"Like this!" said Horace, and swinging onto the trapeze he did his stunt. "Don't it kill your neck an' shoulder muscles?" "It did at first, but inside of a week I wrote the QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRANDUM on it." "Hm!" Horace swung idly on the trapeze. "Ever think of takin' it up professionally?" asked the fat man. "Not I." "Good money in it if you're willin' to do stunts like 'at an' can get away with it." "Here's another," chirped Horace eagerly, and the fat man's mouth dropped suddenly agape as he watched this pink-jerseyed Prometheus again defy the gods and Isaac Newton. The night following this encounter Horace got home from work to find a rather pale Marcia stretched out on the sofa waiting for him. "I fainted twice to-day," she began without preliminaries. "What?" "Yep. You see baby's due in four months now. Doctor says I ought to have quit dancing two weeks ago." Horace sat down and thought it over. "I'm glad of course," he said pensively--"I mean glad that we're going to have a baby. But this means a lot of expense." "I've got two hundred and fifty in the bank," said Marcia hopefully, "and two weeks' pay coming." Horace computed quickly. "Inducing my salary, that'll give us nearly fourteen hundred for the next six months." Marcia looked blue. "That all? Course I can get a job singing somewhere this month. And I can go to work again in March." "Of course nothing!" said Horace gruffly. "You'll stay right here. Let's see now--there'll be doctor's bills and a nurse, besides the maid: We've got to have some more money." "Well," said Marcia wearily, "I don't know where it's coming from. It's up to the old head now. Shoulders is out of business." Horace rose and pulled on his coat. "Where are you going?" "I've got an idea," he answered. "I'll be right back." Ten minutes later as he headed down the street toward Skipper's Gymnasium he felt a placid wonder, quite unmixed with humor, at what he was going to do. How he would have gaped at himself a year before! How every one would have gaped! But when you opened your door at the rap of life you let in many things. The gymnasium was brightly lit, and when his eyes became accustomed to the glare he found the meditative fat man seated on a pile of canvas mats smoking a big cigar. "Say," began Horace directly, "were you in earnest last night when you said I could make money on my trapeze stunts?" "Why, yes," said the fat man in surprise. "Well, I've been thinking it over, and I believe I'd like to try it. I could work at night and on Saturday afternoons--and regularly if the pay is high enough." The fat men looked at his watch. "Well," he said, "Charlie Paulson's the man to see. He'll book you inside of four days, once he sees you work out. He won't be in now, but I'll get hold of him for to-morrow night."