“Oh, you mean Rodney Palmer? Yes, I guess that is he.”
“See, they’re pulling him up on a rope. I wonder where he is going?”
“To those flying rings,” explained Phil. “And there is a young woman going up, too.”
One after another was pulled up, until a troupe of four had ascended and swung off to the rings that were suspended far up there in the haze.
Both Phil and Teddy were more than ordinarily interested in this act, for they were no mean performers on the rings themselves. In the schoolyard an apparatus had been rigged with flying rings, and on this the boys had practiced untiringly during the spring months, until they had both become quite proficient.
“Isn’t he great?” breathed Teddy, as Rodney Palmer swung out into the air, letting his legs slip through the rings until only his toes were hanging to the slender support.
“Yes; he certainly does do it fine.”
“We can do it just as well.”
“Perhaps, but not so gracefully.”
“See, he’s swinging his hand at us.”