"
"Ain't had much fun since your ma died, have you, Phil?"
questioned Teddy sympathetically.
"Not much," answered the lad, a thin, gray mist clouding his
eyes. "No, not much. But, then, I'm not complaining."
"Your uncle's a mean old--"
"There, there, Teddy, please don't say it. He may be all you
think he is, but for all the mean things he's said and done to
me, I've never given him an impudent word, Teddy. Can you guess
why?"
"Cause he's your uncle, maybe," grumbled Teddy.
"No, 'cause he's my mother's brother--that's why."
"I don't know. Maybe I'd feel that way if I'd had a mother."
"But you did."
"Nobody ever introduced us, if I did. Guess she didn't know me.
But if your uncle was my uncle do you know what I'd do with him,
Phil Forrest?"
"Don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about the circus. It's
more fun," interrupted Phil, turning to the billboard again and
gazing at it with great interest.
They were standing before the glowing posters of the Great
Sparling Combined Shows, that was to visit Edmeston on the
following Thursday.
Phillip Forrest and Teddy Tucker were fast friends, though they
were as different in appearance and temperament as two boys well
could be.
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