PGCC Collection eBook: The Circus Boys on the Plains, Or, The Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show, by Edgar B P Darlington
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The Circus Boys on the Plains
Or
The Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show
by Edgar B. P. Darlington
January, 2001 [eBook #2478]
PGCC Collection eBook: The Circus Boys on the Plains, Or, The
Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show, by Edgar B P Darlington
eBook file: 05tcb10.htm or 05tcb10.pdf
Corrected EDITIONS, 05tcb11.htm.
Separate source VERSION, 05tcb10a.htm.
The Circus Boys on the Plains
Or
The Young Advance Agents Ahead of the Show
By EDGAR B. P. DARLINGTON
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I--ON THE OWNER'S PRIVATE CAR
The English Fat Girl gets mired on the lot. Teddy Tucker
threatens to thrash the "Strongest Man on Earth." The hazards of
a circus life. Teddy would put the whole show out of business.
Phil and his chum assigned to Advance Car Number Three.
CHAPTER II--OFF FOR NEW FIELDS
"Boss Sparling seems in an awful hurry to get rid of us."
Circus Boys meet a cold reception. Phil is made a
"barn climber." Teddy threatens to wring the car manager's neck.
"Soak him, Phil!" yells the boy on the pile of railroad ties.
CHAPTER III--COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING
Phil gets into action. "I've had enough!" groans the
car manager. A telegram to the owner complains of the
Circus Boys. "Either you get off this car or I do." The advance
car is a bedlam. More trouble for the Circus Boys is in sight.
CHAPTER IV-INTRODUCED TO THE CREW
Circus Boys meet "Rosie the Pig" and other notables. The porter
tells how Phil worsted Mr. Snowden. What a "contract hotel" is.
Teddy decides to take bean soup. "Why didn't the contracting
agent sign us up with a livery stable?"
CHAPTER V--THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
How an advance car is operated. The "banner man" and his little
magnetic hammer. "You're a bird on the trapeze." The boys
exchange confidences on snoring. Circus Boys go to sleep on
beds of paper. Aroused by a great uproar.
CHAPTER VI--ALMOST A TRAGEDY
"He's fallen into the paste can headfirst!" Teddy Tucker has
a narrow escape from death. The manager gives Phil a ducking.
"Rain-in-the-Face" sees a great light. An irate car manager.
How Teddy took his revenge on Mr. Snowden.
CHAPTER VII--THE FIRST DAY'S EXPERIENCE
"He pulled me out of bed!" Great excitement on Car Three.
Snowden hopes Phil will fall off and break his neck.
Young Forrest pastes a poster on himself. "Young man,
you have a cast-iron nerve!" The Circus Boy "squares"
a hard-shell farmer.
CHAPTER VIII--THE CIRCUS BOY WINS
Phil gets a silo, and a hog pen for good measure.
Farmers witness a circus stunt not down on the bills.
A narrow escape. Taking a desperate chance. Phil "the champeen
of them all." Circus sheets that stood out like a fire on
the landscape.
CHAPTER IX--TEDDY GETS INTO TROUBLE
Blue jeans replace pink tights. When it rained paste. "I didn't
know you had your nose stuck in the paste pot when I turned on
the steam." Teddy sets himself the task of reforming a
"crazy man." The trouble maker is named "Spotted Horse."
"You're discharged!"
CHAPTER X--A SURPRISE, INDEED!
Billy Conley is up to tricks. Mr. Sparling takes a hand.
The car manager gets his deserts. "You will hear great
things of Phil Forrest one of these days." "I'm going to
thrash a man within an inch of his life!" Phil hears an
amazing thing.
CHAPTER XI--THREE CHEERS AND A TIGER
Phil Forrest, Car Manager. Dazed by an unexpected promotion.
Teddy graduates from the paste pot. How circus money is spent.
The Circus Boys win new laurels. Teddy becomes a press agent.
Phil makes a speech and is welcomed as "The Boss."
CHAPTER XII--FACING AN EMERGENCY
"Bad habit to go to bed on an empty stomach." Teddy Tucker
discovers a rival on a side track. "Here's trouble right from
the start!" The new car manager gets into rapid-fire action.
"We must beat the 'opposition.' Now, boys, it's up to you!"
The mine is laid.
CHAPTER XIII--A BAFFLED CAR MANAGER
"That fellow is playing a sharp trick." Phil breakfasts with his
rival and extracts information from him. "You ain't half as big
a fool as you look, are you?" Bob Tripp gets a great shock.
Farmers guard Phil Forrest's posters with shot guns.
CHAPTER XIV--TEDDY WRITES A LETTER
Circus Boys steal a second march on the "opposition."
Teddy Tucker whoops for joy. The new press agent begins work.
"Spotted Horse" has too many fingers for typing. A suggestion
for billposters. Circus Boys strike hard blows.
CHAPTER XV--IN AN EXCITING RACE
All surrounded in Kansas. Three "opposition" cars
discovered in the same yard with Phil Forrest. A race for
the country. Paste cans dance a jig. Rivals turned over
into a ditch. A case of give and take.
CHAPTER XVI--A BATTLE OF WITS
When money made a big noise. The canary car manager gets an
awful jolt. "Be on your way, my little man," urges Phil sweetly.
"Turn out every man in town! Run as if the Rhino of the Sparling
Circus were after you!"
CHAPTER XVII--THE CHARGE OF THE PASTE BRIGADE
The battle is on in earnest. Trouble is on the air.
"Paste them, fellows!" howls Teddy. "Look out! The police
are coming!" "I arrest you for disturbing the peace!"
Phil faces the officers of the law boldly and wins for his show.
CHAPTER XVIII--THE MISSING SHOW CARS
Congratulations from the show's owner. Four rival advance cars
go out on one train. Teddy sends the enemy's cars adrift.
Sleeping a sleep of innocence. Phil is puzzled over the mystery
of the missing cars. Teddy's expression arouses the suspicion of
his chum.
CHAPTER XIX--PHIL'S DARING PLAN
Teddy Tucker admits his guilt. Forrest reads "Spotted Horse"
a severe lecture. "Is the sermon over?" A lesson that bore
fruit for a day or so. Pat "smells a rat." "She's moving!
We're off!" The Circus Boys adrift on a runaway car.
CHAPTER XX--ON A WILDCAT RUN
A dizzy ride through the storm. "Don't bother me, I'm making
the next town!" A thrilling moment. Phil faces death with a
smile on his face. "Hold fast, we're going to sideswipe them!"
The agent at Salina gets a surprise.
CHAPTER XXI--IN A PERILOUS POSITION
Teddy throws out his chest and seeks publicity. "Spotted Horse"
has a daring plan. The Circus Boy a hundred feet in the air.
Teddy takes a desperate chance to earn Phil Forrest's fifty.
Overtaken by disaster as the Sparling banner floats to
the breeze.
CHAPTER XXII--A DASH FOR LIBERTY
"Help! I'm hung up!" Teddy is suspended, head downward, between
earth and sky. Phil hurries to the rescue. "I'm all tied up in
a knot!" wails the unhappy Tucker. Teddy takes a long drop,
landing on Billy's neck, and bowls over a policeman.
CHAPTER XXIII--THE DESERTED VILLAGE
A new trouble-plan in the making. Teddy is so happy that he
can't go to bed. The "opposition" is lost again. Phil makes
his chum tell how he tricked the rival car managers. How Phil
Forrest proved that he was a real manager.
CHAPTER XXIV--CONCLUSION
The manager of "The Greatest Show on Earth" wants Phil.
Setting out to "drive the other fellows off the map." "No more
meals at the Sign of the Tin Spoon." Circus Boys have a happy
windup to an exciting show season.
THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE PLAINS
CHAPTER I
ON THE OWNER'S PRIVATE CAR
"Bates!"
The voice of James Sparling rose above even the roar of
the storm.
A uniformed attendant stepped into the little office tent
occupied by the owner of the Great Sparling Combined Shows.
Shaking the water from his dripping cap, he brought a hand
to his forehead in precise military salute.
"How's the storm coming, Bates?" demanded the showman, with an
amused twinkle in his eyes as he noted the bedraggled condition
of his messenger.
"She's coming wet, sir," was the comprehensive reply.
And indeed "she" was. The gale was roaring over the circus lot,
momentarily threatening to wrench the billowing circus tents from
their fastenings, lift them high in the air preparatory to
distributing them over the surrounding country. Guy ropes were
straining at their anchorages, center and quarter poles were
beating a nervous tattoo on the sodden turf. The rain was
driving over the circus lot in blinding sheets.
The night was not ideal for a circus performance. However, the
showmen uttered no protest, going about their business as
methodically as if the air were warm and balmy, the moon and
stars shining down over the scene complacently.
Now and again, as the wind shifted for a moment toward the
showman's swaying office tent, the blare of the band off under
the big top told him the show was moving merrily on.
"Bates, you are almost human at times. I had already observed
that the storm was coming wet," replied the showman.
"Yes, sir."
"I have reason to be aware of the fact that 'she is coming wet,'
as you so admirably put it. My feet are at this moment in a
puddle of water that is now three inches above my ankles.
Why shouldn't I know?"
"Yes, sir," agreed the patient attendant.
"What I want to know is how are the tents standing the blow?"
"Very well, sir."
"As long as there is a stitch of canvas over your head you take
it for granted that the tops are all right, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"The emergency gang is on duty, of course?"
"They're out in the wet, sir."
"Of course; that is where they belong on a night like this.
But what were you doing out there? You have no business that
calls you outside."
"I was helping a lady, sir."
"Helping a lady?"
"Yes, sir."
"What lady?"
"The English Fat Girl got mired on the lot, sir, and I was
helping to get her out," answered the attendant solemnly.
"Pshaw!"
"Yes, sir."
"You will please attend to your own business after this. If the
English Fat Girl gets mired again we will have the elephant
trainer bring over one of the bulls and haul her out. She won't
be so anxious to get stalled after that, I'm thinking," snapped
the showman.
"Yes, sir."
"What act is on now under the big top?"
"The ground tumblers are in the ring, sir."
Mr. Sparling reflected briefly.
"Has Mr. Forrest finished his work for the evening?"
"I think so, sir. He should be off by this time."
"Can you get to the dressing tent without finishing the job of
drowning at which you already have made such a good start?"
demanded the showman quizzically.
"Yes, sir," grinned Bates.
"Then, go there."
The attendant started to leave the tent.
"Come back here!" bellowed the showman.
Bates turned patiently. He was not unused to the strange whims
of his employer.
"What are you going to do when you get to the dressing tent?"
"I don't know, sir."
"I thought not. You are an intelligent animal, Bates.
Now listen!"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Sparling scowled, surveying his messenger with narrowed eyes.
"Tell Mr. Philip Forrest that I wish to see him in my private car
at the 'runs,'"--meaning that part of the railroad yards where
the show had unloaded early that morning.
"Yes, sir."
"Wait! You seem anxious to get wet! Have the men strike my tent
at once. It is likely to strike itself if they do not get busy
pretty quick," added the showman, rising.
The messenger saluted, then hurried out into the driving storm,
while Mr. Sparling methodically gathered up the papers he had
been studying, stuffing them in an inside coat pocket.
"A fine, mellow night," he said to himself, peering out through
the flap as he drew on his oilskins. Pulling the brim of his
sombrero down over his eyes he stalked out into the storm.
A quick glance up into the skies told his experienced eyes that
the worst of the storm had passed, and that there was now little
danger of a blow-down that night. He started off across the
circus lot, splashing through the mud and water, bound for his
comfortable private car that lay on a siding about half a mile
from the circus grounds.
He found a scene of bustle and excitement in the railroad yards,
where a small army of men were rushing the work of loading the
menagerie wagons on the first section, for the train was going
out in three sections that night.
"It is a peculiar fact," muttered the showman, "that the worse
the weather is, the louder the men seem called upon to yell.
However, if yelling makes them feel any the less wet, I don't
know why I should object."
The showman quickly changed his wet clothes and settled himself
at the desk in his cosy office on board the private car. He had
been there something like half an hour when the buzzing of an
electric bell called the porter to the door of the car.
A moment later and Phil Forrest appeared at the door of the car.
"You sent for me, did you not, Mr. Sparling?"
"Why, good evening, Phil," greeted the showman, looking up
quickly with a welcoming smile on his face.
"I call it a very bad evening, sir."
"Very well, we will revise our statement. Bad evening, Phil!"
"Same to you, Mr. Sparling," laughed the lad. "Yes, I think that
fits the case very well indeed."
"And now that we have observed the formalities, come in and
sit down. Are you wet?"
"No; I went to my car and changed before coming in. I thought a
few minutes' delay would make no difference. Had you sent for me
on the lot I would have reported more promptly."
