Without giving the slightest heed to the audience, which was
howling its delight, Dimples ran to the fallen lad, leaning over
him anxiously.
"Are you hurt?" she begged, placing a hand on his head.
"I--I guess not," answered Phil, pulling himself together
a little. "I'll get up or they'll think something is the matter
with me."
"Let me help you."
"No, thank you," he replied, brushing aside the hand she had
extended to him. But his back hurt him so severely that he could
only with difficulty stand upright.
Phil smiled and straightened, despite the pain.
At that Dimples grasped him by the hand, leading him to the
concourse facing the reserved seats, where she made a low bow to
the audience; then, throwing both arms about Phil, she gave him a
hearty kiss.
Thunders of applause greeted this, the audience getting to its
feet in its excitement. Had it been possible, both the boy and
Miss Dimples would have been borne in triumph from the ring.
"Come back and sit down while I finish my act," she whispered.
"You're not going to try that again, are you?" questioned Phil.
"Of course I am. You'll see what a hit it will make."
"I saw that you came near making a hit a few moments ago,"
answered the lad.
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