True he might land in the net in such a way as to come to no harm, as he had done many times, and as many performers before him had done.  But the danger was that in a sudden and unexpected drop downward he might not be able to get his limbs in the proper landing position.

Joe Strong had nerve.  If he had lacked it he would never have been so successful.  And at once he decided on a courageous proceeding.

“I’ll bring all my weight suddenly on that left hand cable,” he mused, as he swung to and fro, from side to side of the big tent.  “If it’s going to break it will do so then.  And I’ll be ready for it.  I’ll then keep hold of the trapeze bar, which will be straight up and down instead of crosswise, and swing by that.  The other cable seems all right.”  This was a fact which Joe ascertained by a quick inspection.

There was no time for further thought.  As he swung, Joe suddenly shifted his weight, bringing it all on the frayed and strangely rusted cable.  As he half expected, it gave way, and he dropped in an instant, but not far.

The watching crowd gasped.  It looked like an accident.  And it was, in a way, but Joe had purposely caused it.  As the wire broke Joe held tightly to the wooden bar, which was now upright in his hands instead of being horizontal.  And though it slipped through his fingers, perhaps for the width of his palm, at last he gripped it in a firm hold and kept on with his swing.

And then the applause broke forth, for the audience thought it all a part of the trick—­they thought that Joe had purposely caused the cable to break to make the act more effective.

To and fro swung Joe, nearer and nearer to the second platform, and then, reaching the height of the long arc, he turned his body and stepped full and fair on the little square of velvet-covered boards.

With a lithe contortion, Joe squirmed to an upright position, recovering his balance with a great effort, for he had been put out in his calculations of distance, and then, turning, he bowed to the crowds, revolving on the platform to take in every one.

Again the applause broke forth, to be drowned in the boom and ruffle of the drums as the band began to play.  There is little time in a circus, where act follows act so quickly, for long acknowledgments.

The other performers came into the rings or on to the raised platforms, and Joe descended by means of the rope ladder.  Helen met him, and they walked toward the dressing rooms.

“That was a wonderful trick, Joe,” she said.  “But I didn’t see you practice that drop.”

“I didn’t practice it,” he remarked dryly.  “I did it on the spur of the moment.”

“Joe Strong! wasn’t it dangerous?”

“Well, a little.”

“What made you do it?”

“I couldn’t help it.”

“You couldn’t help it?  Joe—­do you mean—?” She sensed that something was wrong, but walking around the circus arena, with performers coming and going, was not the place to speak of it.  Joe saw that she understood.