They dragged it over as quickly as possible; then willing handsgrabbed it and stretched the heavy net out.At Mr.Sparling's direction the four corners of the net were manned and the safety device raised from the ground, ready to catch the lad should he fall.
"Now let go and drop!" roared Mr.Sparling.They heard Phil laugh from his lofty perch."Jump, I say!""What, and let the tent down on you all?"By this time the lad had curled his feet up over his head, and they saw that he was bracing his feet against the iron ring, literally holding the tent up with his own powerful muscles.Of course, as a matter of fact, Phil was holding a very small part of the weight of the tent, but as it was, the strain was terrific.
Hanging head down, his face flushed until it seemed as if the blood must burst through the skin, he hung there as calmly as if he were not in imminent peril of his life.Then, too, there was the danger to those below him.If the tent should collapse some of them would be killed, for there were now few quarter poles in place to break the fall of the heavy canvas.
"I say, down there!" he cried, finally managing to make himself heard above the uproar.
"Are you going to drop?" shouted Mr.Sparling.
"No; do you want me to let the tent drop on you?If you'll all get out there'll be fewer hurt in case I have to let go.""That boy!" groaned the showman.