Tweetle! Tweetle!
The act came to a quick ending. The time for the equestrian act
had expired, and it must give way to the others that were
to follow. But Phil, instead of dropping to the ground and
walking to the paddock along the concourse, suddenly brought down
his whip on the gray's flanks, much to that animal's surprise and
apparent disgust.
Starting off at a quicker gallop, the gray swung into the
concourse, heading for the paddock with disapproving ears laid
back on her head, Phil standing as rigid as a statue with folded
arms, far back over the animal's hips.
The people were standing up, waving their arms wildly.
Many hurled their hats at the Circus Boy in their excitement,
while others showered bags of peanuts over him as he raced
by them.
Such a scene of excitement and enthusiasm never had been seen
under that big top before. Phil did not move from his position
until he reached the paddock. Arriving there he sat down, slid
to the ground and collapsed in a heap.
Mr. Sparling came charging in, hat missing and hair
standing straight up where he had run his fingers through
it in his excitement.
He grabbed Phil in his arms and carried him into the
dressing tent.
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