Sometimes I think I should like to be the fellow
who cracks the whip with the long lash and makes the clowns hop
around on one foot--"
"You mean the ringmaster?"
"I guess that's the fellow. He makes 'em all get around lively.
Then, sometimes, I think I would rather be a clown. I can skin a
cat on the flying rings to beat the band, now. What would you
rather be, Phil?"
"Me? Oh, something up in the air--high up near the peak of the
tent--something thrilling that would make the people sit up on
the board seats and gasp, when, all dressed in pink and spangles,
I'd go flying through the air--"
"Just like a bird?" questioned Teddy, with a rising inflection in
his voice.
"Yes. That's what I'd like most to do, Teddy," concluded the
lad, his face flushed with the thought of the triumphs that might
be his.
Teddy Tucker uttered a soft, long-drawn whistle.
"My, you've got it bad, haven't you? Never thought you were that
set on the circus. Wouldn't it be fine, now, if we both could
get with a show?"
"Great!" agreed Phil, with an emphatic nod. "Sometimes I think
my uncle would be glad to have me go away--that he wouldn't care
whether I joined a circus, or what became of me.
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