"I shall think nothing of airplane trips after this," mused the little boy, sipping his chocolate complacently. "I don't believe anything could ever surprise or frighten me again; not even a highwayman." Finishing off his pie, Peter closed his eyes and was fighting an imaginary duel with a Mexican bandit, when he was suddenly seized by the shoulders, jerked from the Iffin's back and hurled like a ball through the air. His first thought was that Biggen, returning for the magic tray, had taken this means of revenge, but there was no sign of either bodyguard. In spite of his recent boast, Peter's heart beat with dreadful thumps as he turned over and over in the air. But just as he gave himself up for lost, he was skillfully caught by the ankles. "Howde-do!" called a pleasant voice, and looking up Peter saw a jolly fellow in silk tights swinging by his heels from a high trapeze. He wore a crown, which was held in place by ribbons tied beneath his chin. Now hanging head down, if you are not accustomed to it, is terribly upsetting and Peter was too upset to say a word. "Welcome to Swing City," said this strange sovereign in his high, jolly voice. "I am the King and the highest Swinger here. In fact, Hi-Swinger's my name," he coughed self-consciously. "But you must meet the Queen, Tip Toppsy the Tenth!" As he said "Meet the Queen," Hi-Swinger flung Peter carelessly downward. Any desire Peter had ever had to do circus stunts, he lost in that second dizzy drop through space. Fortunately, he did meet the Queen, somewhere in mid air. Like the King she was hanging head down from another swing, and grasping both of Peter's wrists swung him gently to and fro. "Isn't he perfectly precious," cooed her Highness, smiling amiably down at the little boy. "I hope he'll stay with us always. What lovely hair! What sweet red cheeks. He'll make a perfectly splendid swinger, Highty." Now if there was one thing Peter detested it was being fussed over, and the Queen's speech made him squirm with embarrassment and rage. But before he could do more than mutter, Tip Toppsy swung him back to her husband. "Shall we dress him in pink or blue?" she called anxiously. "Blue," answered the King, catching Peter and drawing him up close so he could look into his eyes. "But, my dear, see what's coming now. Who is this pomiferous person?" Throwing Peter carelessly aside, the King caught Jack Pumpkinhead, who had just been tossed up by someone below. Peter himself was seized by a smiling trapezist, some twenty feet beneath. Before the fellow could throw him further, Peter pulled himself desperately up on the trapeze, and holding tight to the side rope stared dizzily around. Over his head, and under his feet, pink and blue clad figures swooped and darted like birds. With lightning speed they shot from swing to swing, skipped recklessly across spidery ropes and balanced perilously on swaying cords.