The Circus Boys on the Plains Part 14

"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 pa.s.s 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 a.s.sure 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."