It's
a winner. Come back with me."
"What, into the ring?"
"Yes."
"But what shall I do?"
"You don't have to do anything. You've done it already. Show
yourself, that's all. Hurry! Don't you hear them howling like a
band of Comanche Indians?"
"Y-yes."
"They want you."
By this time Mr. Sparling was fairly dragging Phil along with
him. As they entered the big top the cheering broke out afresh.
Phil was more disturbed than ever before in his life. It seemed
as though his legs would collapse under him.
"Buck up! Buck up!" snapped the showman. "You are not going to
get an attack of stage fright at this late hour, are you?"
That was exactly what was the matter with Phil Forrest. He was
nearly scared out of his wits, but he did not realize the nature
of his affliction.
"Bow and kiss your hand to them," admonished the showman.
Phil did so, but his face refused to smile. He couldn't have
smiled at that moment to save his life.
All at once he wrenched himself loose from Mr. Sparling's grip,
and ran full speed for the dressing tent. He had not gone more
than a dozen feet before he tripped over a rope, landing on head
and shoulders.
Pages:
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160