Dimples was sitting on a property
box,
industriously engaged on a piece of embroidery work. She made a
pretty picture perched up on the box engaged in her peaceful
occupation with the needle, and the lad stopped to gaze at
her admiringly.
Dimples glanced down with a smile.
"Does it surprise you to see me at my fancy work? That's what
I love. Why, last season, I embroidered a new shirt waist every
week during the show season. I don't know what I'll do with
them all. But come over here and sit down by me. I ought to
thank you for saving my life this afternoon, but I know you would
rather I did not."
Phil nodded.
"I don't like to be thanked. It makes me feel--well, awkward,
I guess. You froze, didn't you?"
"I did," and Dimples laughed merrily.
"What made you do so--the horse?"
"Yes. I thought he was going to fall all the way down,
then by the time I remembered where I was I couldn't turn to save
my life. I heard you call to me to do so, but I couldn't.
But let's talk about you. You hurt your back, didn't you?"
"Nothing to speak of. It will be all right by morning. I'm just
a little lame now. Where were you--what show were you with
last year?"
"The Ringlings.
Pages:
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101