Part 7 (1/2)

At last, in response to the command of the ringmaster's whistle, the band ceased playing and silence fell over the tent as the ringmaster raised his hand for silence.

”Ladies and gentlemen,” he said. ”The next act will be a bareback riding feat unexcelled in any show in the world.

In ring No. 1 the famous equestrienne, Little Dimples, will entertain you with her Desperate, Daring Dips of Death that defy imitation. In ring No. 2 you will recognize a fellow townsman--a townsboy, I should say. It will not be necessary for me to mention his name. Suffice it to say that, although he has been riding for less than a year, he has already risen to the enviable position of being one of the foremost bareback riders of the sawdust arena. I think that's all I have to say.

Your friends will do the rest.”

The ringmaster waved his hand to the band, which instantly blared forth and to its music Phil Forrest tripped lightly down the concourse, being obliged to go three-fourths of its length to get to the ring where he was to perform.

His journey led him right past the grandstand seats where his admiring school fellows were sitting, or rather standing. As a matter of fact, every one of them had risen to his feet by this time and was shouting out Phil's name.

As he drew nearer they began to chant, keeping time with his footsteps and the music of the band:

”Phil, Phil--Phillip F! Rah, rah! Siss-boom-ah!”

The Circus Boy grinned happily and waved his whip at them as he pa.s.sed.

”I hope I won't make a fool of myself,” he thought.

He had no intention of doing so. He had a few tricks that he was going to show his friends, and incidentally surprise Mr. Sparling himself, for Phil, who now owned his own ring horse, had been practicing in secret all winter on the act that he was going to attempt for the first time in public that evening.

Discarding his slippers and chalking the bottoms of his riding pumps, Phil began his act by riding standing on the rump of his mount, to get his equilibrium and his confidence at the same time.

Then the lad began throwing himself into his work, which increased in speed as the moments pa.s.sed, until his supple, slender body was flas.h.i.+ng here and there on the back of the handsome gray, causing the eyes of the spectators fairly to ache in their efforts to keep track of him.

The people voiced their excitement by yells of approval and howls of delight.

”My, but that boy can ride!” muttered Mr. Sparling, who had been watching the act critically. ”In fact, I should like to know what he cannot do. If he had to do so, he could run this show fully as well as can I--and perhaps better at that,” added the showman, with a grin.

Now the band struck up the music for the concluding number of the act.

”I wonder what he has up his sleeve,” mused Mr. Sparling shrewdly, suspecting that Phil was about to try something he had never done in the ring before. ”I hope he won't take any long chances, for I can't afford to have anything happen to my little star performer.”

As a matter of fact both Phil and Teddy Tucker had become star performers, and were so featured on the circus bills, where their pictures had been placed for this, their third season out.

The year before they had appeared on the small bills in the shop windows, but now they had the satisfaction of seeing themselves portrayed in life-size on the big boards.

Phil sent his ring horse forward at a lively gait, which grew faster and faster, as he sat lightly on the animal's rump, urging it along.

All at once he bounded to his feet, poised an instant, then threw himself into a succession of handsprings until he resembled a whirling pink and gold wheel.

This was a new act in the circus world, and such of the other performers as were under the big top at the moment paused to watch it.

No one was more surprised than Mr. Sparling himself. He knew what a difficult feat it was that the Circus Boy had not only essayed, but succeeded in doing. Phil kept it up at such length, and with such stubborn persistence, that the owner of the show feared lest the lad, in his dizziness might get a bad fall.

Doing a series of such rapid handsprings on the level ground is calculated to make a performer's head swim. But how much more difficult such an effort is on the slippery back of a moving horse may well be imagined.

Finally, red of face, panting, breathless, Phil Forrest alighted on his feet, well back on the ring horse's rump.

”Be ready to catch me,” he gasped.

The ringmaster understood.