"Diaz! Diaz! Drop that knife!" ordered Phil sternly.
Instead of obeying the command the clown leaped upon him, or upon
the spot where Phil had been standing a second before. The lad
had sprung back far enough so that the descending knife cut only
the empty air.
Again the knife flashed up. Just as it was being raised, the boy
leaped again. This time he sprang toward the enraged clown,
rather than away from him.
Ere the knife could be brought down, Phil gripped the wrist
holding the weapon, giving the wrist a quick, sharp twist that
brought a roar of pain from Diaz.
The knife dropped to the ground. Phil calmly stooped and picked
it up, while the clown was nursing his wrist and groaning.
Several performers, realizing that something out of the ordinary
was going on in that corner of the tent, hurried over.
"What's the matter here?"
"Diaz was showing me his knife. It's a beauty, isn't it?"
answered Phil, with a pleasant smile. "I think, however, it is
a little too pretty for a circus. Were I in your place, Diaz,
I should keep it in my trunk else someone may steal it.
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