Here,” began Andy.  Then he paused in dismay.  “Oh dear!” he spoke to himself, “I never put on my coat, that I used as a pillow back in that barn.”

In the hurry and excitement of the occasion Andy had left the coat among the hay bales.  Just before arranging his bed he had stowed the marble bag containing the balance of Graham’s five dollars in a pocket of the garment.

He could not therefore pay his fare into the show.  Only for an instant, however, was Andy daunted.

He suddenly realized that he could get more promptly to the manager or the ringmaster from the rear.

He ran around the big white mountain of canvas till he reached the performers’ tent.  Patrolling outside of it was a club-armed watchman.

“Please let me in,” said Andy hurriedly.  “I want to see the manager, quick.”

“Yes, they all do.  G’wan!  Games don’t go here.”

“No, no, I’m not trying to dead-head it,” cried Andy.  “Please call Mr. Marco or Miss Starr.  They know me—­”

“G’wan, I tell you.  I’m too old a bird to get caught by chaff.  Get—­now.”

The watchman struck Andy a sharp rap over the shoulders.  Andy was in desperation.  He was started to run around to some other of the minor tents, when a shifting slit in the canvas gave him a momentary view of the interior of the big circus tent.

“Oh,” cried Andy, wringing his hands, “the very act is on—­the Benares Brothers!  I must act at once!”

Andy made a rush, intent on getting under the canvas at all hazards.  He checked himself.  If he succeeded in eluding the watchman outside, he would have difficulty in getting to the manager.  He might be captured inside at once.  He stood staring at the tent top in extreme anxiety and suspense.

Shadows aloft enlightened him as to-what was going on.  The Benares Brothers were mounting aloft.  He made them out bowing gracefully, pulled up on the toe coils.  He saw their outlines, trapeze-seated.  The orchestra struck up a new tune.  The act was about to commence.