So
humorous were the clown's antics that the spectators screamed
with laughter.
Suddenly the lad espied that which caused his own laughter to die
away, and for the moment he forgot to toot the fish horn. The
parade was passing his former home, and there, standing hunched
forward, leaning on his stick and glaring at the procession from
beneath bushy eyebrows, stood Phil's uncle, Abner Adams.
Phil's heart leaped into his throat; at least that was the
sensation that he experienced.
"I--I hope he doesn't know me," muttered the lad, shrinking back
a little. "But I'm a man now. I don't care. He's driven me out
and he has no right to say a thing."
The lad lost some of his courage, however, when the procession
halted, and he found that his wagon was directly in front of Mr.
Adams' dooryard, with his decrepit uncle not more than twenty
feet away from him. The surly, angry eyes of Abner Adams seemed
to be burning through Phil's makeup, and the lad instinctively
shrank back ever so little.
However, at that instant the boy's attention was attracted to
another part of the wagon. The head clown stepped from the wagon
and, with dignified tread, approached Abner Adams.
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