“How would you like to go in for the business?” I asked.

He cheered up at once and asked “Do you get good pay?”

But the “Little Nassau,” beginning to cool, had started on its long descent, and ran into counter currents which bobbed it roughly about.  This swung the boy around pretty lively, smashing him into the bag once quite severely.  His lip began to tremble at this, and he was crying again.  I tried to joke and laugh, but it was no use.  His pluck was oozing out, and at any moment I was prepared to see him go shooting past me.

I was in despair.  Then, suddenly, I remembered how one fright could destroy another fright, and I frowned up at him and shouted sternly: 

“You just hold on to that rope!  If you don’t I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life when I get you down on the ground!  Understand?”

“Ye-ye-yes, sir,” he whimpered, and I saw that the thing had worked.  I was nearer to him than the earth, and he was more afraid of me than of falling.

“’Why, you’ve got a snap up there on that soft bag,” I rattled on.

“Yes,” I assured him, “this bar down here is hard and narrow, and it hurts to sit on it.”

Then a thought struck him, and he forgot all about his aching fingers.

“When are you going to jump?” he asked.  “That’s what I came up to see.”

I was sorry to disappoint him, but I wasn’t going to make any jump.

But he objected to that.  “It said so in the papers,” he said.

“I don’t care,” I answered.  “I’m feeling sort of lazy today, and I’m just going to ride down the balloon.  It’s my balloon and I guess I can do as I please about it.  And, anyway, we’re almost down now.”

And we were, too, and sinking fast.  And right there and then that youngster began to argue with me as to whether it was right for me to disappoint the people, and to urge their claims upon me.  And it was with a happy heart that I held up my end of it, justifying myself in a thousand different ways, till we shot over a grove of eucalyptus trees and dipped to meet the earth.

“Hold on tight!” I shouted, swinging down from the trapeze by my hands in order to make a landing on my feet.

We skimmed past a barn, missed a mesh of clothesline, frightened the barnyard chickens into a panic, and rose up again clear over a haystack—­all this almost quicker than it takes to tell.  Then we came down in an orchard, and when my feet had touched the ground I fetched up the balloon by a couple of turns of the trapeze around an apple tree.

I have had my balloon catch fire in mid air, I have hung on the cornice of a ten-story house, I have dropped like a bullet for six hundred feet when a parachute was slow in opening; but never have I felt so weak and faint and sick as when I staggered toward the unscratched boy and gripped him by the arm.

“Tommy Dermott,” I said, when I had got my nerves back somewhat.  “Tommy Dermott, I’m going to lay you across my knee and give you the greatest thrashing a boy ever got in the world’s history.”