"Quite right, my boy. No, there was nothing urgent. The storm
did not interfere much with the performance, did it?"
"No. The audience was a little nervous at one time, but the
scare quickly passed off."
"Where's your friend?"
"Teddy Tucker?"
"Yes."
"He was having an argument with the Strongest Man on Earth
when I left the dressing tent," laughed Phil. "It was
becoming quite heated."
"Over what?"
"Oh, Teddy insisted on sitting on the strong man's trunk while he
took off his tights. There was a mud hole in front of Teddy's
trunk and he did not wish to get his feet wet and muddy."
"So the Strongest Man on Earth had to wait, eh?" questioned the
showman with an amused smile.
"Yes. Teddy was threatening to thrash him if he did not keep off
until he got his shoes on."
Mr. Sparling leaned back, laughing heartily.
"Your friend Teddy is getting to be a very belligerent young man,
I fear."
"Getting to be?"
"Yes."
"It is my opinion that he always has been. Teddy can stir up
more trouble, and with less provocation, than anyone I ever knew.
But, you had something you wished to say to me, did you not?"
"To be sure I had. Something quite important. Have you had
your lunch?"
"No; I came directly to the train from the lot."
"I am glad of that. I thought you would, so I ordered supper
for two spread in the dining compartment. It must be ready
by this time. Come. We will talk and eat at the same time.
We have no need to hurry."
The showman and the Circus Boy made their way to the dining
compartment, where a small table had been spread for them, which,
with its pretty china, cut glass and brightly polished silver,
made a very attractive appearance.
"This looks good to me," smiled Phil appreciatively.
"Especially on a night like this," answered Mr. Sparling.
"Be seated, and we will talk while we are waiting for supper
to be served."
Readers of the preceding volumes of this series will need
no introduction to Phil Forrest and Teddy Tucker. They well
remember how the Circus Boys so unexpectedly made their entry
into the sawdust arena in "THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE FLYING RINGS"
after Phil by his quick wit had prevented a serious accident
to the lion cage and perhaps the escape of the dangerous
beast itself. Both boys had quickly worked their way into
the arena, and after many thrilling experiences became
full-fledged circus performers.
Again in "THE CIRCUS BOYS ACROSS THE CONTINENT," the lads won new
laurels on the tanbark. It will be recalled, too, how Phil
Forrest at the imminent risk of his own life trailed down and
captured a desperate man, one of the circus employees who, having
been discharged, had followed the Sparling Show, seeking to
revenge himself upon it. It will be remembered that in order to
capture the fellow, the Circus Boy was obliged to leap from a
rapidly moving train and plunge down a high embankment.
But their exciting experiences were by no means at an end.
The life of the showman is full of excitement and it seemed
as if Teddy and Phil Forrest met with more than their share in
"THE CIRCUS BOYS IN DIXIE LAND." Phil Forrest, while performing
a mission for his employer, was caught by a rival circus owner,
held captive for some days, then forced to perform in the rival's
circus ring, leaping through rings of fire in a bareback
riding act. The details of Phil's exciting escape from his
captors are well remembered, as will be his long, weary journey
over the railroad ties in his ring costume. It was in this
story that the battle of the elephants was described, all due
to the shrewd planning of Phil Forrest.
The following season found the Great Sparling Shows following a
new route. In "THE CIRCUS BOYS ON THE MISSISSIPPI," the lads
embarked with the circus, on boats, which carried them from town
to town along the big river. It was on this trip that Phil
Forrest met with the most thrilling experience of his life, and
it was only his own pluck and endurance that saved him from a
watery grave at the bottom of the Mississippi.
And now, for the fifth season, the Circus Boys are found under
canvas again, headed for the far west.
"How are things going with you?" questioned Mr. Sparling
after the two had seated themselves at the table in the
dining compartment.
"Rather slowly, Mr. Sparling."
"How is that?"
"I haven't enough to do this season. I am afraid I shall get
lazy, unless you give me something else to do."
"Let me see; how many acts have you this season?"
"I am on the flying trapeze, then I do a single bareback
riding act and a double with Little Dimples, the same as I
did last season."
The showman nodded reflectively.
"Besides which, you attend to numerous business details for me,
manage the side shows, keep an eye on the candy butchers, make
yourself responsible for the menagerie tent and other things too
numerous to mention. Yes; you should have a few more things to
do," grinned the showman. "I could run this show with a dozen
men like you, Phil. In all my circus experience I never saw
your equal."
Phil flushed. He did not like to be complimented. He did his
work because he loved it, not wholly for the handsome salary that
he was now drawing from the little red ticket wagon every week.
Phil was ambitious; he hoped, as has been said before, to have a
show of his own someday, and he let no day pass that he did not
add to his store of knowledge regarding the circus business.
In this ambition Mr. Sparling encouraged him, in fact did
everything possible to aid the lad in acquiring a far-reaching
knowledge of the vocation he had chosen for his lifework.
"Thank you, Mr. Sparling. Let's talk about something else."
"We will eat first. You probably will enjoy that more than you
do my compliments."
"I am sure of it," answered the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.
"I have been thinking of giving you some additional work."
Phil glanced up at his employer with quickened interest.
"Yes, I am thinking of closing you."
"You mean you are thinking of dropping me from the show?" asked
the lad, gazing at the showman with steady, inquiring eyes.
"Well, I should hardly say that. I am afraid the Sparling Show
could not get along without you. I am thinking very seriously of
transferring you."
"Transferring me?" wondered Phil.
"Yes. By the way, do you know much about the advance work, the
work ahead of the show?"
"Very little. I might say nothing at all, except what I have
picked up by reading the reports of the car managers, together
with the letters you write to these men."
"That is all right, as far as it goes, but there is a deal more
to the advertising department of a show than you will ever learn
from reports and correspondence."
"So I should imagine."
"Yes; the success, the very existence of a circus is dependent
upon the work of the men ahead of it. Let that work be
neglected and you would see how soon business would drop off
and the gate receipts dwindle, until, one day, the show would
find itself stranded."
"Nothing could strand the Sparling Show," interposed Phil.
"You are mistaken. Bad management would put this show out of
business in two months' time. That is a point that I cannot
impress upon you too strongly. Any business will fail if not
properly attended to, but a circus is the most hazardous of
them all."
"But the risk is worth taking," remarked Phil.
"It is. For instance, when a show has a business of sixteen or
eighteen thousand dollars a day for several weeks, it rather
repays one for all the trouble and worry he has gone through."
"I should say it does," answered Phil, his eyes lighting
up appreciatively.
"And now we come to the point I have been getting at."
"Yes; what is it you have in mind for me?"
"I am going to ask you to join the advance for the rest of the
season, Phil."
"I, join the advance?" questioned the lad in a surprised tone.
"Yes."
"And leave the show?"
"That will be a necessity, much as I regret to have you do so."
Phil's face took on a solemn expression.
"How would you like that?"
"I do not know, Mr. Sparling. I am afraid I should not know
what to do with myself away from the glitter and the excitement
of the big show."
"Excitement? My dear boy, you will find all the excitement
you want ahead of the show. As for work, the work ahead is
never finished. There is always plenty to do after you
have finished your day's work. Besides, this branch of the
business you must familiarize yourself with, if you are to
go later into the executive branch of the circus business."
"I am ready to go wherever you may wish to send me,
Mr. Sparling," said the young man in a quiet tone.
"I knew you would be," smiled the showman.
"Where will you send me, and what am I to do?" asked Phil,
now growing interested in the prospect of the change.
"I have decided to send you out on Advertising Car Number Three.
That is the busiest car of the three in advance of the show.
You ask what you are to do. I will answer--everything!"
"Car Three," mused the Circus Boy.
"Yes; it is in charge of Mr. Snowden," continued the showman with
a twinkle in his eyes, but which Phil in his preoccupation failed
to observe. "I am thinking that Snowden will give you all you
want to do, and perhaps a little more."
"When do you wish me to join?"
"At once."
"Now?"
"You may start as soon as you are ready."
"I am ready, now," replied the lad promptly.
"I did not mean for you to leave in quite such a hurry as that,"
laughed Mr. Sparling. "Besides, this is rather a bad night to
make a change. Take your time, get your things in shape, and
leave when you get ready."
"Does Mr. Snowden know I am to join him?"
"Yes; I have already written him to that effect--that is, I told
him you probably would join at an early day."
"Where is Car Three now?"
Mr. Sparling consulted his route card.
"It is in Madison, Wisconsin, today. This car keeps about
four weeks ahead of the show, you know. We are in Flint,
Michigan, today. Do you think you can get away tomorrow?"
"Certainly. Where do we show tomorrow?"
"Saginaw."
"It will be an easy jump from there to Madison."
"Yes; but you will not catch the car at Madison. I think you had
better plan to join them at St. Paul the day after tomorrow.
Will that suit you?"
"Yes. I suppose my dressing-room trunk will be carried right
along with the show?"
"Of course. You will close your season before the show itself
does; then you can return to us, though I shall not expect you
to perform. You no doubt will be a little rusty by that time."
"I should say I would be. But, Mr. Sparling--" added the boy, a
sudden thought coming to him.
"Yes?"
"What about Teddy? Does he remain with the show?"
"Teddy? I had forgotten all about that little rascal. Yes, he--
but wait a moment. Upon reflection I think perhaps he had better
go along with you. He wants to own a show one of these days,
doesn't he?"
"I believe he does," smiled Phil.
"Then this will be a good experience for him. Besides, I should
be afraid to trust him around this outfit if you were not here to
look after him. He would put the whole show out of business
first thing I knew. Yes, he had better go with you. And another
thing--salaries in the advance are not the same, you know."
"I am aware of the fact, sir."
"You will draw the same salaries that other employees of Number
Three do, and in addition to this I shall send you both my
personal checks, so that you will be drawing the same money you
now are."
"It is not necessary," protested Phil.
Mr. Sparling waved the objection aside.
"It is my plan. Go to your car and tell your friend to get
ready now, and report to me in the morning at Saginaw for
further instructions."
Phil rose. His face was flushed. He was now full of
anticipation for the new life before him. And it was to be
a new life indeed--a life full of astonishing experiences
and adventures.
Phil bade his employer good night, and hurried away to his own
car to tell the news to Teddy.
CHAPTER II
OFF FOR NEW FIELDS
"Teddy, Teddy, wake up!" commanded Phil, hauling his companion
from his berth in the sleeping car.
Teddy scrambled out into the aisle of the car and promptly
showed fight.
"Here, what are you doing, waking me up this time of the night?"
he demanded.
"I have great news."
"News?" questioned the boy, showing some slight signs of interest
in the announcement.
"Yes, news, and good news, too."
"All right, I'm easy. What is it?"
"We are to join the advance."
"Advance of what?"
"The advance of the Sparling Shows, of course," glowed Phil.
Teddy grew thoughtful.
"What, and leave the show?"
"Certainly."
"Not for mine!"
"Oh, yes, you will! You know, we wish to learn all we can, and
neither of us knows anything about that end of the business.
It is a splendid opportunity, and we should be very grateful to
Mr. Sparling for giving us the chance. Besides, it will be a
very pleasant life. We shall be traveling in a private car,
with no responsibilities beyond our work. Will it not be fine?"
"I--I don't know. I shall have to try it first. I decline to
commit myself in advance. When do we go?"
"Tomorrow."
"Pshaw! Boss Sparling seems to be in an awful hurry to get
rid of us. All right, I'll go. I need a rest, anyway--for
my health. I've been working too hard so far this season."
"Too bad about you," scoffed Phil. "We leave from Saginaw as
early tomorrow as we can get away. We shall have to get a few
things from our dressing-tent trunks, then pack up the things
we do not need, sending them on with the show."
"Do I take my donkey?" questioned Teddy, half humorously.
"Your mule? The idea! Now, what would you do with a donkey
on an advance car, I should like to know?"
"He might make things interesting for the rest of the crowd."
"I should say he would! But, from what little I know of the
advance, you will have plenty to interest you without having an
ill-tempered donkey along. Good night, Teddy. This is our last
night with the show for a long time to come."
Phil made his way to his own berth, where he promptly went to
sleep, putting from his mind until the morrow all thought of what
lay before him.
Early the next morning both lads were awake; by the time their
section pulled in at Saginaw they had nearly completed the
packing of their personal baggage.
The rest was quickly accomplished, after they had eaten their
breakfast under the cook tent. All preparations made, a final
interview with Mr. Sparling had, and good-byes said, the Circus
Boys boarded a train just as the strains of the circus band were
borne to their ears.
"The parade is on," said Phil as their train moved out.
"And we are not there to ride in it. We'll have to get up
some sort of a parade for Car Number Three, I'm thinking,"
smiled Teddy.
Late that afternoon the boys reached St. Paul.
