1.
"Y-i-i-i-p!" answered the Circus Boy, while the spectators broke
into thunders of applause.
Mr. Sparling, hardened showman that he was, brushed a suspicious
hand across his eyes and sat down suddenly.
"Such grit, Such grit!" he muttered.
Phil threw himself wildly into his work, taking every conceivable
position known to the equestrian world, and essaying many daring
feats that he had never tried before. It seemed simply
impossible for the boy to fall, so sure was his footing. Now he
would spring from the broad back of the gray, and run across the
ring, doing a lively handspring, then once more vault into a
standing position on the mare.
Suddenly the band stopped playing, for the rest that is always
given the performers. But Phil did not pause.
"Keep her up!" Forrest shouted, bringing down his whip on the
flanks of his mount and, in a fervor of excitement and stubborn
determination, going at his work like a whirlwind.
Mr. Sparling, catching the spirit of the moment scrambled to his
feet and rushed to the foot of the bandstand, near which he had
been sitting.
"Play, you idiots, play!" shouted the proprietor, waving his
arms excitedly.
Play they did.
Little Dimples, too, had by this time forgotten that she was
resting, and now she began to ride as she never had ridden
before, throwing a series of difficult backward turns, landing
each time with a sureness that she never had before accomplished.
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