"
As a matter of fact, the two riders made a very pleasing
appearance as they entered the ring. Phil, slender, athletic,
manly; Dimples exquisitely dainty, looking almost as fragile
as a piece of Dresden china, they were a pair to attract
attention anywhere.
The spectators did not even dream that Little Dimples was a
married woman, with a son almost as old as Phil Forrest himself.
They kicked off their slippers, chalked their feet, then Phil
assisted his companion to the back of the horse.
The band struck up a lively tune, the ringmaster cracked
his whip, and Phil leaped to the back of the ring horse
beside Dimples.
"We are off," smiled the lad.
"I hope not," laughed the woman happily.
Further conversation for the moment was interrupted, for the
time had arrived to begin their work in earnest. The two threw
themselves into a series of graceful positions, neither very
difficult nor very dangerous, but to Mr. Sparling, who was
watching their performance from a seat directly opposite to them,
their work was more attractive than anything of the kind he ever
had seen.
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