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Tweetle!" sang the ringmaster's whistle after the spectacle had wound its way once around the concourse. At this the procession wheeled, its head cutting between the two rings, slowly and majestically reaching for the paddock and dressing tent, where the performers would hurry into their costumes for their various acts to follow. This left only the elephants in the ring.
After months of quiet in their winter quarters, this unusual noise and excitement threw the wild beasts into a tempest of anger. Pacing their cages with upraised heads, they hurled their loud-voiced protests into the air until the more timid of the spectators trembled in their seats. It was an inspiring moment for the circus people, as well as for the spectators. "Tweetle!
Little Dimples, too, had by this time forgotten that she was resting, and now she began to ride as she never had ridden before, throwing a series of difficult backward turns, landing each time with a sureness that she never had before accomplished. Tweetle! Tweetle! The act came to a quick ending. The time for the equestrian act had expired, and it must give way to the others that were to follow.
As if in answer to the lad's question, the "tweetle" of the ringmaster's whistle brought everything to a standstill under the big top. Even the band suddenly ceased playing. Then Phil knew that something worthwhile was coming.
The lad's face was a few shades deeper pink than his tights, and nervous excitement seemed to suddenly take possession of him. "I wish you hadn't done that," he laughed. "I'll bet I fall off now, for that." "Tweetle! Tweetle!" sang the whistle. Crash! At a wave of the bandmaster's baton, the band suddenly launched into a smashing air.
"Twee, twee, twee-e-e, tweetle, weetle, tee, tee, tee-e!" piped the boatswain, following up his shrill music with the hoarse bellow of: "All hands clear for action. Now then, old stew-pan," to the cook "dowse your galley-fire, my hearty, and stow away all your best chiney down in the run. Tumble up there, you bull-dogs, tumble up!"
With an amused glance at his fallen adversaries Phil ran to the big top, less than a rod away, and, lifting the sidewall, slipped under and disappeared within. "Tweetle! Tweetle!" Two rippling blasts from the ringmaster's whistle notified the show people that the performance was on.
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