After considerable searching about they finally found Car
Number Three. Mr. Snowden was not on board, so, telling the
porter who they were, the lads made themselves comfortable in
the office of the car, a roomy compartment, nicely furnished,
equipped with two folding berths, a desk, easy chairs and
other conveniences.
"This is pretty soft, I'm thinking," decided Teddy.
"It is very nice, if that is what you mean," corrected Phil.
"That's what I mean. Do we live in here?"
"No; I should imagine we are to berth at the other end of
the car."
"Let's go look at it."
The other end of the car comprised one long apartment with
folding berths and benches for laying out the lithographs.
At the far end was a steam boiler, used in making paste with
which to post the bills. That compartment had nothing either
of elegance or comfort.
"Do the men sleep on those shelves up there?" questioned Teddy of
the porter.
"Shelves, sir? Hi calls them berths, sir," answered the porter,
who was an Englishman.
"Humph!"
"What do you think of our new home, Teddy?" smiled Phil.
"I've seen better," grumbled the Circus Boy. "I think I prefer
the stateroom. Where's the boss?"
"He's out just now looking over the work."
Teddy, with a scowl on his face, went outside to take a look
at the car from the outside. The car was a bright red, with
the name of the Sparling Shows spread over its sides in
gilded letters.
"If the inside were half as good-looking as the outside, it would
be some car," was Teddy's conclusion, after walking all around
the car. "I think I'll go back and join the show."
"Oh, be sensible, Teddy," chided Phil. "We shall be very
comfortable after we once get settled. Here comes Mr. Snowden,
I think."
Approaching them, the boys saw a thin, nervous-appearing man of
perhaps forty-five years of age.
"Are you Mr. Snowden?" asked Phil, politely.
"Yes; what do you want?"
"I am Phil Forrest, and this is my friend, Teddy Tucker. We have
come on to join the car."
Mr. Snowden looked the lads over critically.
"Humph!" he said. "Come inside."
Whether or not his survey of them had been satisfactory neither
lad knew.
"Now, what are you going to do on this car?" demanded the car
manager sharply, when they had seated themselves in his office.
"That is for you to say, sir. We are at your disposal,"
replied Phil.
"What can you do?"
"We do not know. This is entirely new work for us. We have been
performers back with the show, you know."
"Humph! Nice bunch to ring in on an advertising car!" grunted
the manager. "Either of you know how to put up paper?"
"I think not."
"What do you mean by paper?" interposed Teddy.
The manager groaned.
"You don't know what paper is?"
"No, sir."
"Paper is advertising matter, any kind of show bills that are
posted on billboards, barns or any other old place where we get
the chance. Everything is paper on an advertising car.
Forrest, I think I'll send you out on a country route tomorrow.
Know what a country route is?"
"I think so."
"Well, in case you do not, I will tell you. Every day we
send out men to post bills through the country. The routes
are laid out by the contracting agent long before we get to
a town. You go out in a livery rig, and you will have to
drive from thirty to forty miles a day. You are an aerial
performer, are you not?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then you will be able to climb barns all right. We will call
you Car Number Three's barn-climber. We'll see how good a
performer you really are. For the first few days I will send you
out with one of the billposters; after that you will have to go
it alone. If you are no good, back you go. Understand?"
"I think so. I shall do the best I can."
"And what do I do?" demanded Teddy.
The car manager eyed him disapprovingly.
"What do you do?"
"Yes."
"I have a nice gentlemanly job laid out for you. You will
operate the steam boiler and make up the paste for the next day.
You'll wish you had stayed back with the show before I get
through with you."
"And I'll go there, too, if you talk like that to me," retorted
Teddy, flushing angrily.
"What's that? What's that?" snapped the manager. "See here,
young man, I am in charge of this car. You will do as I tell
you, and if you get noisy about it I'll show you how we do things
on an advertising car. Get out of here before I throw you out."
"See here, you, I won't be talked to like that. I'll wring your
neck for you, some fine day, first thing you know!" bellowed
Teddy, now thoroughly aroused.
The manager grabbed the lad by the shoulders and shot him through
the screen doors before Teddy had an opportunity to object.
Teddy, red-faced and boiling with rage, was about to project
himself into the stateroom again when Phil motioned him to
go away. Teddy did so reluctantly.
"Where do we sleep, Mr. Snowden?" inquired Phil, hoping to get
the car manager in a more gentle frame of mind by changing
the subject.
"Sleep on the roof, sleep in the cellar! I don't care where
you sleep! You get out of here, too, unless you want me to
throw you out!"
"I think you had better not do that, sir." Phil's voice was cool
and pleasant.
"What's that! What's that! You dare to talk back to me.
I'll--"
"Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each
other at the beginning."
The car manager's words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed
at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden
was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and
for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the
stateroom of Car Number Three.
"Say it!" he exploded.
"I have very little to say, sir. But what I have to say will
be to the point. I am well aware that discipline must be
preserved here as well as back with the show. I shall always
look up to you as my superior, and treat you in a gentlemanly
and respectful manner. I shall hope that you, also, will treat
me in a gentlemanly manner as long as I deserve it, at least."
"You--you threaten me, you young cub--you--"
"No; I do not threaten you. I am simply seeking to come to a
friendly understanding with you."
"And--and if--if I decide to treat you as I do the rest of my
men--what then?" sneered the manager.
"That depends. I can answer that question when I see how you do
treat them. From what I have seen, I should imagine they do not
lead a very happy existence," continued the Circus Boy with a
pleasant smile.
"If I keep you on this car I'll use you as I please, and the
quicker you understand that the better. Now, what do you propose
to do?"
"I propose," said Phil, still preserving an even tone, "to do my
duty and at the same time keep my self-respect. I propose, if
you persist in directing insulting language at me, to give you a
thrashing that will last you all the rest of the season."
Teddy, who had sat down on a pile of railroad ties beside
the tracks, could see and hear all that was going on in
the stateroom.
"Soak him, Phil!" howled the boy on the tie pile.
Snowden's eyes blazed and his fingers opened and
closed convulsively.
With an angry growl he hurled himself straight at Phil Forrest.
CHAPTER III
COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING
"Be careful, Mr. Snowden!" warned the Circus Boy, stepping out
of harm's way. "I am not looking for trouble, but I shall
defend myself."
"I'll teach you to talk back to me. I'll--"
Just then the car manager stumbled over a chair and went down
with a crash, smashing the chair to splinters.
"Mr. Sparling will not tolerate anything of this sort, I am
sure," added Phil.
By this time, the manager was once more on his feet. His rage
was past all control. With a roar of rage Snowden grabbed up a
rung of the broken chair and charged his slender
young antagonist.
A faint flush leaped into the face of Phil Forrest. His eyes
narrowed a little, but in no other way did he show that his
temper was in the least ruffled.
The chair rung was brought down with a vicious sweep, but to
Snowden's surprise the weapon failed to reach the head of the
smiling Circus Boy.
Then Phil got into action.
Like a flash he leaped forward, and the car manager found his
wrists clasped in a vise-like grip.
"Let go of me!" he roared, struggling with all his might to free
himself, failing in which he began to kick.
Phil gave the wrists a skillful twist, which brought another howl
from Snowden, this time a howl of pain.
"I am not looking for trouble, sir. Will you listen to reason?"
urged the lad.
"I'll--I'll--"
Snowden did not finish what he had started to say. Instead he
moaned with pain, writhing helplessly in the iron grip of
Phil Forrest.
"Do you give up? Have you had enough?"
"No!" gritted the car manager.
The Circus Boy tightened his grip ever so little.
"How about it?"
"Give him an extra twist for me," shouted Teddy.
"I give in! Let go quick! You'll break my wrists!"
"You promise to carry this thing no further if I release you?"
"I said I have had enough," cried Snowden angrily.
"That won't do. Will you agree to let me alone, if I release
you now?" persisted Phil.
"Yes, yes! I've had all I want. This joke has gone far enough."
"Joke?"
"Yes."
"You have a queer idea of jokes," smiled Phil, releasing his man
and stepping back, but keeping a wary eye on the car manager,
as the latter settled back into a chair, rubbing his wrists.
They still pained him severely.
"I am sorry if I hurt you, Mr. Snowden. But I had to defend
myself in some way. I could have been much more violent, but I
did not wish to be unnecessarily so."
"You were rough enough. I've got no use for a fellow who can't
take a joke without getting all riled up over it. Get out
of here!"
"What are you doing at this end of the car?" snarled the manager
to Henry, the English porter, who had been peering into the
office, wide-eyed. He had been a witness to the disturbance,
but at the manager's command he hastily withdrew to his own end
of the car.
"Shall we shake hands and be friends now, Mr. Snowden?"
asked Phil.
"Shake hands?"
"Yes, of course."
"No. I'll not shake hands with you. I want nothing further to
do with you. Either you get off this car, or I do. We can't
both live on it at the same time."
"So far as I am concerned, we can do so easily," answered the
Circus Boy.
"I said either you or I would have to get off, and I mean exactly
what I said."
The manager wheeled his chair about, facing his desk, and wrote
the following telegram:
Mr. James Sparling,
Saginaw, Michigan.
I demand that you call back the two boys who joined my car today.
Either they close or I do. They're a couple of young ruffians.
If they remain another day I'll not be responsible for what I do
to them.
Snowden.
The car manager handed the message to Phil. "Read it,"
he snapped.
Phil glanced through the message, smiling broadly as he returned
it to the manager.
"That certainly is plain and to the point."
"I'm glad you think so. Take that message to the telegraph
office, and send it at once."
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Snowden had expected a refusal, but Phil rose obediently and
left the car. He took the message to a telegraph office, Teddy
accompanying him.
"Why didn't you finish him while you were about it, Phil?"
demanded Teddy. "You had him just to rights."
"I did quite enough as it was, Teddy. I am very sorry for what
I did, but it had to come."
"It did. If you hadn't done it I should have had to," nodded
Teddy rather pompously. "But I shouldn't have let him off as
easily as you did. I certainly would have given him
a rough-and-tumble."
"It is a bad enough beginning as it is. Now, Teddy, I want you
to behave yourself and not stir up any trouble--"
"Stir up trouble? Well, I like that. Who's been stirring up
trouble around here, I'd like to know. Answer me that!"
"I accept the rebuke," laughed Phil. "I am the guilty one this
time, and I'm heartily ashamed to admit it at that."
"What do you think Mr. Sparling will do?"
"I don't know. I can't help but think he had some purpose in
sending us on to join this car, other than that which he told us.
However, time will tell. We are in for an unpleasant season, but
we must make the best of our opportunity and learn all we can
about this end of the business."
"I've learned enough this afternoon to last me for a whole
season," answered Teddy grimly.
By the time they returned to the car the men had come in from the
country routes, as had the lithographers who had been placing
bills in store windows about the town.
"He's at it again," grinned Teddy, as the voice of the manager
was heard roaring at the men. Snowden was charging up and down
the car venting his wrath on the men, threatening, browbeating,
expressing his opinion of all billposters in language more
picturesque than elegant. Not a man replied to his tirade.
"Evidently they are used to that sort of treatment," nodded Phil.
"Well it doesn't go with me at all. Come on; let's go in and see
what it's all about."
CHAPTER IV
INTRODUCED TO THE CREW
"And the next man who puts up only two hundred sheets in a day
gets off this car!" concluded Snowden with a wave of the hand
that took in every man in the car. "Get in your reports, and get
them in quick, or I'll fire the whole bunch of you now!" he
roared, turning and striding to his office, where he jerked the
sliding door shut with a bang that shook the car.
"Well, the boss has 'em bad tonight, for sure," exclaimed Billy
Conley who bore the title of assistant car manager, but who was
no more manager than was Henry, the English porter.
"Hello, who are you?" demanded one of the men, as Phil and Teddy
stepped in through the rear door of the coach.
"Good evening, boys," greeted Phil easily.
All eyes were turned on the newcomers.
"Howdy, fellows," said Teddy good-naturedly.
"Fine, large evening."
Everybody laughed.
"Are you the boys who joined out today, from back with the show?"
asked Conley.
"Yes. Let me introduce myself. I am Phil Forrest and this, my
companion, is Teddy Tucker. We're green as grass, and we shall
have to impose upon your good nature to set us straight."
The Circus Boys had won the good opinion of the men of Car Three
at the outset.
"That's the talk," agreed Billy. "Line up here and I'll
introduce you to the bunch. The skinny fellow over there by
the boiler is Chief Rain-in-the-Face. The one next to him
is Slivers. The freakish looking gentleman standing at my
right is Krao, the Missing Link. On my left is Baby Egawa--"
"Otherwise known as Rosie the Pig," added a voice.
"Everybody on an advance car has a nickname, you know.
You'll forget your real names, if you stay on an advance
car long enough. I couldn't remember mine if I didn't get
a letter occasionally to remind me of it, and sometimes I
almost feel as if I was opening another fellow's letters
when I open my own."
