He looked at her
sharply, remembering her faintness in the parade that morning.
"You ain't feeling right," he said uneasily.
"You just bet I am," Polly answered with an independent toss of
her head. "This is the night we're goin' to make them rubes in
there sit up, ain't it, Bingo?" she added, placing one arm
affectionately about the neck of the big, white horse that stood
waiting near the entrance.
"You bin ridin' too reckless lately," said Jim, sternly, as he
followed her. "I don't like it. There ain't no need of your
puttin' in all them extra stunts. Your act is good enough
without 'em. Nobody else ever done 'em, an' nobody'd miss 'em if
you left 'em out."
Polly turned with a triumphant ring in her voice. The music was
swelling for her entrance.
"You ain't my MOTHER, Jim, you're my GRANDmother," she taunted;
and, with a crack of her whip she was away on Bingo's back.
"It's the spirit of the dead one that's got into her," Jim
mumbled as he turned away, still seeing the flash in the
departing girl's eyes.
Chapter III
Polly and Bingo always made the audience "sit up" when they swept
into the ring. She was so young, so gaily clad, so light and
joyous in all her poses. She seemed scarcely to touch the back
of the white horse, as they dashed round the ring in the glare of
the tent lights.
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