"Dimples, I guess we have ridden Jim for the last time," said
Phil in a low voice. "Hadn't you better start the other acts,
Mr. Sparling. The audience will become uneasy."
"Yes, yes," answered the showman, waving his hand to the band, a signal that they were to play and the show to go on as usual. "Are you sure, Phil—sure Jim has not merely strained the leg?"
"I am sure. He never will perform again."
Dimples brushed a hand across her eyes.
"I shall cry when I get back to my dressing tent. I know I shall," she said, with a tremor in her voice that she strove to control.
Then Dimples smiled bravely, waving a hand at the audience, though her heart was sad.
"What had we better do with him, Phil?"
"We can do nothing at present—not until the show is ended.
Then, there is only one thing to do."
"You mean he will have to be—"
"Yes, Dimples, he will have to be shot," answered Phil.