Andy was dizzy with exultation and delight.  It was the first night of the Biggest Show on Earth in New York City.

For a week he had been in training for the fantastic trapeze act which had won thunders of approbation.

The Benares Brothers had appeared in the amphitheatre dome on a double trapeze.

After several clever specialties, the ringmaster suddenly stepped forward.  He lifted his hand.  The orchestra stopped playing.

Raising a pistol, the ringmaster directed it aloft.  Bang!  Crash! went the orchestra, and from a box suspended over the trapezes the bottom suddenly dropped out.

Following, an agile youthful form shot down through space.  Quick as lightning the Benares Brothers swung by their feet, joined hands in mid-air, and the descending form—­Andy Wildwood—­catching at the wrists of Thacher, was swung back in a twenty foot circle.  Crash! again the orchestra.  Andy was flung through space across to old Benares, a plaything in mid-air, Benares catching at the feet of Thacher, Andy tailing on in a graceful descent, thrilling the delighted audience.

The act was not so difficult, but it was neat, rapid, unique.  Andy Wildwood felt that at last he was a full-fledged acrobat.

The manager came back to compliment him.  Billy Blow looked delighted.  Miss Stella Starr said: 

“Andy, we are all proud of you.”

The next morning’s papers gave him special notice.  Luke Belding whispered to him to demand double salary.

Andy walked from his boarding house the next morning feeling certain that he had made very substantial progress during his sixty days of circus life.

He was passing a row of houses on a side street when a cab drove up to the curb.  Andy casually glanced at the passenger as he crossed the sidewalk.  Then he gave a great start.

“It can’t be!” he ejaculated.  Then he added instantly:  “Yes, I’d know him among a thousand—­Sim Dewey.”

The man entered an open doorway, and Andy ran after him.  He heard the fellow ascend a pair of stairs and knock at a door.

“Oh, good morning, Mr. Vernon.”

“Gracious!” exclaimed Andy—­“Aunt Lavinia!”

Here was a stirring situation.  There could be no mistake.  Despite a false moustache and a pair of dark eyeglasses, Andy had recognized the defaulting cashier of the disbanded circus.  Beyond dispute he had recognized the welcoming tones above as belonging to his aunt, Miss Lavinia Talcott.

“It’s like dreaming,” mused Andy.  “All this happening together, and here in New York City!  Why, what ever brought Aunt Lavinia here?  Where did she ever get acquainted with that scamp?”

Andy felt that he had an urgent duty to perform.  Here was a mystery to explore, a villain to capture.

He went softly up the stairs.  The place was a respectable boarding house, he concluded.  Stealing softly past a door, he went half-way up a second pair of stairs.