“The other elephants are getting restless,” said Mr. Burrows.  “Get the boy down, Bowe, and take him with you to the dressing rooms.  The act must go on.”

Whiteface went up to the elephant and began talking to her gently, patting her shoulder.  Her keeper approached and ordered her to put Jerry down.

“Down, Sult Anna, down!” cried Jerry.

Hardly were the words out of his mouth when Jerry was literally placed by the elephant in the arms of Whiteface.

“Who are you?” asked the clown of Jerry, looking long into his eyes.

“He’s Jerry Elbow,” said Danny who, with Chris, had edged in close to the little crowd surrounding the elephant.  “He’s a orfum and lives with us.”

“When did his parents die?”

“He ain’t got no parents,” replied Danny.  “Have you, Jerry?”

“No,” said Jerry.

“Robert, help me down!” called the beautiful lady on the elephant.

Whiteface set Jerry down and with two of the elephant keepers went to Sultana’s side and caught the woman as she half slid, half jumped from her high seat.

As soon as she touched the ground, the lady ran to Jerry and he found himself gathered convulsively in her arms.

“Oh, Gary, my son!  Don’t you know me?  I am your mother!”

CHAPTER XI

A BOY NAMED GARY

Jerry looked long into the face of the lady.  It was all pink and white and her lips were very red.  Her hair was a golden brown and it was long and thick and hung down her back.

“Are you my mother?” asked Jerry wistfully.  He would like very much to have a mother as beautiful as this.

“Oh, yes, I am!  I am!” cried the lady and clasped Jerry close to her breast.

“Helen,” said Whiteface, “you mustn’t let your hopes get too high.”

“He is an orphan,” observed Mr. Burrows, “his brother here said so,” and he pointed at Chris.

“He’s not my brother,” interposed Chris quickly.  “Father found him before he died and brought him home.”

“Then it is Gary!  It is!” exclaimed the beautiful lady.  “As if I wouldn’t know him—­his eyes, his hair and his lips!  Or as if Sultana could be mistaken.  What is your name, dear; do you remember that?”

“Jerry Elbow,” replied Jerry.

“What is yours?” Whiteface asked Chris.

“Chris Mullarkey,” he replied.

“How long has Jerry been with you?”

“Three years,” put in Danny.

“He was only three and a half then,” said the woman, “and probably couldn’t say his name very plainly.  He couldn’t at the time he was stolen.  Gary L. Bowe would sound very much like Jerry Elbow to any one who didn’t know.”

“You’re right,” said Whiteface.  “I believe he is our boy.”

Jerry looked up at the clown and such an expression of delight came over his face at the idea of the clown being his father that Whiteface’s voice went all husky and he took Jerry in his arms.