NEKA SHOWS COURAGE.

When the mad chimpanzee leaped through the canvas onto the little stage, the audience in the tent became panic-stricken.

“He is mad!”

“He will tear somebody to pieces!”

“Let me get out of here!”

A mad rush was made for the entrance, while a score or more dropped to the ground and crawled under the tent walls.

In less than half a minute, Neka was left alone, with the single exception of Bindley, who came rushing from the tiny dressing-room to see what all the racket was about.

In the meantime the chimpanzee had leaped straight for Neka’s throat. By a marvelous twist, the youth got out of his way and came up in the beast’s rear.

With a scream and a roar the enraged brute turned clumsily, sending the foam from its mouth over Neka’s robe. Again it paused, and then made another leap.

“Stab it with one of the daggers!” yelled Bindley. “If you can keep him off ten seconds I’ll have my revolver!”

“I don’t want to kill him if I can help it,” replied Neka, making another leap out of the way. “Bring a rope and make a loop at one end and we’ll capture him.”

As he spoke he held up two of the red-hot daggers before him. On the instant the beast put up a paw and endeavored to knock the weapons from his grasp.

The chimpanzee was burned, and let out a wild scream of pain. Then he made another attempt by striking the weapons away.

As quick as a flash, Neka turned one of the daggers point forward. The blade entered the chimpanzee’s forepaw, and both burned and cut him.

Surprised at this unexpected happening, the beast roared and yelled, and retreated to a corner. Here he alternately nursed his wound and his aching tooth, and while he was doing this Bindley appeared with the rope.

A noose was made, and by a skillful throw Neka landed the rope over the chimpanzee’s body. Hardly had the throw been made when the proprietor of the animal exhibition broke through the tent wall, armed with a chain and a prod.

“I’m glad you didn’t shoot him!” he cried. “He cost me two hundred dollars cash.”

The rope was wound around a big stake, and thus secured it was an easy matter to chain the chimpanzee and muzzle him. By the efforts of the owner, Neka, Bindley, and several others, he was finally removed to his cage, and made a close prisoner for the remainder of his stay at the fair grounds.

The proprietor of the animal exhibition was profuse in his thanks to Neka for having spared the chimpanzee’s life, and he did not hesitate to praise the youth for his bravery.

As a result of the excitement, a large crowd gathered around, and when Longfellow Wadsworth announced that the star of the show was the man who had braved a mad animal single-handed, and captured him, the tent was filled at once, and for the next two hours a rushing business was done.

“I wonder what Daniel Bambo would say if he knew we had taken in ninety dollars in two days?” asked Neka, to the elocutionist, that evening. “We have really done better in proportion than his circus ever did.”

“That is no doubt true, my son; but, unfortunately, county fairs do not last forever. I have made inquiries, and have learned that this is the last fair to be held in this section of the country this year.”

“Then we’ll either have to go back to hall exhibitions, or make our way to New York and strike for places in some variety company.”

“What’s the matter with organizing your own company?” suggested Bindley. “If you are careful in making up your route you’ll make more money that way than you will working under salary.”

“But it takes money to start an organization,” said Neka. “Look what the printing alone costs.”

“You could start out in a modest way for three or four hundred dollars,” replied the all-round artist. “Form a company, and include me, and I’ll promise to work like a car horse to make it a success.”

This idea at once appealed to Longfellow Wadsworth, and to Neka it was by no means distasteful. They would be over a hundred dollars ahead when the fair closed, and a few weeks of good luck at “barnstorming,” as playing in small places is termed, might put them sufficiently ahead to strike out as a full-fledged company, playing regular stands.

“We’ll do it!” cried the elocutionist. “How will this sound? The Neka-Wadsworth Unique Special Company? That ought to go well, eh?”

“Especially if you have a couple of good lithographs of Neka doing his best fire tricks,” said Bindley. “You won’t want more than seven or eight people, for most of them can double, and here are three of us already.”

The idea was such a fascinating one that they talked it over until after midnight, and then it was practically settled they should form a company just as soon as the state of finances would permit.

On the last day of the fair it turned off cold, and toward sundown those about the tent, inside and out, began to shiver. The next day would be the first of October, and the long summer was now at an end, and winter was not far off.

Around the fair grounds were congregated a great number of sharpers and pickpockets, and of these all hands had to beware.

“You don’t want to be cleaned out, you know,” said Bindley. “Some of these ducks would cut your throats if they knew you had over ten dollars in your pockets. The gangs that follow the fakirs are growing worse every year, and at the wind-up of the season they rob and assault folks whenever they get half a chance.”

“I’ve been cleaned out once,” said Neka. “I am on my guard.”

The life at the fair grounds pleased the boy, and he was sorry that it was coming to a close. He worked his best, and the receipts on the third day almost equaled those of the second.

It was seven o’clock in the evening when they settled up with the owner of the tent and the boy helper and left the grounds. It was already dark, and outside of the fence the drinking booths and the table fakirs were urging on business by the aid of flaring gasoline lamps and kerosene torches.

“This way fer yer big drink!”

“Here’s where yer git yer hot frankfurters. Only a nickel!”

“Step up, gents, an’ try yer luck. Three throws fer a dime, an’ yer may win five dollars!”

“Come up! come up! and see what I’ve got!” yelled one burly fellow perched on a soap box. “The boss prize package, only a dime each. Just watch me put that dollar in this envelope! There’s another dollar, and there’s another! Money in all of ’em, gents! Take yer choice fer a dime!”

“Poor fools!” laughed Bindley. “They ought to know they would never win anything from such a duck as him. If you watch him closely you can see the dollar bill go up his sleeve instead of in the envelope, and he uses the same bill every trip.”

“Yet no doubt he has coined money to-day,” put in Longfellow Wadsworth. “The law--what’s the matter, Neka?”

“Don’t you recognize that fellow?” burst out the young King of Fire, clutching his partner’s arm.

“I must say his face looks familiar.”

“It is the chap who stole that bicycle from Mr. Harry Lardale!”

“By Jove, my son, you are right!” ejaculated the elocutionist. “And if that is so, he is most likely the one who attacked you so brutally on the road.”

“If he is, you ought to land on him with both feet,” cried Bindley, who, it may be said right here, was much given to the slang of the road.

“If I could prove that he attacked me I would have him arrested.”

“Well, you can prove he tried to steal the bicycle,” said Longfellow Wadsworth. “That is enough to hold him on. No doubt Harry Lardale is well known around here, and he can make it warm for the trickster.”

“That is so. Let us--look! look!”

Again Neka clutched his partner’s arm, and pointed to the crowd surrounding the fakir.

A disturbance was on. An old countryman had passed up a five-dollar bill and asked for three prize packages. Instead of giving back the necessary change the fakir wanted to load up the old man with more envelopes, each containing a sliver of “prize soap,” valued at less than a cent.

“I want my change!” growled the countryman.

“But, my dear fellow, these packages----” began the fakir.

“I want my change! I don’t want any more packages! Them three I bought didn’t have nuthin’ in ’em.”

“But these----”

“Gimme my change! Perlice! perlice!” cried the rural gentleman, alarmed at the prospect of losing the cash due him.

“Git out of my way!” suddenly growled the fakir.

And, making a leap from the soap box, he started to run away into the darkness beyond the circle of smoky lights.