"Look out aloft!" he sang out warningly.
"The key rope's going.Grab the other line!" bellowed the boss canvasman.
"You fools!" roared Mr.Sparling from the opposite side of the tent, as he quickly noted what was happening."Run for your lives! You'll have the whole outfit down on your heads!"The men fled, letting go of ropes and poles, diving for places of safety, many of them knowing what it meant to have that big tent collapse and descend upon them.
The man who had held the key rope was the one who had been at fault.Some of the new men had called to him to give them a hand on anotherline, and he, a new man himself, all forgetful of the important task that had been assigned to him, dropped the key rope, as it is called, turning to assist his associate.
Instantly the dome of the big top began to settle with a grating noise as the huge iron ring in the peak began slipping down the center pole.
The key rope coiled on the ground was running out and squirming up into the air.Only a single coil of it remained when Phil suddenly darted forward.With a bound, he threw himself upon the rope, giving it a quick twist about his arm.
The instant Phil had fastened his grip upon the rope he shot up into the air so quickly that the onlookers failed to catch the meaning of his sudden flight.
One pair of eyes, however, saw and understood.They belonged to Mr.Sparling, the owner of the show.
"The boy will he killed!" he groaned."Let go!"