He found Mr. Sparling striding up and down in front of the
elephant enclosure.
"I hope nothing very serious happened, Mr. Sparling," greeted
Phil, approaching him.
"If you mean damages, no. A few people knocked down, mostly due
to their own carelessness. I've got the claim-adjuster at work
settling with all we can get hold of. But we'll get it all back
tonight, my boy. We'll have a turn-away this afternoon, too,
unless I am greatly mistaken. Why, they're lining up outside the
front door now."
"I'm glad for both these things," smiled Phil. "Especially so
because no one was killed."
"No. But one of our bareback riders was put out of business for
a time."
"Is that so? Who?"
"Monsieur Liebman."
"Oh, that's too bad. What happened to him?"
"Someone ran him down. He was thrown and sprained his ankle.
He won't ride for sometime, I reckon. But come over here and
sit down. I want to have a little chat with you."
Mr. Sparling crossed the tent, sitting down on a bale of straw
just back of the monkey cage. The simians were chattering
loudly, as if discussing the exciting incidents of the morning.
But as soon as they saw the showman they flocked to the back of
the cage, hanging by the bars, watching him to find out what he
was going to do.
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