"Glad to know you, boys," smiled Phil. "Do you know where we are
to sleep?"
"See that pile of paper up there?"
"Yes."
"Well, it's that or the floor for yours. All the rest of the
berths are occupied, unless the Boss is going to let you sleep
in the office with him."
"I rather think he will not invite us. He seems to be in a huff
about something tonight," answered Phil dryly, at which there was
a loud laugh.
"What's this Johnnie Bull tells me about a roughhouse in the
office this afternoon?" demanded Conley suddenly.
"I would rather not talk about that," replied Phil, coloring.
"Come here, you Englishman, and tell us all about it. Our friend
is too modest."
The porter did not respond quickly enough to suit the men so they
pounced upon him and tossed him to the top of a pile of paper.
"Now, talk up, or its the paste can for yours," they demanded.
Henry rather haltingly described what he had seen in the
stateroom that afternoon, describing in detail how Phil had
worsted the manager of the car.
When the recital had been concluded, all hands turned and
surveyed Phil curiously.
"Well, who would have thought it?" wondered Rosie, in an
awed voice.
Krao, the Missing Link, and Baby Egawa sidled up to Phil and
gingerly felt his arm muscles.
"Woof!" exclaimed the Baby. "Bad medicine! Heap big muscle!"
"That's so. I had forgotten you boys were performers back with
the show," nodded Billy. "What are you up here for--learning
this end of the business?"
"Yes; that is what we are here for," answered Phil.
"Mr. Sparling wished us to do so."
"You have come to a good place to learn it," emphasized Conley.
"But you'll have to fight your way through. You have done a
mighty good job in downing the Boss, but look out for him.
He'll never forget it. If he doesn't get you fired, he will get
even with you in some other way."
Phil laughed.
"I'll do my duty. But I am not afraid of him. Are all car
managers like Mr. Snowden?"
"Most of them. Some better, some worse. They think they are not
doing their duty, earning their meal-tickets, unless they are
Roaring Jakes. But Snowden is the worst ever. He has the
meanest disposition of any man I ever knew. This is his first
season on Number Three, and I shouldn't be surprised if it were
his last. I hear Boss Sparling doesn't take to him.
Know anything about that?"
Phil shook his head.
"Why do you let him treat you as he does?"
"Let him? Well, I'll tell you confidentially. Most of us have
families to support. Some of us have wives; others mothers and
sisters to look after. It's put up with the roast or get out.
And let me tell you, the Boss isn't slow about closing out a
fellow he doesn't like. He'll fire you at the drop of the hat."
"I'm hungry; where do we eat?" interrupted Teddy.
"Eat?"
"Sure! Don't you fellows in advance eat?"
"Well, we go through the motions. That's about all I can say
for it. This living at contract hotels isn't eating; it isn't
even feeding. You folks back with the show don't have to put
up with contract hotels; you eat under the cook tent and you
get real food."
"What's a contract hotel?" asked Teddy.
Phil looked at his companion in disgust.
"Teddy Tucker, haven't you been in the show business long enough
to know what a contract hotel is?"
Teddy shook his head.
"I'll tell you, I'll explain what a contract hotel is,"
said Billy. "The contracting agent goes over the route in
the spring and makes the arrangements for the show. He engages
the livery rigs to take the men out on the country routes, and
when he gets through with the livery stable business he hunts up
all the almost food places in town until he finds one that will
feed the advance car men for five or ten cents a meal. Then he
signs a contract and goes off to a real hotel for his own meal.
Oh, no, Mr. Contracting Agent doesn't get his meals there.
Well, we're booked to eat at one of those almost food places
in every town we make. And some of them are not even 'almost.'
We are going to one of the kind now. Want to come along?"
"Sure," replied Teddy.
"You won't be so anxious after you have had a week or so
of them."
All hands started for the hotel.
"What about your reports? I thought Mr. Snowden told you to get
them in at once," asked Phil after they had left the car.
"Let him wait," growled Billy.
"But he will raise a row when you get back, will he not?"
"He'll roar anyway, so what's the odds? We're used to that."
"A queer business, this advance car work," said
Phil thoughtfully. "I never had any idea that it
was like this. If ever I own or run a show it will
be different--I mean the advance cars will be run
on a different principle from this one."
"I hope you do, and that I am working for you," grinned Conley.
"Here we are."
Billy's description of a contract hotel Phil decided had not
been overdrawn. All hands filed into the dining room, and Phil
had lost most of his appetite before reaching his chair.
A waiter who looked as if he might have been a prizefighter at
one time shambled up to them with a soiled napkin thrown over
one arm. As it chanced, he approached Teddy first.
"Bean soup! What'll you have," he demanded with a suddenness
that startled the Circus Boy.
Teddy surveyed the waiter with large eyes, then permitted
his gaze to wander about the table to the faces of the
grinning billposters.
"Bean soup. What'll I have?" reflected the lad soberly.
"Now isn't it funny that I can't think what kind of soup
I want. Bean soup; what'll I have?"
The waiter shifted his weight to the other foot, flopped the
napkin to the other arm and stuck out his chin belligerently.
"Bean soup! What'll you have?" he demanded, with a rising
inflection in his voice.
"Let me think. Why, I guess I'll take bean soup if it's all the
same to you," decided Tucker, solemn as an owl.
The billposters broke out into a roar of laughter. They fairly
howled with delight at Teddy's droll manner, but the Circus Boy
did not even smile. He looked at them with a hurt expression in
his eyes until the men were on the point of apologizing to him.
They did not know young Tucker.
The rest of the meal passed off without incident.
"Well, what did you think of the contract hotel?" questioned
Conley, as they were strolling back to the car.
"I think I shall starve to death in a week, if I have to eat
in that sort of a place," answered Teddy. "Why didn't the
contracting agent sign us up with a livery stable? I'd a
sight rather feed there than at a contract hotel if they are
all like this."
"Yes, the food is at least clean in a livery stable,"
laughed Phil. "But we shall get along all right. If we get
too hungry we can go out and buy our own meals now and then.
Do you ever do that, Mr. Conley?"
"I should say we do. We have to, or we shouldn't have any
stomachs left. Now, you want to know something about this car
work, don't you?"
"I should like to very much, if you can spare the time to tell me
about it."
"Wait till I get my report made out, then we'll have a nice long
talk, and I will tell you all about it."
"There is Mr. Snowden waiting for you."
"Never mind him. His bite isn't half so bad as his bark."
The men piled into the car, whereupon Manager Snowden unloosed
the vials of his wrath because their reports were not in. To his
tirade no one gave the slightest heed. The men went methodically
to work, writing out their reports to which they signed their
names, folded the papers, and tossed them on the manager's desk
without a word of explanation.
For a few moments there was silence in the office while the
manager was going over the reports. All at once there was
a roar.
"Pig! Come here!"
Rosie got down from the pile of paper on which he had been
sitting, taking his time about doing so, and, wearing a broad
grin, strolled to the office at the other end of the car.
"What's the trouble now?" demanded Rosie.
"Trouble? Trouble? That's the word. It's trouble all the time.
Where are your brains?"
"In my head, I suppose," grinned Rosie.
"No!" thundered the manager. "They're in your feet. All you
know how to do is to kick. You're a woodenhead; you're
no good."
Rosie accepted the tirade with a quiet smile.
"If you will tell me what it is all about I may be able
to explain."
"Look at those billboard tickets!"
"What's the matter with them?"
"Matter? Matter?"
"Yes, that's what I asked."
"They're torn off crooked."
"Well, what of that?"
"What of that? Why, you woodenhead, when those tickets are
presented at the door when the show comes around, the ticket
takers won't accept them. Then there will be a howl that you can
hear all across the state of Minnesota. How many times have I
told you to be careful?"
"The tickets are all right," growled Rosie, now a little nettled.
"What! What! You dare contradict me? I'll fire you
Saturday night! I'd fire you now only I am short of money.
Get out of here! Come back!"
Rosie turned dutifully, but with a weary expression on his face.
"I fine you eleven dollars and fifty cents. That's about what
the tickets will come to. Now go. Send Rain-in-the-Face here!"
The interview with Rain-in-the-Face sounded not unlike a series
of explosions to those out in the main compartment of the car.
Every face wore a grin, and each man expected it would be his
turn next.
"Come on, let's go outside and talk," said Conley.
"I should think you would want to get away from it all,"
answered Phil. "I don't know; whether I can stand this
sort of thing or not."
"You'll get used to it after awhile."
"Something's going to happen," croaked the Missing Link,
dismally, as the two left the car by the rear door.
"I guess the freak is right," nodded Billy Conley. "There is
going to be an explosion here that will shake the state."
There was, but not exactly in the way he imagined.
CHAPTER V
THE MIDNIGHT ALARM
"Now tell me, if you will, what the routine of the work on an
advance car is," said Phil after he and Billy had sat down beside
the tracks.
"It would take all night to do that, but I'll give you a few
pointers and the rest you will have to pick up for yourself.
In the first place an advertising car includes billposters,
lithographers, banner men and at least one programmer."
"Sounds all right, but it doesn't mean much of anything to me,"
laughed Phil.
"The billposters post the large bills on the billboards, and
anywhere else that they can get a chance, mostly out in the
country and in the country towns. In places where there is a
regular billposter, he does that work for us. Any boards not
owned by a billposter, or a barn or a pigpen or a henhouse on the
road is called a 'daub.' At least two tickets are given for every
place we put a piece of paper on. These tickets are numbered
and signed. Now, if a fellow out in Kankakee, we will say,
should chance to tear down the bill, when he presented his ticket
at the gate on the day of the show, it would be refused.
He'd pay or stay out."
"But how would they know he had taken down the poster,"
questioned Phil.
"Checkers follow along at intervals and check up every piece of
paper we put up. We send the record of our work to the car back
of us and they in turn send our and their reports to the car
behind them."
"It is a wonderful system, indeed," marveled Phil.
"Yes. To go back a little I will say that this is a 'scout car'
or what is known among showmen as 'the opposition car.' It goes
only where there is trouble, where there is opposition.
For instance, more than half a dozen shows are coming into
this territory, this season, and it is up to us to cover
every available space with our paper before their cars get
on the ground."
"But will they not paste their bills over yours, over those you
have already put up?"
"They seldom do. It is an unwritten law in the show business
that this is not to be done."
Teddy had come up to them in time to hear the last remark.
"I thought there wasn't any law, written or unwritten, in this
business," he said.
"You will find there is, young man. Then, to come to the
lithographers, as I think I already have told you, these men
place small bills in store and shop windows, giving tickets
for the privilege the same as do the billposters. One man
goes ahead of them and does what we call 'the squaring,'
meaning that he enters the stores and asks the privilege of
putting up the lithographs. In most cases the owners of the
places object, and he has to convince them that it is to
their advantage to have the paper in their windows."
"I didn't think there was so much to it, but I think I should
like that work. I'll be a squarer," decided Teddy.
"The banner men put up what are called 'banners,' cloth signs.
These are tacked up in high places and the banner men have to be
good climbers. They fill their mouths with tacks, points in,
heads out. They use magnetic hammers."
"What's this, a joke?" interrupted Teddy.
"It is not a joke. The head of each hammer so used is a magnet,
and is used to pick the tacks from the mouth of the banner man.
The tack sticks to the head of the hammer and is thus ready to
be driven. An expert banner man will drive tacks almost as
rapidly as you could fire a self-acting revolver."
"That is odd. What does the fellow called the programmer do?"
"He takes the small printed matter around, and drops it on
doorsteps and in stores. When we are making a day run with the
car he drops the printed matter off at stations and crossroads,
or wherever he sees a man. Following us come route-riders."
"What are they?"
"Men who ride over the country routes to see whether the
billposters have put up the paper indicated on their reports, or
thrown the stuff in a ditch somewhere. After them come checkers,
one after the other. This is Car Three, as you know. Car Two
follows about two weeks behind us, and Car One comes along a week
ahead of the show. What are you going to do?"
"Mr. Snowden said I was to go out with one of the men on a
country route."
"Then you come along with me, unless he directs you differently.
I can give you pointers that would take you a long time to learn
were you left to pick them up yourself. Don't say anything to
him about it unless he speaks to you, but prepare to go out with
me early in the morning. I have a big drive tomorrow, some fifty
miles, and you will get all you want for one day's work."
"Yes; that will be fine."
"What is your friend here to do?"
"I am the paste-maker," answered Teddy with a sheepish grin.
"I make the stickum stuff for this outfit."
"A nice job," jeered the assistant manager. "You will get all
you want of that work in about thirty minutes. The Boss must
certainly have a grudge against you. You will be hanging around
the car all day, however, and if the Boss is away any you will
have a chance to get forty winks of sleep in the stateroom now
and then."
