“Those who wish to remain until after the shower is over may do so!” shouted Mr. Paine, when the band had done playing. “We will not take the tent down for some time yet.” There were cries of thanks from many who had no liking for going out and getting drenched. Many did go, however, for they lived at a distance and wanted to get home. Others, more nervous, still had some fear that the tent would fall. “We can’t do much in this storm, anyhow,” said the manager to some of his men, who had gathered near him. “Get the seats out of the way, and we’ll take the tent down as soon as it stops blowing. The other stuff can go, and we’ll hold a few cars for the canvas and rush it through on an extra.” Half an hour later the storm had practically ceased, and then came the hard work of taking down a wet tent. You boys who have gone camping, and been obliged to handle your small tent when it was soaking wet, have some idea what it means to handle tons of damp canvas. Yet the circus men went at it as if it was the easiest thing in the world, and to such a system had they reduced the work that the tent was down in a short time, and packed in wagons, ready to run on the flat cars. Jack and Sam, when they saw that the danger was over, had gone to the train, and, with the other performers, were soon being whirled to the next town where the show was to give an exhibition. “Well, this is something like weather,” remarked Sam the next morning, as he peered out of the sleeping-car window. The sun was shining brightly and the air was soft and warm. There was scarcely a trace of yesterday’s storm, though this town was but thirty miles from the one where the tent had so nearly fallen. “I dreamed I was being smothered under a lot of canvas coverings,” said Jack. “I nearly was, once,” declared Sam simply. “How?” “Just like last night. Tent blew down in a tornado, and the whole show, and a big crowd, was caught. Pole hit me on the head, and I lay there unconscious and slowly smothering. They got me out in time, but fifteen people were killed.” “This is a more dangerous life than I thought,” mused Jack. “Dangerous? I guess it is. Folks on the outside don’t know anything about it. They think being in a circus is fun. I wish some of them had about six months of it.” The performances that afternoon and evening went off well, and for a week after that the circus played in good weather. The show was gradually working back east, and as there had been big crowds, and no mishaps to speak of, every one was in good humor. Jack had no further trouble with the ugly ringmaster and Ted Chester, and his act was now looked upon as one of the most “drawing” features of the show. Mr. Paine promised the lad if he would stay with him the next season that he would pay our hero twenty-five dollars a week.