These were busy days in the circus. Again the end of the season was drawing near. Fall was at hand, and in some places the Sampson Brother’s Show had to compete with county fairs with their exhibitions of big pumpkins, fat pigs and monster ears of corn, to say nothing of the horse-racing.

But the circus with which Joe traveled did good business. And it is not exaggerating to say that a good deal of it was due to Joe’s fame. For his rescue of the diver had been heralded over all the country, and particularly in the section where the circus was then playing.

Crowds came daily and nightly to see Joe in the tank with the trained seal, and now, more than ever, persons were taking out their watches and timing Joe’s stay under water.

He had resumed that feature of his exhibition, and though he never again equaled his record of four minutes and forty seconds, he several times stayed under for thirty-seven seconds beyond the four minutes, thus evening up with the record established as a world’s record ­that is, so far as is known.

Now and then Joe introduced something new in the way of a trick, for he still kept up his sleight-of-hand practice, not knowing when it might be useful. He could not do much of that under water, but what he did do was novel in effect. Lizzie, too, was very teachable, and she and Joe became great friends. It may seem queer to have a seal for a pet, but they are very intelligent animals, and, unlike a fish, they can live out of water.

Joe heard from Tom Rand, the diver. He had fully recovered and was again back at his perilous calling. He wrote to Joe thanking him for having saved his life, but, as has been said, Joe rather counted it an even thing for had the diver not caught him in time our hero would certainly have been drawn into the pipe and killed.

The water committee of the town also passed a vote of thanks to Joe for his work, for he had saved them large expense and perhaps a suit for damages in case the diver had been drowned.

It was the last few weeks of the circus. Joe had been working hard, and so had Helen, for she had introduced some new effects with her trick horse. Joe had given up most of his trapeze work to devote more time to his tank, but he still did a few of his most thrilling feats on the bars.

“Let’s go for a ride,” he said to Helen one day, as he brought out his motor-cycle. “It’s too nice to stay around the lot. I’ll get you back in time.”

“Please do,” she urged. “And don’t leave me in order to go diving in reservoirs, either.”

“I won’t,” Joe promised.

They rode off through the beautiful country, and when it was nearing noon Joe turned about.

“Why are you in such a hurry to get back?” asked Helen. “We don’t go on until nearly three o’clock, and we aren’t far from the grounds.”

“I’m expecting a telegram,” Joe said, “and I want to be on hand when it comes.”

“A telegram,” repeated Helen. “Oh, Joe! is it about your mother’s estate in England?”

Joe shook his head.

“I guess there isn’t any estate,” he said. “I’ve given up hope of that. No, this is something else.”

But he offered no explanation, and though Helen felt, in view of their friendship, that he might tell her, still she did not ask.

As they reached the circus grounds and Joe was putting away his motor-cycle, he saw Tonzo Lascalla coming toward him.

“Well, and how is the millionaire to-day?” asked the trapeze performer.

“Millionaire?” asked Joe, in some surprise.

“Why, yes, you must be that since you get so much money and are never known to spend any,” returned the Spaniard.

There was a sneer on his face, and his words showed how much contempt he thought he felt for Joe.

“You must have money in the bank,” put in Sid, coming up just then.

“Well, suppose I have?” asked Joe, with a tinge of anger in the words, “I earn what I get, don’t I?”

“Oh, you may,” replied Tonzo, with a shrug of his shoulders. “You certainly keep what you get ­that is sure.”

“Of a certainty, yes!” chimed in Sid. “Not once have you treated the crowd on the strength of your increases in salary.”

“No,” returned Joe slowly, “I haven’t, that’s a fact. And now I want to say one thing. I know you fellows have been calling me a ‘tight-wad’ and all that. I stood for it because ­”

At that moment a dusty youth came pushing his way up to Joe, the Lascallas and some others of the circus folk who had formed a group about the boy fish. The youth was in the uniform of a telegraph messenger, and he pushed a dusty wheel, chewing gum the while.

“Say, where’s Joe Strong?” he asked of no one in particular. “I’ve got a wire for him. Is he de guy what does dat tank act? Say! dat’s swell, all right. I’d like to see dat, I would!”

