“Are you really serious in that?” asked Joe of the old clown, after a moment’s consideration.

“Of course I am, Joe. Why? Would it be strange to have some one leave you money?”

“It certainly would! But it would be a nice sort of strangeness,” replied the young performer. “I never dreamed that such a thing might happen.”

“Oh, I don’t say it will,” Bill Watson reminded him. “But the fact remains that your mother came from what is sometimes called ’the landed gentry’ of England, and the estates there, or property, descend to eldest sons differently than property does in this country. It may be worth looking into, Joe.”

“But I don’t know much about my mother,” Joe said. “I hardly ever meet any one who knew her. My foster-parents would never speak of her they were ashamed of her calling.”

“More shame to them!” exclaimed the clown. “There never was a finer woman than your mother, Joe Strong. And as for riding well, I wish we had a few of her kind in the show now. I don’t mean to say anything against your riding, my dear,” he said to Helen. “But Janet Strong did a different sort, for she was a powerful woman, and could handle a horse better than most men.”

“I guess I must get my liking for horses from her,” Joe remarked.

“Very likely,” agreed Bill Watson. “Some day I’ll have a long talk with you about your mother, Joe, and I’ll give you all the information I can. There may be some of her old acquaintances you can write to, to find out if she was entitled to any property.”

“Wouldn’t it be fine if we both came into fortunes!” gaily cried Helen, with sparkling eyes. “Wouldn’t it be splendid, Joe?”

“Too good to be true, I’m afraid. But you have a better chance than I, Helen.”

“Perhaps. Would you leave the circus, Joe, if you got rich?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I’d stay in it while you did to sort of look after you,” and he smiled quizzically.

“Trying to get my job, are you?” chuckled Bill. “Well, we are young only once. But I must say, Helen, that this young man gave you as good advice as I could, and I hope it turns out all right.”

Joe liked Bill Watson every one did in fact and the young performer was pleased to learn something of his mother, and glad to learn that he would be told more.

The enforced rest Bill Watson had taken on account of a slight illness, seemed to have done the old clown good, for he worked in some new “business” in his acts when he again donned the odd suit he wore. His presence, too, had a good effect on the other clowns, so that the audiences, especially the younger portion, were kept in roars of merriment at each performance.

Joe, also, did his share to provide entertainment for the circus throngs. Perhaps it would be more correct to say that Joe provided the thrills, for some of his feats were thrilling indeed. Not that the other members of the Lascalla troupe did not share in the honors, for they did. Both Sid and Tonzo were accomplished and veteran performers on the flying rings and trapeze bars, but they had been in the business so long that they had become rather hardened to it, and stuck to old tricks and effects instead of getting up new ones.

Joe was especially good at this, and while some of his feats were not really new, he gave a different turn to them that seemed to make for novelty.

“But I don’t like to see you take such risks,” Helen said to him on more than one occasion. “I’m afraid you’ll be hurt.”

“You have to take risks in this business,” Joe stated. “I don’t think about them when I’m away up at the top of the tent, swinging on the bar. I just think of the trick and wonder if Sid or Tonzo will catch me or me one of them when the jump is made. Besides, the life net is always below us.

“Yes, but suppose you miss the net or it breaks?”

“I don’t like supposes of that sort,” laughed Joe, coolly. Truly he had good nerves, under perfect control. He was adding to his muscular strength, too. Constant and steady practice was making his arms and legs powerful indeed.

For a while Joe had been on the watch for some overt act on the part of Sid or Tonzo that would spoil an act and bring censure down on himself. But following that one attempt neither of the Spaniards did anything that Joe could find fault with. They were enthusiastic over some of the feats he performed, and worked in harmony with him. If they were jealous over Joe’s popularity and the applause he often received as his share alone in some trick, they did not show it.

“Oh, Joe!” exclaimed Helen one day, when they were in the small tent getting ready for the afternoon performance. “I have a letter from the New York lawyers.”

“What do they say?” Joe asked eagerly. “Did they send the money?”

“No. But they thanked me for the copies of the proofs I sent, and they said they believed they were on the right track. They will write again soon. So it wasn’t a joke, anyhow.”

“It doesn’t look so,” the youth agreed. “Is everything all right Rosebud safe, and all that?”

“Yes. He’s feeling himself again.” The trick horse had been ailing the day before, and Helen was a little worried about her pet.

Joe and Helen wandered into the main tent, which was now set up. Joe wanted to get in a little practice on the trapeze, while Helen went in to watch, as she often did. The men were setting up the big glass tank in which the “human fish” performed, and when Joe came down from his trapeze, rather warm and tired, the water looked very inviting.

“I’ve a good notion to go in for a swim,” he said to Helen.

“Why don’t you?” she dared him. “It would do you good. It’s such a hot day. I almost wish I could myself.”

“I believe I will,” Joe said. “I’ve got a bathing suit in my trunk.”

The big tent was almost deserted at this hour, for the parade was in progress. Joe and Helen did not take part in this. Joe came back attired for a swim, and going up the steps by which Benny mounted to the platform on the edge of the tank before he plunged in, Joe poised there.

“Here I go,” he called to Helen. “Got a watch?”

“Yes, Joe.”

“Time me then. I’m going to see how long I can stay under water.”

In he went head first, making a clean dive, for Joe was an adept in the water. He swam about in the limpid depths, Helen watching him admiringly through the glass sides of the tank. Then Joe settled down on the bottom as Benny was in the habit of doing. Helen nervously watched the seconds tick off on her wrist watch.

When two minutes had passed, and Joe was still below the water, the girl became nervous.

“Come on out, Joe!” she called. Joe could not hear her, of course. He waved his hand to her. He could not stay under much longer, he felt sure, but he did not want to give up. It was not until three seconds of the third minute had passed that he found it impossible to hold his breath longer, and up he shot, filling his lungs with air as he reached the surface.

At that moment Benny Turton came into the tent, and saw some one in his tank.

“What happened?” he cried, running forward. “Did some one fall in?”

“It’s all right,” Helen informed the “human fish.”