But in New York, Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia and cities approaching them in character and size, the standing of the circus is affected neither one way nor the other by an ingenuously-explained legal interruption, and the notice it attracts if it has unusual features shows gratifyingly at the box office. It isn’t always easy to accomplish the thing. “Splash” Austin, whose first name, Paul, was a boyhood memory, was the high diver with one of the big circuses. He performed for the free edification of the crowd which gathered on the lot after the parade, which is the side-show harvest time. Later he was one of the features of the show itself. “Splash” was always at the press agent’s service. The circus arrived in Chicago on Sunday for a week stand, and the press agent was ready with an elaborately planned venture. He and his aquatic accomplice drove to Lincoln Park bridge, where, by a coincidence which is not remarkable, a band of newspaper men were in waiting. The performer shed a few garments and plunged headforemost from the railing’s height into the water. The feat was a simple one to the skilled acrobat, but its appearance was hazardous and spectacular, and the reporters marvelled and interviewed at length. The beaming press agent’s ingenuity had not been exhausted. Two frowning policemen intervened. Their pockets, the press agent alone knew, bulged with circus tickets. They were accommodatingly indignant; the law had been violated. “Splash” was put under arrest, and the party started in a body for the station house. On the way, the delighted author of the proceeding secured permission from “Splash’s” captors to stop at a drink dispensary. The bluecoats waited outside while the circus man entertained. All were thirsty and happy, and the newspaper guests, in their innocence, cheerful over the unexpectedly “good” story which had developed. They have never known they tarried so long that one of the policemen called their host outside and whispered that there must be haste, two posts had been left vacant too long already, and they were half inclined to throw up the whole thing. The day was eminently successful from the circus standpoint. The newspapers told at great length of the accomplishment of the daring dive and its tragic ending, and the public curiosity to see the performer added materially to receipts. And best of all none of the reporters was so wanting in human charity as to reveal that, at the police station, the captain had refused to hold the prisoner, remarking grimly that no offence had been committed; and that the press agent, searching frantically through the book of ordinances that his scheme not miscarry at the end, had found that a penalty attached to the crime of disturbing the fish in the lake, and patient “Splash” was locked up on that charge. A small fine was promptly paid next day.