The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings Part 19

"Nail him when he comes out. We'll give him all the show he wants."

With profuse thanks Phil Forrest backed from the tent and walked rapidly toward the entrance. It seemed to him as if he were walking on air.

"Let that boy through. He's with the show now," bellowed Mr.

Sparling, poking his head from the doghouse tent.

The gateman nodded.

"How soon will the performance be over?" inquired Phil, approaching the gateman.

"Ten minutes now."

"Then, I guess I won't go in. I promised to meet Teddy over by the ticket wagon anyway."

But Phil could not stand still. Thrusting his hands in his pockets he began pacing back and forth, pondering deeply. He did not observe the shrewd eyes of Mr. Sparling fixed upon him from behind the flap of the little tent.

"At last, at last!" mused Phil. "I'm a real live showman at last, but what kind of a showman I don't know. Probably they'll make me help put up the tents and take them down. But, I don't care. I'll do anything. And think of the money I'll earn. Ten dollars a week!" he exclaimed, pausing and glancing up at the fluttering flags waving from center and quarter poles. "Why, it's a fortune! I shall be able to save most all of it, too. Oh, I'm so happy!"

"They're coming out," called the gateman to him.

"Thank you."

Phil's face was full of repressed excitement when Teddy came slouching up to him.

"Bully show," announced the lad. "Didn't know which way to look, there was so much to be seen."

"How would you like to join the show and be a real circus man?"

demanded Phil.

"Great!"

"Maybe I can fix it for you."

"You?"

"Yes."

"Don't give me such a shock, Phil. You said it almost as if you meant it."

"And I did."

Teddy gazed at his companion for a full minute.

"Something's been going on, I guess--something that I don't seem to know anything about."

"There has, Teddy. I'm already a showman. You come with me. Mr.

Sparling wants to speak with you. Don't be afraid of him. He talks as if he was mad all the time, but I'm sure he isn't."

Grasping Teddy by the arm Phil rushed him into Mr. Sparling's tent, entering this time without knocking.

"This is my friend whom I spoke to you about," announced Phil, thrusting Teddy up before the showman.

Mr. Sparling eyed the lad suspiciously.

"Want to join out, too, eh?"

"I--I'd like to," stammered Teddy.

"Do your parents approve of your going with a show?"

"I--I don't know, sir."

"You'd better find out, then. Ask them mighty quick. This is no camp meeting outfit that plays week stands."

"Can't."

"Why not?"

" 'Cause they're dead."

"Huh! Why didn't you say so before?"

"You didn't ask me."

"You're too smart, young man."

"Takes a smart man to be a circus man, doesn't it?"

"I guess you're right at that," answered the showman, his stern features relaxing into a smile. "You'll do. But you'd better not hand out that line of sharp talk in bunches when you get with the show. It might get you into trouble if you did."

"Yes, sir; I'll be good."

"Now, you boys had better run along and make your preparations.

You may take your supper in the cook tent tonight if you wish.

But you will have to be on hand promptly, as they take down the cook tent first of all."

"Thank you; we will," answered Phil.

"What act--what do I perform?" questioned Teddy, swelling with pride.

"Perform?"

"Yes."

"Ho, ho, ho!"

"I'm going to be a performer and wear pink pants, ain't I?"