He took off his cap, and from the top extracted a telegram and a receipt sheet.

“I’m Joe Strong,” said our hero quietly.

“G’wan!” answered the messenger. “Why, he must be a big guy to do all de bills says he does ­rescuin’ a diver an’ all dat! G’wan!”

There was a laugh, but others assured the boy that Joe could make good his claim to identity.

“Sign dis,” the messenger said, extending the telegram and receipt blank to Joe. The boy fish hurriedly scribbled his name, and then tore open the envelope. As he read a look of surprise and joy showed on his face.

“Hurrah!” he cried. “This is good news! Now, fellows, I’ll tell you why I wouldn’t spend my money treating you. I wanted to, badly enough, but I had other ways for my cash. Now I can tell you, since it’s all over and a success. But first let me read you this.”

He held up the message and read:

“Operation an entire success. Benny will both hear and speak. He
can rejoin circus by next season and do tank work if he likes.”

“Who’s that from?” asked Helen, coming up in time to hear the message.

“From the celebrated surgeon ­a friend of Dr. Wertz,” said Joe. “I hired him to operate on Benny Turton to save him from becoming deaf and dumb. It took a lot of money, but I’m glad I had it saved. And that’s why I had to pose as ­a ‘tight-wad,’ fellows.”

Joe’s voice faltered, but there was a happy look on his face.

Tonzo Lascalla stepped forward. He held out his hand and said:

“I want to beg your pardon, Joe Strong. I have misjudged you!”

“So have I!” exclaimed Sid.

They were both very much in earnest, and as they shook hands there were tears in Joe’s eyes. But they were happy tears. Others of the circus folk who had not understood Joe made haste to make amends, and, for a time, there was a happy group.

“And I didn’t understand, either,” said Helen softly as she and Joe walked away, together. “I thought you might be wasting your money foolishly. Oh, Joe, I am so happy!”

The news of Benny’s recovery soon spread, and there was rejoicing among the circus folk, for the “human fish” had many friends.

“What does it all mean?” asked Jim Tracy.

“It just means that when I knew Benny needed an operation I began saving my salary to pay for it, since I knew he couldn’t,” said Joe. “I made him that promise, and I also promised to send to his mother each week what he had been in the habit of sending her. So, in spite of earning a big salary, I didn’t have much of it for myself.”

“I see,” murmured the ringmaster.

“When the first doctor said there was no chance, even with an operation, for Benny’s recovery, I was discouraged. But when the diver’s physician talked to me I had more hope, and I got him to engage the specialist for Benny. He took charge of all the arrangements, and now the good news comes. Benny will recover and can again be the tank actor.”

Jim Tracy scratched his head.

“I don’t know about that,” he said. “Of course, we’ll take Benny back, but he may have to get a new act. We don’t want to give you up ­you and your seal. The circus needs you.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Joe, “I am thinking of giving it up.”

“Giving it up!” cried the ring-master.

“Yes. I don’t want what happened to Benny to happen to me. I’ll finish out the season with you, of course, but after that ­”

“What are you going to do?” asked Tracy.

“I’m planning some new turns,” Joe said. And those of you who are interested in them and in Joe Strong are invited to follow his fortunes in the next volume of this series, to be called: “Joe Strong on the High Wire; Or, Motor-Cycle Perils of the Air.”

“Well, we sure will hate to lose you,” said Jim Tracy, “but I’m glad Benny will get well and come back to us.”

“So am I,” said Joe softly.

Somewhere in the circus tent a bugle blew. At once all over the circus grounds there were signs of activity.

“Pretty nearly time to start,” observed the ring-master.

“Yes,” agreed Joe. “And I’m going to try for the long record this afternoon ­as long as when I was in the reservoir with diver Tom Rand.”

“Good!” exclaimed Jim Tracy. “I hope you do it.”

A little later Joe, in his red, scaly suit, was in the glass tank with the goldfish and the trained seal, while all about were throngs of wondering persons marveling at the endurance powers of the boy fish.

And so, for a time, we will take leave of Joe Strong.