"No; Teddy is not here to sleep. He is here to work."
"Yes; everybody works around here but Father."
"Is the work the same on the advance cars of all shows?"
"All circuses, yes. We do things just the same as the fellows
did them forty years ago. Nobody seems to have head enough to
do things differently, and goodness knows some modern methods
are necessary."
"How long have you been on this car?"
"Four years; this is my fifth season here."
"Why, that is exactly the time we have been with the
Sparling Shows."
Billy nodded.
"I saw you work last season. You are a bird on the trapeze,
and ride--whew, but you can beat anything I ever saw on bareback!
I knew I had seen you before when you came in this evening, but I
couldn't place you. I remembered after a little. Say, Phil, I'm
glad you handed it out to the Boss this afternoon."
"And I am very sorry. I don't know what Mr. Sparling will think
of it. Still, I had to do something. I saw right away that he
had made up his mind to treat us badly. What time do we pull
out tonight?"
"Twelve o'clock, I think. And speaking of that, it is time
to turn in."
The three entered the car. Mr. Snowden already had turned
in, his end of the car being dark and silent. Most of the
billposters also had climbed to their berths near the roof
of the car, and some of them were snoring heavily.
"Do they do this all night long?" questioned Teddy.
"Do what?"
"Roll logs!"
"Well, yes," laughed Billy; "they are pretty good snorers,
all of them. Do you snore?"
"I might, on a pinch. I don't know whether I do or not. I am
usually asleep when I snore. How about it, Phil, do I snore?"
"Not when I am within punching distance of you."
The boys undressed, got into their pajamas, and after
considerable effort managed to climb to the top of the pile
of paper, where their blankets had been spread for them by
the porter.
"Not much of a bed, is it Teddy?" laughed Phil.
"The worst ever!" agreed Teddy. "How I'm going to stick in that
bed when the car gets under motion I don't know. I wish I was
back with the show."
"Never mind, old chap. We have had things pretty easy for the
last four years. A little hardship will not hurt either of us.
And I know we are going to like this life, after we get more used
to it. What time do we get up; do you know?"
"No, I don't know anything about it. I guess in time for late
breakfast," answered Teddy grimly. "Good night."
In a few minutes the Circus Boys were sound asleep. They did not
even awaken when, about midnight, a switch engine hooked to their
car, and after racing them up and down the railroad yards a few
times, coupled them to the rear of the passenger train that was
to pull them to their next stand, some seventy-five miles away.
A few minutes later and they were rolling away. The road was a
crooked one and the car swayed dizzily, but they were too used to
the sensation to be in the least disturbed by it.
An hour or two had passed when, all at once, every man in the car
was suddenly startled by a blood-curdling yell and a wild
commotion somewhere in the darkness of the car.
"What is it?"
"Are we wrecked?"
"What did we hit?"
This and other exclamations were shouted in loud tones, as the
men came tumbling from their berths, some sprawling over the
floor, where a lurch of the car had hurled them.
CHAPTER VI
ALMOST A TRAGEDY
"Strike a light!"
"Are we off the rails?"
"No, you idiot. Don't you feel the car going just the same
as before? And he's wheeling her a mile a minute at that.
Hurry with that light, somebody!" commanded Billy.
At this moment they heard the sliding door of the manager's
stateroom come open with a crash.
"Now, here's trouble for certain!" muttered the Missing Link.
"The Boss is on deck."
"I guess my friend Teddy has got into trouble," said Phil
Forrest, slipping quickly from his bed on top of a pile of gaudy
circus posters. "Ted! Ted, where are you?"
There was no answer.
"What is all this row about?" thundered the manager, stalking
down the car, clad only in his pajamas.
"We do not know, sir. We are trying to find out. I am afraid my
friend has fallen out of bed and hurt himself," answered Phil.
"I hope it killed him!" bellowed Mr. Snowden. "The idea of
waking up the whole car at this time of the night! This nonsense
has got to stop, and right quick at that. Where's that light?"
Phil was groping about the floor, trying hurriedly to
locate Teddy. But no Teddy was to be found.
Finally a match flickered; after lurching about the car the man
with the match finally succeeded in locating the bracket lamp
near the end of the car.
Anxious eyes peered about them in the dim light.
"Look!" howled Rosie the Pig.
A pair of wildly kicking legs were seen protruding from one of
the big paste cans, these cans being made like the big garbage
cans that one sees in backyards in the city.
"It's Teddy! There he is!" cried Phil, springing forward.
"He's gone in the paste can head first!" yelled another of
the crew.
"Help me get him out; he has stuck fast!" shouted Phil, tugging
desperately at his companion's heels.
The car set up a roar of laughter at the ludicrous sight.
To Phil, however, it was no laughing matter. The paste can
was nearly full of paste and of about the same consistency
as dough in a bread pan. It was thick and wickedly blue,
for it had been mixed with bluestone to preserve it until
required by the billposters.
"Pull him out, you idiots!" bellowed the car manager. "If he
isn't dead now, he can't be killed. Pull him out and throw
him overboard!"
Phil flashed an indignant look at Mr. Snowden.
By this time others had come to his assistance. It required
their united efforts to rescue Teddy from his
perilous predicament.
They hauled him out and laid him on the door.
"Teddy, Teddy!" cried Phil, but Tucker made no reply. In the
first place his mouth was so full of paste that he could not
utter a sound. Again, he was half unconscious, nearly smothered
and still unable to breathe freely.
Phil grabbed off the jacket of his own pajamas and began wiping
the blue paste from the unfortunate lad's mouth, eyes and nose.
A happy thought appeared to strike the car manager. He dashed to
the sink, and, quickly filling a pail of water, ran back to the
spot where Teddy was lying.
Snowden turned the pail bottom side up, apparently intending to
douse the water into Tucker's face.
Instead, the contents of the pail landed on Phil Forrest's head,
spreading itself over his bare back, and trickled down in
rivulets over Teddy's face.
The water was almost ice cold.
"Wow!" howled Phil, springing to his feet. "Who did that?"
"I did, and I'll do it again," jeered the car manager.
"Get me another pail, but I'll do the spilling this time.
Don't you dare duck me again, or I'll settle with you after
I get through with my friend."
One of the crew grabbed up the pail to run for water. This time
the pail was handed to Phil who instantly began mopping the face
of young Tucker.
In a moment or so Teddy began to gasp. His dive had nearly been
the end of him.
"Get a net," he murmured as he slowly came to, whereat everyone
save the car manager laughed loudly. "Wha--what happened?
Did we run off the track?"
"No, you took a high dive into a can of paste," jeered Billy.
"You're the champion high diver of Car Three."
Mr. Snowden, stooping over, grabbed the luckless Teddy by the
collar and jerked him to his feet.
"Get up, you lummox!" he commanded.
Teddy blinked very fast. Mr. Snowden began to shake him.
Phil stepped forward quickly and pushed the car manager away.
"Wha--what!" growled Snowden, an angry light leaping into
his eyes.
"You let the boy alone," commanded Phil. "Because he has had an
accident is no reason why you should punish him!"
"You--you--you--"
Phil paid no heed to him, but led the unsteady Teddy to the far
end of the compartment.
"You get off this car, both of you!" yelled the manager.
"What, with the train running sixty miles an hour?" questioned
Phil, turning slowly.
"Yes; I don't care if it kills you both. Good riddance--good job
if it did."
"I think you have another guess coming, Mr. Car Manager," replied
Phil calmly.
Snowden glared at the Circus Boy who had thus defied him; then
turning sharply on his bare heel he strode back to his stateroom.
A broad grin appeared on the faces of the car crew.
"I guess that will be about all for this evening,"
announced Rain-in-the-Face.
"Is there a rope on this car?" asked Phil.
"Yes; what do you want a rope for?" replied Billy.
"He's going to complete the job by hanging the Boss from a brake
beam," spoke up Rosie.
"Not quite as bad as that, I guess," laughed Phil. "I am going
to tie my friend Teddy in his bed. There is no telling what may
happen to him, if I do not. Teddy, had we happened to be sound
sleepers you would in all probability be dead by this time."
Tucker shivered.
"That would please Mr. Snowden too much, you know."
"Then tie me in. I don't want to please him. Did he duck me
while I was asleep?"
"He tried to. As it chanced my bare back got most of the
ducking," answered Phil with a short laugh, for he believed the
car manager had purposely poured the water on him.
"But he shook me," protested Teddy.
"He did that," chorused the crew. "What are you going to do
about it?"
"Well," reflected Tucker; "I think he and I will fight a duel
tomorrow at sunrise."
Once more all hands turned in, Phil humorously making a pretense
of tying his companion to his "berth." As a matter of fact, Phil
did tie the rope about Teddy's wrist, wrapping the free end about
his own arm, and thus the boys went to sleep once more.
It seemed as if they had been asleep only a few minutes when they
were suddenly startled into wakefulness by a loud noise.
This time, however, it was not a yell, but a roar.
Phil sat up suddenly, rubbing his eyes sleepily.
"Get up, you lazy good-for-nothings!" bellowed the car manager,
dancing up and down the aisle, still in his pajamas, his hair
standing up, his eyes wild and menacing.
"Is that all?" muttered Teddy, sinking back into a sound
sleep again.
Phil sprang from the pile of papers on which he had been
sleeping, landing lightly on the floor in his bare feet.
"Good morning, Mr. Snowden. I hope you had a good night's
sleep," greeted the Circus Boy.
Snowden glared at the lad, as if trying to make up his mind
whether or not Phil was making sport of him. But there was
only pleasantness in the face of Phil Forrest.
"Huh!" grunted the manager. Then he once more began racing up
and down the car, roaring at his men, threatening and expressing
his opinion of them in the way with which Phil already had
become familiar.
Teddy lay curled up, with one foot protruding from beneath
the covers. Whether or not he had done this purposely, it
was difficult to decide. Be that as it may, Mr. Snowden
caught sight of the pink foot. He rose to the bait like a
bass to a fly.
In another second he had pounced upon the foot. Grabbing it
with both hands he gave it a violent tug. Tucker responded.
He came slipping from the "berth," throwing the quilts before
him as he did so. The quilts landed over the car manager's head.
Then came Teddy Tucker.
Ted landed, full on Mr. Snowden's head, with a wild yell.
Down went the manager and the Circus Boy, with the latter on top,
in a writhing, howling, confused heap.
CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST DAY'S EXPERIENCE
"Give it to him, Teddy!" howled the crew.
Tucker, as soon as he could right himself, sat down on the
manager's head, at the same time holding Mr. Snowden's hands
pinioned to the floor.
The muffled voice under the quilts waxed louder and more angry as
the seconds passed. Phil, who had gone to the wash room to make
his toilet, hurried back at sound of the row.
"Teddy Tucker, what are you doing?" demanded Phil, for the moment
puzzled at the scene before him.
"I'm sitting on the Boss," answered Teddy triumphantly. "Shall I
give him one for you?"
"Yes--give him two for each of us," shouted the billposters.
Phil strode to his companion, grabbed the lad by the collar
of his pajamas and jerked him from the helpless man under
the quilts.
"Now, you behave yourself, young man, or you will have to reckon
with me," he commanded, pushing Teddy aside.
"You let me alone. This is my inning. I guess I can sit on the
Boss, if I want to, without your interfering with the fun."
Giving no heed to the words, Phil quickly hauled the quilts off
and assisted Mr. Snowden to rise.
"I guess Teddy must have fallen on you, sir," suggested
Phil solemnly.
"He did it on purpose! He did it on purpose!"
"You pulled him out of bed, did you not, sir?"
"Yes; and next time I'll pull him so he'll know it. Get out of
here, every man of you, and get your breakfasts; then get off on
your routes. Things are coming to a fine pass on this car.
Young man, I will talk to you later."
The manager, with red face and angry eye, strode to his
stateroom, while the grinning billposters made haste to get into
their clothes. A few minutes later, and all hands were on their
way to breakfast.
This meal at the new hotel was a slight improvement over the
dinner they had eaten the night before. Besides, all hands were
in good humor, for they had had more real excitement on Car
Three, since the advent of the Circus Boys, than at any time
during the season.
By the time they reached the car again six livery teams were in
waiting for the men who were to go out on the country routes.
All was instantly bustle and excitement. Paste cans were loaded
into the wagons, brushes and pails, together with the paper that
had been carefully laid out and counted, the night before, for
each billposter. A record of this was kept on the car.
Phil lent a hand at loading the stuff, and they found that
the slim lad was stronger than any of them. It was an easy
matter for him to lift one of the big cans of paste to a
wagon without assistance. Teddy, however, stood by with
hands thrust in pockets, an amused grin on his face.
The baleful eye of the car manager was upon him.
"Have you heard from Mr. Sparling this morning?" asked Phil.
