Phil sent his ring horse forward at a lively gait, which grew
faster and faster, as he sat lightly on the animal's rump, urging
it along.

All at once he bounded to his feet, poised an instant, then threw
himself into a succession of handsprings until he resembled a
whirling pink and gold wheel.

This was a new act in the circus world, and such of the other
performers as were under the big top at the moment paused to
watch it.

No one was more surprised than Mr. Sparling himself. He knew
what a difficult feat it was that the Circus Boy had not only
essayed, but succeeded in doing. Phil kept it up at such length,
and with such stubborn persistence, that the owner of the show
feared lest the lad, in his dizziness might get a bad fall.

Doing a series of such rapid handsprings on the level ground is
calculated to make a performer's head swim. But how much more
difficult such an effort is on the slippery back of a moving
horse may well be imagined.

Finally, red of face, panting, breathless, Phil Forrest alighted
on his feet, well back on the ring horse's rump.

"Be ready to catch me," he gasped.

The ringmaster understood.