didn't at first, but now I've got used to moving about. Now when the spring opens I have the regular circus fever. But I have my troubles."
"What are they?" asked Kit, seeing that the fat woman liked to talk.
"Well, I find it very difficult to secure at the hotels a bed large enough and strong enough to hold me. I suppose you won't be surprised to hear that."
"Not much."
"At Akron, Ohio, where the hotel was full, I was put in a cot bed, though I protested against it. As soon as I got in, the whole thing collapsed, and I was landed on the floor."
She laughed heartily at the remembrance.
"I remember that very well," said the giant, "for I slept in the room below. Half an hour after getting into bed, I heard a fearful noise in the room above, and thought at first the hotel had been struck by lightning, and a piercing shriek that echoed through the house led me to fear that my esteemed Italian friend was a victim. But my mind was soon relieved when I learned the truth."
"I suppose, major, you never broke down a bed," said the giant, turning to the dwarf.
"No," answered the major, in a shrill piping voice, "I never lie awake thinking of that."
"I believe you served in the civil war, major?"
"Yes, I was in the infantry."
It was a stale joke, but all four laughed at it.
"How much do you weigh, major?" Kit ventured to ask.
"Twenty-one pounds and a half," answered the dwarf. "I have with me some of my photographs, if you would like to buy," and the little man produced half a dozen cards from his tiny pocket.
"How much are they?"
"Ten cents."
"I'll take one," said Kit, and he produced the necessary coin.
"If you go into the tent you can see some of the performers rehearsing," suggested Achilles.
"Let us go in, Dan."
The two boys reached the portals and went into the big tent.
CHAPTER III.
KIT ASTONISHES TWO ACROBATS
The circus tent was nearly ready for the regular performance. Kit and Dan regarded the sawdust arena with the interest which it always inspires in boys of sixteen. Already it was invested with fascination for them. Two acrobats who performed what is called the "brothers' act" were rehearsing. They were placarded as the Vincenti brothers, though one was a French Canadian and the other an Irishman, and there was no relationship between them. At the time the boys entered, one had climbed upon the other's shoulders, and was standing erect with folded arms. This was, of course, easy, but the next act was more difficult. By a quick movement he lowered his head, and grasping the uplifted hands of the lower acrobat, raised his feet and poised himself aloft, with his feet up in the air, sustained by the muscular arms of his associate.
"That must take strength, Kit," said Dan.
"So it does."
"No one but a circus man could do it, I suppose?"
"I can do it," said Kit quietly.
Dan regarded him with undisguised astonishment.
"You are joking," he said.
"No, I am not."
"Where did you learn to do such a thing?" asked Dan, incredulous, though he knew Kit to be a boy of truth.
"I will tell you. In the town where I attended boarding school there is a large gymnasium, under the superintendence of a man who traveled for years with a circus. He used to give lessons to the boys, but most contented themselves with a few common exercises. I suppose I should also, but there was an English boy in the school, very supple and muscular, who was proud of his strength, and ambitious to make himself a thorough gymnast. He persuaded me to take lessons in the most difficult acrobatic feats with him, as two had to work together."
"Did you pay the professor extra to instruct you?" asked Dan.
"He charged nothing. He was only too glad to teach us all he knew. It seems he was at one time connected with Barnum's circus, and prepared performers for the arena. He told us it made him think of his old circus days to teach us. At the close of last term we gave him five dollars apiece as an acknowledgment of his services. He assured us then that we were competent to perform in any circus."
"Could you really do what the Vincenti brothers are doing?"
"Yes; and more."
"I wish I could see you do it."
The boys were seated near the sawdust arena, and the last part of their conversation had been heard by the acrobats. It was taken as an illustration of boyish braggadocio, and as circus men are always ready for practical jokes, particularly at the expense of greenhorns, they resolved that there was a good chance for a little fun.
One tipped the wink to the other, and turning to Kit, said: "What's that you're saying, kid?"
"How does he know your name?" said Dan, mistaking kid, the circus name for boy, for his friend's nickname.
"He said kid, not Kit," answered our hero.
"Do you think you can do our act?" continued the acrobat.
"I think I can," replied Kit.
This elicited a broad grin from the acrobat.
"Look here, kid," he said, "do you know how long it took me to learn the business?"
"I don't know, but I should like to know."
"Three years."
"No doubt you can do a great deal more than I."
"Oh, no, certainly not!" said the acrobat, ironically.
"I see you don't believe me," said Kit.
"I'll tell you what you remind me of, kid. There was a fellow came to our circus last summer, and wanted to get an engagement as rider. He said he'd been a cowboy out in New Mexico, and had been employed to break horses. So we gave the fellow a trial. We brought out a wild mustang, and told him to show what he could do. The mustang let him get on, as was his custom, but after he was fairly on, he gave a jump, and Mr. Cowboy measured his length on the sawdust."
Kit and Dan both smiled at this story.
"I am not a cowboy, and don't profess to ride bucking mustangs," he said, "though my friend Dan may."
"I'd rather be excused," put in Dan.
"I'll tell you what, kid, if you'll go through the performance you've just seen I'll give you five dollars."
The fellow expected Kit would make some hasty excuse, but he was mistaken. Our hero rose from his seat, removed his coat and vest, and bounded into the arena.
"I am ready," he said, "but I am not strong enough to be the under man. I'll do the other."
"All
