CHAPTER XVII
LEFT BEHIND
"Is he hurt much?"
"Don't know. Maybe he's broken his neck."
This brief dialogue ensued between two painted clowns hurrying totheir stations.
In the meantime the band struck up a lively air, the clownslaunched into a merry medley of song and jest and in a fewmoments the spectators forgot the scene they had just witnessed,in the noise, the dash and the color. It would come back to themlater like some long-past dream.
Mr. Kennedy, with grim, set face, uttered a stern command toEmperor, who for a brief instant had stood irresolute, as ifpondering as to whether he should turn and plunge for the redsilk curtains behind which his little friend had disappeared inthe arms of the attendants.
The trainer's voice won, and Emperor trumpeting loudly, took hisway to his quarters without further protest.
In the dressing tent another scene was being enacted. On twodrawn-up trunks, over which had been thrown a couple of horseblankets, they had laid the slender, red-clad figure of PhilForrest.
The boy's pale face appeared even more ashen than it really wasunder the flickering glare of the gasoline torches. His head hadbeen propped up on a saddle, while about him stood a half circleof solemn-faced performers in various stages of undress andmakeup.
"Is he badly hurt?" asked one.
"Can't say. Miaco has gone for the doc. We'll know pretty soon.That was a dandy tumble he took."
"How did it happen?"
"Wire broke. You can't put no faith on a wire with a kink in it.I nearly got my light put out, out in St. Joe, Missouri, by atrick like that. No more swinging wire for me. Guess the kid,if he pulls out of this, will want to hang on to a rope afterthis. He will if he's wise."
"What's this? What's this?" roared Mr. Sparling, who, havingheard of the accident, came rushing into the tent. "Who's hurt?"
"The kid," informed someone.
"What kid? Can't you fellows talk? Oh, it's Forrest, is it? Howdid it happen?"
One of the performers who had witnessed the accident related whathe had observed.
"Huh!" grunted the showman, stepping up beside Phil and placing ahand on the boy's heart.
"Huh!"
"He's alive, isn't he, Mr. Sparling?"
"Yes. Anybody gone for the doctor?"
"Miaco has."
"Wonder any of you had sense enough to think of that. Icongratulate you. Somebody will suffer when I find out who wasresponsible for hanging that boy's life on a rotten old piece ofwire. I presume it's been kicking around this outfit for thelast seven years."
"Here comes the doc," announced a voice.
There was a tense silence in the dressing tent, broken only bythe patter of the rain drops on the canvas roof, while the show'ssurgeon was making his examination.
"Well, well! What about it?" demanded Mr. Sparling impatiently.
The surgeon did not answer at once. His calm, professionaldemeanor was not to be disturbed by the blustering but kind-hearted showman, and the showman, knowing this from pastexperience, relapsed into silence until such time as the surgeonshould conclude to answer him.
"Did he fall on his head?" he questioned, looking up, at the sametime running his fingers over Phil's dark-brown hair.
"Looks that way, doesn't it?"
"I should say so."
"What's the matter with him?"
"I shall be unable to decide definitely for an hour or so yet,unless he regains consciousness in the meantime. It may be afracture of the skull or a mere concussion."
"Huh!"
Mr. Sparling would have said more, but for the fact that the calmeyes of the surgeon were fixed upon him in a level gaze.
"Any bones broken?"
"No; I think not. How far did he fall?"
"Fell from Emperor's head when the bull was up in the air. Hemust have taken all of a twenty-foot dive, I should say."
"Possible? It's a great wonder he didn't break his neck. But heis very well muscled for a boy of his age. I don't suppose theyhave a hospital in this town?"
"Of course not. They never have anything in these tank towns.You ought to know that by this time."
"They have a hotel. I know for I took dinner there today. Ifyou will get a carriage of some sort I think we had better takehim there."
"Leave him, you mean?" questioned Mr. Sparling.
"Yes; that will be best. We can put him in charge of a localphysician here. He ought to be able to take care of the boy allright."
"Not by a jug full!" roared Mr. James Sparling. "We'll donothing of the sort."
"It will not be safe to take him with us, Sparling."
"Did I say it would? Did I? Of course, he shan't be moved, norwill he be left to one of these know-nothing sawbones. You'llstay here with him yourself, and you'll take care of him if youknow what's good for you. I'd rather lose most any five men inthis show than that boy there."
The surgeon nodded his approval of the sentiment. He, too, hadtaken quite a fancy to Phil, because of the lad's sunnydisposition and natural brightness.
"Get out the coach some of you fellows. Have my driver hook upand drive back into the paddock here, and be mighty quick aboutit. Here, doc, is a head of lettuce (roll of money). If you needany more, you know where to reach us. Send me a telegram in themorning and another tomorrow night. Keep me posted and pull thatboy out of this scrape or you'll be everlastingly out of a jobwith the Sparling Combined Shows. Understand?"
The surgeon nodded understandingly. He had heard Mr. Sparlingbluster on other occasions, and it did not make any greatimpression upon him.
The carriage was quickly at hand. Circus people were in thehabit of obeying orders promptly. A quick drive was made to thehotel, where the circus boy was quickly undressed and put to bed.
All during the night the surgeon worked faithfully over hislittle charge, and just as the first streaks of daylight slantedthrough the window and across the white counterpane, Phil openedhis eyes.
For only a moment did they remain open, then closed again.
The surgeon drew a long, deep breath.
"Not a fracture," he announced aloud. "I'm thankful for that."He drew the window shades down to shut out the light, as it wasall important that Phil should be kept quiet for a time. But thesurgeon did not sleep. He sat keen-eyed by the side of the bed,now and then noting the pulse of his patient, touching the lad'scheeks with light fingers.
After a time the fresh morning air, fragrant with the fields andflowers, drifted in, and the birds in the trees took up theirmorning songs.
"I guess the storm must be over," muttered the medical man,rising softly and peering out from behind the curtain.
The day was dawning bright and beautiful.
"My, it feels good to be in bed!" said a voice from the oppositeside of the room. "Where am I?"
The surgeon wheeled sharply.
"You are to keep very quiet. You had a tumble that shook you upconsiderably."
"What time is it?" demanded Phil sharply.
"About five o'clock in the morning."
"I must get up; I must get up."
"You will lie perfectly still. The show will get along withoutyou today, I guess."
"You don't mean they have gone on and left me?"
"Of course; they couldn't wait for you."
The boys eyes filled with tears.
"I knew it couldn't last. I knew it."
"See here, do you want to join the show again?"
"Of course, I do."
"Well, then, lie still. The more quiet you keep the sooner youwill be able to get out. Try to go to sleep. I must godownstairs and send a message to Mr. Sparling, for he is verymuch concerned about you."
"Then he will take me back?" asked Phil eagerly.
"Of course he will."
"I'll go to sleep, doctor."
Phil turned over on his side and a moment later was breathingnaturally.
The doctor tip-to
ed from the room and hastened down to the hoteloffice where he penned the following message:
James Sparling,
Sparling Combined Shows,
Boyertown.
Forrest recovers consciousness. Not a fracture. Expect himto be all right in a few days. Will stay unless further orders.
Irvine.
"I think I'll go upstairs and get a bit of a nap myself," decidedthe surgeon, after having directed the sleepy clerk to see to itthat the message was dispatched to its destination at once.
He found Phil sleeping soundly. Throwing himself into a chairthe surgeon, used to getting a catnap whenever and whereverpossible, was soon sleeping as soundly as was his young patient.
Neither awakened until the day was nearly done.
The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings; Or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life Page 18