"Say! it's going to be just like the circus picture on the side of the
post office, isn't it?" chuckled little Tod Smith.

Ned Wilier took down the fence bars and led the horse out into the road.

Andy pulled off his coat and shoes. He stowed them alongside a rock near
the fence. Then he produced some elastic bands and secured his trousers
around the ankles.

His eyes brightened and he forgot all his troubles for the time being,
as he ran back a bit.

"Out of the way there!" shouted Andy with glowing cheeks, posing for a
forward dash.

He made a quick, superb bound and landed lightly on the horse's back.

Old Dobbin shied restively. Ned, at his nose, quieted him with a word.

Andy, the centre of an admiring group, tested the impromptu platform. He
accepted a short riding whip handed up to him by Alf Warren with a truly
professional flourish. Andy stood easy and erect, one hand on his hip.
All that seemed lacking was the sawdust ring and a tinselled garb.

"Ready," announced Andy.

All of the group except Ned Wilfer started down the road in the wake of
Alf Warren. The latter carried the hoop in one hand, some matches in
the other.