"Yes," answered Mr. Snowden shortly.
"What did he say?"
"That is none of your business, young man."
"You are right. I accept the rebuke. While I am interested, it
really is none of my business," answered the lad with a smile.
"Where are you going?"
"You told me to go out on one of the country routes."
"Oh! What route are you going on, if I may ask?"
"I had thought of going with Mr. Conley."
"You will do nothing of the sort. You will go where I tell
you to. I--"
"I suggested that he go with me, Mr. Snowden," interposed Billy.
"I have a hard route to work today and I shall need some help if
I get over it before dark."
"Very well; go on. I hope he falls off a barn or something.
If he does, leave him."
"For your sake, I shall try to take care of myself," answered
Phil with an encouraging smile.
"Tucker!"
"Yes, sir."
"Start a fire under that boiler. Henry, you show him how to
manage the boiler and mix the paste. I don't imagine he even
knows dough when he sees it."
"I know a dough-head when I see one," spoke up Teddy promptly,
after delivering himself of which sentiment he strolled away with
hands in his pockets, whistling merrily.
The drive to the country in the fresh morning air was a most
delightful one to Phil.
After leaving the town they soon came in sight of a
deserted house. It evidently had been abandoned, for
it was in a bad state of dilapidation.
"There's a dandy daub!" exclaimed Billy. "We'll plaster it with
paper until the neighbors won't know it. When we get there, hop
off and bring some pails of water, will you?"
"Sure," answered Phil. While he was doing this, the billposter
was spreading his paper out on the ground, deciding on the layout
that he would post.
A few minutes later and the gaudy bills were going up like magic
on the road side of the house and the two ends, so that the
pictures might be seen from every point of view from the highway.
The house had been transformed into a blaze of color.
"All right," sang out Billy. "Good job, too."
Phil had learned something. He had noted every movement of
the billposter.
"How long does it take to learn to post, Billy?" he asked.
"Some fellows never learn. Others get fairly expert after a few
weeks puttering around."
"May I try one today?"
"Sure thing. If the next one is easy I will give you a chance
at it."
The next daub proved to be a small hay barn a little way back in
a field.
"There's your chance, my boy," he said.
Phil jumped out before the wagon had come to a stop and, with
paper and brush under his arms, ran across the field. With more
skill than might have been expected with his limited experience
he smeared the paper with paste, then sought to raise it up to
the side of the building as he had seen Billy Conley do.
This was where Phil came to grief. A gust of wind doubled the
paper up, the pasted side smearing the bright colors of the face
of the picture, until the colors were one hopeless daub. To cap
the climax the whole thing came down over Phil's head, wrapping
him in its slimy folds.
"Hey, help!" he shouted. "I'm posting myself instead of
the barn."
Billy sat down on the ground, laughing until the tears ran down
his cheeks.
"If it hadn't been for that unexpected gust of wind I should have
made it nicely," explained Phil with a sickly grin. "Oh, pshaw,
I'm not as much of a billposters as I thought I was. I guess
there is more to this game than I had any idea of."
"You will learn. You took a pretty big contract when you tried
to put up that eight-sheet."
"We will let you try a one-sheet on the farther end of the barn.
A one-sheet is a small, twenty-eight inch piece of paper,
you know."
Phil nodded.
"I'll try it," he said. "I guess a one-sheet is about as big a
piece of paper as I am fit to handle just yet."
He managed the one-sheet without the least trouble, and did a
very good job, so much so that Billy complimented him highly.
"You will make a billposter yet. One good thing about you is
that you are willing to learn, and you are quick to admit that
you do not know it all. Most fellows, when they start, have
ideas of their own--at least they think they have."
After that Phil did the small work, thinned the paste and made
himself generally useful.
"Oh, look at that!" he cried, pointing off ahead of them.
"What is it, Phil?"
"See that building standing up on that high piece of ground.
Wouldn't that be a dandy place on which to post some paper?"
The building he had indicated was a tall circular structure,
painted a dark red, with a small cupola effect crowning its top.
"That is a silo. You wouldn't be able to get permission to post
a bill on there, even if you could get up there to do it,"
said Conley.
"Why not?"
"Why not? Why that farmer, I'll wager, sets as much store by
that building as he does his newly-painted house."
"I'll go ask him. You don't mind if I 'square' him, do you?"
questioned the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Ask him, for sure. But we couldn't post up there. We have
no ladders that would reach; in fact we have no ladders
at all. I mean the farmer has no ladders long enough."
"Never mind; I'll figure out a way," replied the Circus Boy,
whose active mind already had decided upon a method by which
he thought he might accomplish the feat, providing the farmer
was willing.
Reaching the farm, Phil jumped out and ran up to the house.
"Do you own this place, sir?" he asked of the farmer who answered
his ring at the bell.
"I do."
"It's a beautiful place. I am representing the Sparling Circus,
and we thought we would like to make a display on your silo."
The farmer gazed at him in amazement.
"Young man, you have a cast-iron nerve even to ask such a thing."
"I know the mere matter of tickets to the show will be no
inducement to a man of your position. But I am going to make you
a present of a box for six people at the circus. You will take
your whole family and be my guest. I will not only give you an
order for it, but will write a personal letter to the owner, who
is my very good friend. He will show you all there is to be
seen, and I will see to it that you take dinner with him in the
circus tent. No; there is no obligation. All the farmers--all
your neighbors will be envious. I want you to come. We won't
speak of the silo. I don't expect you to let me post that; but,
if you will permit me to put a three-sheet on your hog pen back
there, I shall be greatly obliged."
Despite the farmer's protestations, Phil wrote out the order for
the box, then scribbled a few lines to Mr. Sparling, which he
enclosed in an envelope borrowed from the farmer.
"Thank you so much," beamed the Circus Boy, handing over the
letter to the farmer, accompanied by the pass and order for
the arena box at the circus. "It is a pleasure to meet a man
like you. I come from a country town myself, and have worked
some on my uncle's farm."
"You with the circus, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Looks to me like you was a pretty young fellow to be a
circus man."
"Oh no, not very. I belong back with the show. I am a
performer, you know. I am out with the advertising car to learn
the business."
"A performer?" wondered the farmer, looking over the trim figure
and bright boyish face. "What do you perform?"
"I perform on the flying trapeze and do a bareback riding act."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know, young fellow, I never got such a close squint at a
circus fellow before in my life. But, come to size you up, I
reckon you can do all them things you've been telling me about.
Yes, sir, I'll go to the circus. Will you be there to cut up in
the ring?"
"I cannot say. It is doubtful, as I probably shall be ahead of
the show for the rest of the season. Well, thank you very much.
We will decorate the hog pen," added the lad, touching his cap
and turning away.
An arena box, value twelve dollars, was a pretty high price to
pay for a three-sheet on a hog pen, but Phil Forrest knew what he
was doing. At least he thought he did, and he did not walk very
fast on his way to the road.
"Hey, come back here," called the farmer.
"Yes, sir," answered Phil turning inquiringly.
"Come here."
He walked back to where the farmer was standing fingering the
pass and the letter.
"I--I reckon you needn't stick them bills on the hog pen."
The Circus Boy's heart took a sudden drop.
"Very well, sir; just as you say. I do not wish to do anything
to displease you."
"But I reckon you can plaster that silo full of them circus
pictures from top to bottom, if you want to," was the
unexpected announcement.
Phil Forrest's heart bounded back into position again.
CHAPTER VIII
THE CIRCUS BOY WINS
"Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much!" answered the lad, his
eyes glowing.
"You're a square kid and I like you."
"I appreciate your kindness, I assure you, and I will write a
letter to the owner of the show about you this evening when I get
back to the car. Have you any ladders that we can borrow, and a
long rope?"
"I reckon you'll find all them things in the hay barn.
Help yourself. I've got to run up to the back farm, but
maybe I'll be back before you get through your job.
So long."
Phil hurried back to the road, where Billy and the wagon
were waiting. The lad's feet felt lighter than usual.
"Well, what luck?" demanded Billy.
"I may be a poor apology as a billposter, but as a diplomat I'm a
winner, Billy."
"You--you don't mean you got the silo?" gasped Conley.
"I got the silo, and I can have the hog pen too, if I want it,
and perhaps the farmer's house thrown in for good measure,"
answered Phil, his face flushed from his first triumph as a
publicity showman.
"Well, of all the nerve!"
"That's what the farmer said," laughed Phil. "But he changed
his mind."
"What do you think of that?" demanded Billy, turning to
the driver.
"The kid is all right."
"You're right; he is. The next question, now that you have got
the silo, is what are you going to do with it?"
"Post it," answered Phil promptly.
"You can never do it."
"I'll show you what a circus man can do."
"Come along and unload your truck. Help me get some ladders out
of the barn."
Wonderingly, Billy did as he was bid, and the driver, now grown
interested, hitched his horses to the fence and followed them.
The silo was empty. Phil measured the distance to the top with
his eyes.
"About forty feet I should say," he decided. "We shall have to
do some climbing."
The ladders were far too short, but by splicing two of them
together, they reached up to an opening in the silo some ten feet
from the top.
Phil hunted about until he found a long plank; then setting the
spliced ladders up inside the silo he mounted to the opening,
carrying one end of a coil of rope with him. Upon reaching the
opening he directed Billy to tie the other end of the rope to
the plank. This being done, Phil hauled the board up to where
he was sitting perched on the frame of the opening.
"I'd like to know what you're going to do?"
"If you will come up here I will show you."
"Not on your life," replied Billy promptly. "I know when I'm
well off, and if you don't look out, Boss Snowden will get
his wish."
"What wish was that?"
"That you might fall off a barn and break your neck."
The Circus Boy's merry laugh floated down to them as he worked in
an effort to get the plank into position. By tying the rope to
one end of the plank to support it he gradually worked the plank
out through the opening, after a time managing to shove the end
nearest to him under a beam.
"There, I'd like to see you turn a trick like that, Billy
Conley," he shouted.
"I wouldn't," retorted Billy. "What's the next move?"
"In a minute. Watch me!"
The lad made a large loop in the rope in the shape of a
slip knot. All preparations being made he boldly walked out
on the plank which, secured at one end like a springboard,
bent and trembled beneath his weight.
The men down below gasped.
The farmer, having changed his mind, had come out to watch the
operation rather than visit the back farm. Two neighbors had by
this time joined him.
"Who's the fellow up there?" asked one.
"He is a performer in a circus."
"A performer? Shucks! He's no more performer than I am."
"Watch him and perhaps you may change your mind," answered Billy,
who had overheard the remark. "That boy is one of the finest
circus performers in this country. Do you think he could stand
out on that plank, more than thirty feet above the ground, if he
were not a performer? Why, I wouldn't be up there for a million
dollars, and you wouldn't, either."
"That's right," answered the farmer himself. "That beats all the
circus performances I ever saw. What is the kid going to do?"
"I don't know," confessed Billy. "He knows and that's enough."
Phil, having tested the plank to his satisfaction and studied
his balance, now cast his eyes up to the little cupola on top
of the silo. Then he began slowly swinging the loop of the
rope over his head, after the fashion of a cowboy about to make
a cast.
They were at a loss to understand what he was trying to do, but
every man there was sure in his own mind what Phil Forrest would
do--fall off.
Suddenly he let go of the loop. It soared upward. Then they
began to understand. He was trying to rope the cupola.
The rope fell short by about three feet, as nearly as he was able
to judge.
"Oh, pshaw!" muttered Phil. "That was a clumsy throw. I would
make just about as good a cowboy as I am a billposters.
Well, here goes for another try."
He put all his strength into the throw this time.
The rope sped true, dropping as neatly over the peak of the
cupola as if the thrower had been standing directly over
the projection.
A cheer rose from the men below.
It died on their lips.
"He's falling!" they cried with one voice.
The farmers stood gaping. But Billy, with the quick instincts of
a showman, darted beneath the plank hoping to catch and break the
lad's fall.
Phil had leaned too far backward in making his cast. He had lost
his balance and toppled over. Here his training in aerial work
served him in good stead. As he felt himself going he turned
quickly facing toward the outer end of the plank.
Like a flash both hands shot out. They closed about the end of
the plank by a desperately narrow margin.
The plank bent until it seemed as if it must snap under
his weight. Then it shot upward, carrying the boy with
it, he kicking his feet together as he was lifted and
laughing out of pure bravado.
Phil knew he was safe now. The drop had tested the plank, so
that there was now slight danger of its breaking.
On the second rebound he swung himself to the upper side of it
and stood up.
"Hurrah!" he shouted.
Billy was pale and trembling.
"If you do that again I'll have an attack of heart disease,
Phil!" he called. "Now, what are you going to do? The rope is
hanging seven or eight feet away from you."
