Joe Strong was supervising the cleaning of the glass sides of his tank. It was a few days after he had made his record of staying under water more than four minutes, and the circus had moved on to another town. It had arrived on time, and as Joe had a few hours to spare before he had to get his act into shape, he decided he would have the glass cleaned.

Since he had used goldfish and the aquatic plants the transparent sides of the tank occasionally were dimmed by a slight natural growth, and from refuse of the food given to the fish. This made it difficult for the audience to see clearly, so Joe had the glass taken out every few days and scrubbed.

He was watching the men do this now, as he made it a practice to be on hand when this work was done. The men might grow careless and let one of the big pieces slip, which would mean breakage.

“Going to try something new?” asked Helen, as she passed near Joe where he sat on an empty barrel. Helen carried her riding habit over her arm, having taken it out of her trunk.

“No, just having the tank cleaned,” Joe answered. “I wish I could get something new, though. What’s wrong with you?” he asked. “Can’t you sit down and have a chat?”

“No, I’m going to get Mrs. Watson to help me make a little change in this habit. I want to put on some new ornaments.”

Mrs. Watson, the wife of the aged clown, was a sort of mother to all the circus folk. She mended the men’s socks, and was always ready to sew up a rent in some distracted woman performer’s costume. Mrs. Watson had been a bare-back rider, but increasing age and accumulated flesh had made it necessary for her to give up the work. She now traveled with her husband.

“Joe,” began Helen, and she seemed somewhat embarrassed, “I want to ask you something, and I hope you won’t be offended.”

Joe looked up quickly.

“Offended?” he asked. “You know you couldn’t offend me, Helen.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” and her voice was more serious than her manner. “I can’t tell how you’ll take it. Do you remember the other day saying something about not being able to afford a fur coat?”

“Yes, of course I do. Have you bought yours yet?”

“No, but I’ve ordered it. But what I want to know is, Joe, why you don’t get one, as long as you want it.”

“And you thought that question would annoy me? That’s queer. I don’t get one simply because I can’t afford it.”

“I haven’t yet asked you the question I fear may annoy you,” went on Helen. “But this is it, Joe. I know you are getting a good salary, for you told me so. And if you are, what are you doing with it? I ­I ­this is what I want to ask you, Joe ­you’re not ­not gambling with it ­are you?”

She blushed vividly as she made this inquiry.

Joe glanced at the girl curiously. There was a strange look on his face.

“Gambling!” repeated Joe. The men, carrying one of the cleaned glass plates, had moved away.

“Yes,” went on Helen. “I feared, when you said you had no money to spare, even with the good salary you are getting, that perhaps you might be wasting it on cards.”

Joe shook his head.

“I haven’t any use for gambling,” he said solemnly, and Helen could not help believing him. “And I don’t care for cards, except to do tricks with them. It isn’t any fun for me to play, as I could too easily fool the other players ­if I wanted to. No, Helen, I’m not spending my money that way ­I don’t gamble.”

“Oh, Joe, I’m so glad! I was afraid you might be, and yet I didn’t see how you could be. I thought I knew you better than that. I’m so glad!”

Impulsively she held out her hand, and Joe took it in a warm clasp.

“Now I must hurry away,” the girl went on, “or I won’t be mended up when the show begins.”

She moved off, with a bright look and a nod to Joe, who sat watching the men finish their work of cleaning the glass sides.

“Gambling,” mused Joe, as he watched Helen enter the tent where Mrs. Watson had her quarters. “Gambling! I wonder if they are spreading such reports about me just because I don’t spend my money on them?”

It was time to put the tank together and to put the water and goldfish in, in readiness for the afternoon show. Joe went to see about this, still puzzling over Helen’s question.

The goldfish were carried in a separate tank which the ring-master had provided for them, and Joe, having seen that they were fed, had them turned into the big glass box in which he was soon to go through his act.

“Ah, Senor Strong,” called Senorita Tanlazo, the snake charmer, as she passed Joe on her way to look after her reptiles in their air-holed box, “ah, why did you not take advantage of my offer, and use my nice big anaconda in the tank with you?”

“Thank you again, but no,” said Joe. “The anaconda is a little too ill-tempered for me.”

“Yes, he is that. I was only joking when I suggested that you use him,” said the Spanish woman. “I have to be very careful how I handle him of late. He is getting ready to shed his skin, and that always makes a snake treacherous. But have you put anything new in your act of late? I have not been able to watch you, though they tell me you are quite a drawing card.”

“No, I haven’t been able to hit on anything new,” Joe said. “I wish I could. If you hear of anything I wish you’d let me know.”

“I will,” promised the snake charmer, as she passed on. “Here is a theatrical paper you might like to look at,” she said. “I am through with it; so you need not keep it for me.”

She handed Joe a magazine which chronicled the doings of actors and actresses, news of circuses, theatrical companies and other amusement enterprises.

Joe had seen it before, and he now looked through it for any news of Professor Rosello’s show, in which he had begun his public career.

“It’s still on the road,” mused Joe, as he saw a note to that effect. “The professor can’t have recovered yet.”

Joe turned over the pages of the publication rather idly. As he glanced over the advertisements there was one that caught his attention. He read it once ­twice, eagerly. Then he cried:

“Say, I believe that would be the very thing I’ve been looking for! If I could work that in it would be a hit! I’ll write to that man.”

The advertisement which had given Joe his inspiration was one offering for sale a trained seal, guaranteed to be kind and gentle, and able to do a number of tricks.

“If I can only work it!” Joe murmured.