He followed Grinaldi, but his eyes were not always
leveled against the spotted back of his mentor; they were for the
lithe, graceful figure in scarlet riding atop of the sturdy Tom Sacks,
sometimes standing upright on his shoulders, again leaning far out
from his thigh, or even more daringly dancing on his broad back while
he squatted on the pad. First on one foot, then the other, then clear
of his back with both of them twinkling in merry time to the quickstep
of the band, her dark hair fluttering from beneath the saucy cap, her
hands waving and her eyes sparkling. Kisses went wafting to every
section of the tent, and with them smiles such as David had never seen
before.
He was standing near when she leaped from the horse's back and skipped
to the center of the ring to blow her final kisses to the multitude.
It occurred to him all at once that he was staring at this wonderfully
graceful, fairy-like little creature with the eyes of a delighted
spectator and not as a clown. He guiltily looked for a reprimand from
Grinaldi. To his surprise and disappointment she passed him by without
a sign of recognition, slipping her tiny feet into the ground shoes
and shuffling off to the dressing-tent with the stride peculiar to
ring performers.
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