"Hello, that's so. I hadn't observed that before. I should
not have let go of it. Never mind, I'll get it unless
something breaks. See here, Billy, you get from under there."
"Is the plank likely to fall?" asked Billy innocently.
"The plank? No. I am likely to take a tumble," answered
Phil, with a short laugh. All at once he grew serious
and still. "I think I can make it," he decided.
His resolution formed, the lad crouched low, so as not to throw
so great a leverage on the plank that it would slip from under
him when he leaped. He prepared for the spring.
"Don't do it!" howled Billy, now thoroughly frightened.
"Don't you see what he's up to? He's going to jump off
the plank and try to catch hold of the rope hanging from
the cupola. He'll never make it. He'll miss it sure as
he's a foot high. This is awful!"
"Don't bother me, Billy. Mr. Farmer, is that cupola strong
enough to bear my weight on a sudden jolt?"
"It ought to hold a ton, dead weight."
"Then I guess it will hold me. Don't talk to me down there.
Here goes!"
It seemed a foolhardy thing to do. To the average person it
would have meant almost sure death. It must be remembered,
however, that Phil Forrest was a circus performer, that he felt
as thoroughly at home far above the ground as he did when
standing directly on it.
He leaped out into the air, cleared the intervening space between
the plank and the rope, his fingers closing over the latter with
a sureness born of long experience.
His body swung far over toward the other side of the silo,
settling down with a sickening jolt, as the loop over the cupola
slipped down tight.
"Hooray!" cried Phil, twisting the rope about one leg and waving
a hand to those below him.
They drew a long, relieved sigh. The farmers, one after the
other, took off their hats and mopped their foreheads.
"Warm, isn't it?" grinned the owner of the silo.
"Now, pass up your brush and paste on this rope." Phil had
brought a small rope with him for this very purpose.
Billy got busy at once and in a few minutes Phil had the brush
and paste in his hands, with which he proceeded to smear as much
of the side of the silo as was within reach. It will be
remembered that he was hanging on the rope by one leg, around
which the rope was twisted as only showmen know how to do.
"Now, the paper," called Phil.
This was passed up to him in the same way. In a few moments he
had pasted on a great sheet, having first pulled himself up to
the eaves to secure the top of the sheet just under them.
"Now that you have one sheet on, how are you going to get around
to the other side to put others on?" demanded Conley.
"Oh, I'll show you. Be patient down there. I have got to change
a leg; this one is getting numb."
"I should think it would," muttered Billy.
Phil changed legs, as he termed it; then, grasping the eaves with
both hands, he pulled himself along, the slip-noose over the
cupola turning about on its pivot without a hitch.
This done Phil called for more paper, which was put up in
short order. Thus he continued with his work until he had put
a plaster, as Bill Conley characterized it, all the way around
the farmer's silo. It might have been seen nearly ten miles
away in all directions. No such billing had ever before been
done in that part of the country, nor perhaps anywhere else.
"There! I'd like to see the Ringlings, or Hagenbecks or
Barnum and Bailey or any of the other big ones, beat that.
They're welcome to cover this paper if they can, eh, Billy?"
laughed Phil, pushing himself away from the side of the silo
and leaning far back to get a better view of it. "I call
that pretty fine. How about it?"
"The greatest ever," agreed Billy. His vocabulary was too
limited to express his thoughts fully, but he did fairly well
with what he had.
Having satisfied himself that his work was well done, Phil let
himself down slowly, not using his hands at all, in doing so,
but taking a spiral course downward.
"H-u-m-m, I'm a little stiff," he said when his feet touched
the ground. "Am I a billposter or am I not a billposter, Billy?"
"You are the champeen of 'em all! I take off my hat to you."
Which Conley did, then and there.
"I am afraid I shall not be able to get that rope down, sir,"
said Phil politely to the farmer. "I am sorry. I had not
figured on that before. If you will be good enough to tell me
how much the rope is worth I shall be glad to pay you for it.
I can cut it off up near the little door there, so it will not
look quite so bad. Shall I do it?"
"No. You needn't bother. As for paying for the rope I won't
take a cent. I've had more fun than the price of a dozen
ropes could buy. Why, young man, do you know I never seen
anything in a circus that could touch the outside edge of the
performance you've been giving us this afternoon? You boys
had your dinners?"
"No," confessed the Circus Boy. "I guess we had forgotten
all about eating."
"Then come right in the house. My wife will get you
something, and I want to introduce her to a real live
circus man--that's you."
"Thank you."
Phil's eyes were bright. He was happy in the accomplishment of a
piece of work that was not done every day. In fact, this one was
destined to go down in show history as a remarkable achievement.
They sat down to a fine dinner, and Phil entertained the family
for an hour relating his experiences in the show world.
When the hour came for leaving, the farmer urged them to remain,
but the men had work to do and a long drive ahead of them.
They drove away, Phil waving his hat and the farmer and his wife
waving hat and apron respectively.
As the rig reached a hill, some three miles away, Phil and Billy
turned to survey their work.
"Looks like a fire, doesn't it, Billy?"
"It sure does. It would call out the fire department if there
was one here."
"And the best of it is, that posting will be up there when the
show comes this way next season. It is a standing advertisement
for the Great Sparling Shows. But I suppose Mr. Snowden would
say it wasn't much of a job."
CHAPTER IX
TEDDY GETS INTO TROUBLE
"Get those paste cans outside! Step lively there!"
"Say, you talk to me as if I were one of the hired help,"
objected Teddy, his face flushing.
"Well, that is exactly what you are. You'll soon learn that you
are hired help if you remain on this car. I'll take all the
freshness out of you. The flour is in the cellar."
"In the cellar?"
"That's what I said. Go down and get it out. You will require
about a sack and a half for each can. That will be about right
for a can of paste. Henry will show you how much bluestone to
put in. But be careful of that boiler. I don't want the car
blown up."
The manager strode away to his office, while Teddy, red and
perspiring, went about his work. He was much more meek than
usual, and this very fact, had the manager known him better,
would have impressed Mr. Snowden as a suspicious circumstance.
Instead of the usual pink tights with spangled trunks, Teddy
Tucker was now clad in a pair of blue jeans, held up by pieces of
string reaching up over his shoulders. His was now a far
different figure from that presented by him in the ring of the
Sparling Shows.
After dumping the flour into the cans, in doing which Teddy took
his time, he attached a hose pipe to the boiler, under the
direction of Henry. Next he filled the cans with water and was
then ready to turn on the steam to boil the paste.
Teddy was about to do this when Mr. Snowden appeared on
the scene. He looked over the cans critically, but observing
nothing that he could find fault with, he got a stick and
began poking in the bottom of one of the cans, thinking he had
discovered that more flour had been used than was necessary.
All at once Teddy, who was now inside the car, turned a full head
of steam through the hose pipe. There being one hundred and
forty pounds of steam on the boiler something happened.
The full force of the steam shot into the bottom of the can over
which Mr. Snowden was bending. The contents of that can leaped
up into the air, water, flour, bluestone and all, and for the
next few seconds Manager Snowden was the central figure in the
little drama. It rained uncooked paste for nearly half a minute.
Such of it as had not smitten him squarely in the face went up in
the air and then came down, showering on his head.
The force of the miniature explosion had bowled the manager over.
Choking, sputtering, blinded for the moment by the stuff that had
got into his eyes, he wallowed in the dust by the side of
the car.
Teddy shut off the steam, went out on the platform and sat down.
"What happened?" he demanded innocently. Perhaps he did not know
and perhaps he did.
Mr. Snowden did not answer, for the very good reason that he
could not. His clothes were ruined.
"It looks like a storm," muttered the lad. In this he was
not mistaken.
A happy thought came to him. Springing up he hurried into the
car, and, drawing a pail of water from the tap, ran out with it.
Mr. Snowden had just scrambled to his feet.
"This will do you good," said Teddy, dashing the pail of water
over the manager's head. "That's the way you brought me back
when I got pasted up last night."
The Circus Boy ducked back to the platform and sat down to
await developments. They were not long in arriving. The instant
Snowden got the flour out of his eyes sufficiently to enable him
to see he began blinking in all directions.
Finally his eyes rested on Teddy Tucker, who was perched on a
brake wheel observing the manager's discomfiture.
"You!" exploded the manager. Grabbing up the paddle used for the
purpose of stirring paste he started for the Circus Boy.
Teddy promptly slid from the brake wheel and quickly got to the
other side of the car. Snowden was after him with an angry roar,
brandishing the paddle above his head.
"I knew it would blow up a storm pretty soon," muttered the lad,
making a lively sprint as the manager came rushing around the end
of the car. The chase was on, but Teddy Tucker was much more
fleet of foot than was his pursuer, besides which his years of
training in the circus ring had put him in condition for a
long race.
Around and around the car they ran, the porter watching them,
big-eyed and apprehensive, but Teddy kept his pursuer at a
distance without great effort.
After a short time the lad varied his tactics. Increasing his
speed, he leaped to the rear platform of the car, and sprang up
on the platform railing. Here, grasping the edge, he pulled
himself to the roof, where he sat down with his feet dangling
over, grinning defiantly.
"Come down from there!" roared the manager. "I'll teach you
to play your miserable pranks on me!" The roof of the car was
beyond the ability of Mr. Snowden to reach.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know you had your nose stuck in the paste
pot when I turned on the steam," murmured Teddy.
This served only to increase the anger of the man on the ground.
"You did it on purpose; you know you did!" roared Mr. Snowden.
"Come down, I tell you."
"You come up. It's fine up here!"
The manager, now angered past all control, uttered a growl.
Hastily gathering up a handful of coal he began heaving the
pieces at Teddy. But Tucker was prepared for just such
an emergency.
>From his pockets he drew several chunks of coal, that he had
picked up during his sprinting match around the car. He let
these drive at Mr. Snowden, one after the other, not, however,
throwing with sufficient force to do much damage. He did not
wish to harm his superior, but he did want to drive him off.
Mr. Snowden soon got enough of the bombardment, for he was
getting the worst of it all the time.
"I'll turn the hose on you!" he bellowed, making a dash for the
interior of the car, where it was his intention to turn on the
boiling hot water and steam.
"I guess it's time to leave," decided Teddy. Quickly hopping
down he ran and hid behind a freight car a short distance from
the show car. When Mr. Snowden came out, grasping the hissing
hose, his victim was nowhere to be seen.
Uttering angry imprecations and threats the manager returned
to his office, changed his clothes, then strode off up town
to a hotel to get a bath, of which he was very much in need
at the moment.
"I guess he will be cooled off by the time he gets back," decided
Teddy, emerging from his hiding place. "I think I will go back
to work. I must earn my money somehow. That man is crazy, but I
have an idea he will be sane after I get through with him."
Teddy returned to his paste-making. Henry, the porter, was
so frightened that he hardly dared talk to Teddy, for fear
the manager might catch him doing so and vent his wrath on
the Englishman.
As the Circus Boy had surmised Mr. Snowden returned after a two
hours' absence, much chastened in spirit. He did not even look
at Teddy Tucker, though the latter was watching the manager out
of the corners of his eyes. Mr. Snowden went directly to his
stateroom where he locked himself in.
"I guess the storm has blown over," decided young Tucker,
grinning to himself. "But won't Phil raise an awful row when he
hears about it!"
The lad quickly learned the paste-making trick, and after dinner
he set to work in earnest. He found it hard work stirring the
stiff paste, and it seemed as if Teddy got the greater part of it
over his clothes and face. He was literally smeared with it,
great splashes of it disfiguring his face and matting his hair.
When the men from the country routes drove in there was a howl
of merriment. The lad did present a ludicrous sight.
"Hello, Spotted Horse!" shouted one of them.
"Hello yourself," growled Teddy, in none too enviable a frame
of mind.
"That's the name. That's the name that fits our friend Tucker!"
cried Missing Link. From that moment on, aboard Car Three, Teddy
Tucker lost his own name and became Spotted Horse.
The men had no sooner unloaded their paste cans than the porter
had told them of the trouble that morning between Teddy and
the manager.
The men howled in their delight. Mr. Snowden, off in his little
office, heard the sounds of merriment and knew that the laughter
was at his expense. His face was black and distorted with rage.
"I'll show them they can't trifle with and insult me,"
he gritted.
At that moment he roared for Billy.
"The regular evening seance is about to begin," announced Billy,
with a grimace, as he turned toward the office.
"Bring the cub, Forrest, along!" shouted the manager.
"Who?" called Conley.
"Forrest and that fool friend of his."
"He means Spotted Horse," suggested Rosie. "Run along,
Spotted Horse. Got your war paint on?"
"I always have my war paint on," grinned Teddy, as he started
toward the private office, following Conley and Phil Forrest.
The three ranged up before the car manager, who surveyed them
with glowering face.
"What have you done today?" he demanded, fixing his gaze
on Billy.
