"
Mr. Sparling took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, while Phil stood off calmly surveying the men who were
straightening the wagon, but with more caution than they had
exercised before.
"Come here, boy."
Someone touched Phil on the arm.
"What is it?"
"Boss wants to speak to you."
"Who?"
"Boss Sparling, the fellow over there with the big voice and the
sombrero."
Phil walked over and touched his hat to Mr. Sparling.
The showman looked the lad over from head to foot.
"What's your name?" He shot the question at the lad as if angry
about something, and he undoubtedly was.
"Phil Forrest."
"Do they grow your kind around here?"
"I can't say, sir."
"If they do, I'd like to hire a dozen or more of them. You've
got more sense than any boy of your age I ever saw. How old are
you?"
"Sixteen."
"Huh! I wish I had him!" growled Mr. Sparling. "What do you
want?"
"I should like to have a chance to earn a pass to the show this
afternoon. Rodney Palmer said the boss canvasman might give me a
chance to earn one."
"Earn one? Earn one?" Mr. Sparling's voice rose to a roar again.
Pages:
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59