"We got up more than four hundred sheets of paper."
"Four hundred sheets!" groaned Snowden. "What have you fellows
been doing? Sleeping by the roadside?"
"No, sir, we have been working, and Mr. Forrest here pulled off
one of the cleverest hits that's ever been made. He plastered
a silo that stands out like a sore thumb on the landscape, and
which every farmer within ten or twenty miles about will go to
look at."
"Humph, I don't believe it! What have the other men done?"
Conley reported as to the number of sheets that the men had
posted, whereat the manager rose, pounded his desk and, in a
towering rage, expressed his opinion of the tribe of
billposters again.
Billy smiled sarcastically, in which he was joined by Teddy,
but Phil's face was solemn. He was becoming rather tired of
this constant abuse.
"If you have nothing to say to me, I will go back to my place
in the car," spoke up Phil.
Snowden glared at him.
"Did I tell you to leave this room?"
"I believe you did not."
"Then stand there until I tell you to go!"
"Very well, sir."
"Conley, I have called you in here to be a witness to what I am
about to say. Do you hear?"
Billy nodded.
"During the past two days I have been insulted and abused by
those two young cubs there, until it has come to a point where
I appear to be no longer manager of this car. Your men outside
have laughed at my discomfiture--yes, sir, actually made sport
of me."
"I think you are mistaken. I--"
"I am not. I am never mistaken. This morning, this fellow
Tucker not only defied me, but turned on the steam when I was
examining a paste pot, and soaked me from head to foot. Then he
ended up by throwing coal at me."
"Yes, and you started the row," retorted Teddy. "The idea of a
big man like you pitching on to a boy. You ought to be ashamed
of yourself."
"Stop it! I'll forget you are a boy if you goad me further.
But I have had enough of it. I'll stand it no longer.
Do you understand?"
No one replied to the question.
"This thing has gone far enough. Have you anything to say for
yourself or your friend here, Forrest?"
"Yes, sir, I have."
"Say it."
"You are the most ill-tempered man it has ever been my experience
to know."
"You're discharged! Both of you! Get off my car instantly!
Do you hear me?"
"I could not very well help hearing you. I am sorry to
disobey you, but we were ordered to Number Three by Mr. Sparling.
We will try to do our duty, but we shall not leave this car
until Mr. Sparling orders us to do so," answered Phil steadily.
CHAPTER X
A SURPRISE, INDEED
Phil had triumphed, but he felt little satisfaction in having
done so.
The manager had ordered the two boys from his office after the
interview and the command to leave the car at once. But the
lads had stayed on, and had gone about their duties, Phil
working with all the force that was in him. He had even
stirred Teddy to a realization of his duty and the latter
had done very well, indeed.
A week had passed and the car was now in South Dakota.
>From there they were to make a detour and drop down into
Kansas, whence their course would be laid across the
plains and on into the more mountainous country.
Mr. Snowden had studiously avoided the boys; in fact he had not
spoken a word to them since the interview in the stateroom, but
he had bombarded Mr. James Sparling with messages and demands
that the Circus Boys be withdrawn from the car, renewing his
threats to leave in case his demand was not complied with.
One bright Sunday morning the car rolled into the station at
Aberdeen, South Dakota, and as it came to a stop a messenger boy
boarded it with a message for Billy Conley.
Billy looked surprised, and even more so after he had perused the
message itself. He quickly left the car, saying he would return
after breakfast, but instead of going directly to breakfast, he
proceeded to the best hotel in the place, where he called for a
certain man, at the desk.
Billy spent some two hours with the man whom he had gone to see,
after which he returned to the car. There was a twinkle in his
eyes, as he looked at the Circus Boys, who were at that moment
getting ready to go to church, a duty that Phil never neglected.
He still remembered the time when he used to go to church on
Sunday mornings, holding to his mother's hand. Never a Sunday
passed that he did not think of it.
"Will you go with us, Billy?" he asked, noting the gaze of the
assistant manager fixed upon him.
"Not this morning. I expect company," answered Billy with
a grin.
Teddy eyed him suspiciously.
"Billy is up to some tricks this morning. I can see it in his
eyes," announced Tucker shrewdly. "I guess I will stay and see
what's going on."
"No; you will come with me," replied Phil decisively.
So Teddy went.
Shortly after their departure a gentleman boarded the car, at the
stateroom end, and walked boldly into the office.
The man was James Sparling, owner of the Sparling Combined Shows.
Mr. Snowden sprang up, surprise written all over his face.
"Why, Mr. Sparling!" he greeted the caller. "I did not
expect you."
"No; my visit is something of a surprise, but it is time I
came on. Where are the boys?"
"You mean young Forrest and Tucker?" asked the manager, his
smile fading.
"Yes."
"The young cubs have gone to church. A likely pair they are!
What did you mean by turning loose a bunch like that on me?"
There was a slight tightening of Mr. Sparling's lips.
"What seems to be the trouble with them?"
"Insubordination. They are the worst boys I ever came across in
all my experience."
"Have you done as I requested, and helped them to learn
the business?"
"I have not!"
"May I inquire why not?"
"My telegrams should be sufficient answer to that question.
Both of them are hopeless. I want nothing to do with either
of them. They have thoroughly disorganized this car, and
each of them has assaulted me. Had I followed the promptings
of my own inclinations I should have smashed their heads
before this. But I considered their youth."
Mr. Sparling leaned back and laughed.
"I am glad you did not try it."
"Why?" demanded the manager suddenly.
"Because you would have got the thrashing of your life.
Mr. Snowden, I am fully informed as to what has been
going on in this car."
"So, that's it; those cubs have been spying on me and reporting
to you, eh? I might have known it."
"You are mistaken," answered the owner calmly. "While they had
sufficient provocation to do so, not a murmur has come from
either of them. They have taken their medicine like men. I make
it a rule to keep posted on what is going on in every department
of my show. I therefore know, better than perhaps you yourself
could tell me, what has been going on on Car Three. And it is
going to stop right here and now."
"What do you mean?"
"In the first place, the work has been unsatisfactory. The men
have done as well as could be expected of them, but they have
been in such a constant state of rebellion because of your
attitude that the work was bound to suffer."
"You are very frank, sir."
"That's my way of doing business. You not only have neglected
the work but you have openly defied me and my orders."
"That's exactly what these young cubs have done with me,"
interposed the manager quickly.
"My information is quite to the contrary. However, be that as it
may, I have decided to make a change."
"Make a change?"
"Yes."
"I do not understand."
"Then I will make it more plain. I'm through with you."
"You mean you discharge me?"
"You have guessed it."
The manager smiled a superior sort of smile.
"You forget I have a contract with you. You can't discharge me
until the end of the season."
"And you forget that I have already done so. Here! You see, I
come prepared for your objections. Here is a check for your
salary to the end of the season. We are quits. I do not have to
do even that, but no one can say that James Sparling doesn't do
business on the square."
The manager turned a shade paler.
"I--I'm sorry. When--when do you wish me to leave?"
"Now--this minute! I want you to get off this car, and if you
don't get off bag and baggage inside of five minutes, I shall
make it my personal business to throw you off," announced the
showman with rising color. He had contained himself as long as
he could. The indignities to which his Circus Boys had been
subjected, ever since they joined the car, had stirred the
showman profoundly.
"It is now a quarter to twelve. At noon sharp, your baggage and
yourself will be outside of this car. I am in charge here now."
The showman leaned back and watched his former car manager
hurriedly pack his belongings into a suitcase.
"I'll get even with you for this," snarled Snowden as he walked
from the car, slamming the door after him.
"And a good riddance!" muttered the showman rising. "This will
be a good time for me to look over the books and find out what
shape the car is in."
Mr. Sparling pressed an electric button, and Henry, the porter,
responded to the summons.
"Has Mr. Forrest returned yet?"
"No, sir."
"Is Mr. Conley out there?"
"Yes, sir."
"Send him in."
Billy entered the stateroom, a broad smile on his face.
"Sit down, Billy. Well, our friend has gone. I suppose you
are sorry?"
"On the contrary," replied Billy promptly, "I am tickled
half to death. Now we'll be able to do some real work!
We'll show you what we can do! By the way, Mr. Sparling,
are you intending to carry out the plan you told me about
this morning?"
"Yes. You will have a chance next year."
"Thank you, sir."
"Now, we will go over the books together. I shall have to ask
you some questions as we go along. Please first tell the porter
to send Phil and Teddy in when they return, but not to tell them
who is here."
Billy went out and gave the showman's orders to the porter.
As it chanced there were none of the other men of the crew
on board the car at that time. They knew nothing about the
change that was taking place.
Upon Billy's return he and his chief settled down to a busy few
minutes of going over books and reports. The chief found many
things that did not please him, and his anger grew apace at some
of them.
"I guess I did a good job in getting rid of Snowden. What I
should have done was to have got rid of him before I joined him
out in the spring."
"He was a bad one," agreed Billy. "I can work with most anybody,
but I never could work with the likes of him. The boys are
all right. He wouldn't have had any trouble with them if he'd
used them like human beings. They both put up with more than
I would have stood. But I tell you, that boy, Teddy--Spotted
Horse, the boys call him--did hand it out to the Boss.
If Snowden had stayed here much longer I'd been willing
to lay odds that Teddy would have run him off the car.
Did I tell you about how Phil posted the silo?"
"No; what about it?"
Billy began an enthusiastic narration of Phil's clever piece of
work, Mr. Sparling nodding as the story proceeded.
"I am not surprised. He is a natural born showman. You will
hear great things from Phil Forrest some of these days, and his
friend, Teddy, will not be so far behind, either, when once he
gets settled down."
"I guess they are coming now," spoke up Conley. "Somebody got on
the back platform just now. I'll go out and see."
Billy met the Circus Boys coming in.
"You are wanted in the stateroom," he said.
"More trouble?" laughed Phil.
Billy nodded.
"Maybe, and maybe not, but I reckon the trouble is all over."
Phil and Teddy started for the stateroom. At the door they
halted, scarcely able to believe their eyes. There sat
Mr. Sparling, smiling a welcome to them.
"Mr. Sparling!" cried Phil dashing in, with Teddy close at
his heels.
"Yes, I wanted to surprise you," laughed the showman, throwing
an arm about each boy.
"I am so glad to see you," cried Phil, hugging his
employer delightedly.
"And it does my heart good to set eyes on you two once more.
The Sparling organization has not been quite the same since
you left. And, Teddy, we haven't had any excitement since
you left."
"How's the donkey?"
"Kicking everything out of sight that comes near him. He has not
been in the ring since you left," laughed the showman.
"I wish I was back there. I don't like this game for a
little bit."
"You mean you do not like the work?"
"Well, no, not exactly that. The work is all right, but--"
"But what?" persisted Mr. Sparling.
"Never mind, Teddy," interposed Phil. "No tales, you know."
"I'm telling no tales. I said I didn't like it and that's
the truth. May I go back with you, Mr. Sparling?"
"You may if you wish, of course, if you think you want to
leave Phil."
"Is Phil going to stay?"
"Certainly."
Teddy drew a long sigh.
"Then, I guess I'll stay, too, but there's going to be trouble on
this car before the season ends, sir."
"Trouble?"
"Yes, sir."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I'm going to thrash a man within an inch of his life one of
these fine days."
"I am astonished, Teddy. Who is the man?"
"Oh, no matter. A certain party on this car," replied
Teddy airily.
"I sincerely hope you will do nothing of the sort, for conditions
have changed somewhat on Number Three. Behave yourself, Teddy,
and learn all you can. You may be a car manager yourself one of
these times, and all this experience will prove useful to you,"
advised Mr. Sparling.
"Not the kind of experience I have been having; that won't be
useful to me," retorted Teddy.
Mr. Sparling and Phil broke out into a hearty laugh, at which
Teddy looked very much grieved.
"Have you seen Mr. Snowden?" questioned Phil, glancing keenly at
his employer. There was something about the situation that gave
the lad a sudden half-formed idea.
"Yes, I have seen him," answered the showman, his face
sobering instantly.
"Where is he?"
"He has gone away. I might as well tell you, boys. Mr. Snowden
is no longer manager of this car. He is no longer connected with
the Sparling Show in any capacity, nor ever will be again,"
announced Mr. Sparling decisively.
The Circus Boys gazed at him, scarcely able to believe what they
had heard.
"Not--not on this car any more?" questioned Phil.
"Never again, young man."
"Hip, hip, hooray!" shouted Teddy Tucker at the top of his voice,
hurling his hat up to the roof of the car, and beginning a
miniature war dance about the stateroom, until, for the sake of
saving the furniture, Phil grabbed his friend, threw him over on
the divan and sat down on him.
"Now, Mr. Sparling, having disposed of Teddy, I should like to
hear all about it," laughed