It'll make a man of you if you stand it."
"And if I don't?" questioned Phil Forrest, with a smile.
Mr. Sparling answered by a shrug of the shoulders.
"We'll have to make some different arrangements for you," he
added in a slightly milder tone. "Can't afford to have you get
sick and knock your act out. It's too important. I'll fire some
lazy, good-for-nothing performer out of a closed wagon and give
you his place."
"Oh, I should rather not have you do that, sir."
"Who's running this show?" snapped the owner.
Phil made no reply.
"I am. I'll turn out whom I please and when I please. I've been
in the business long enough to know when I've got a good thing.
Where's your rubber coat?" he demanded, changing the subject
abruptly.
"I have none, sir. I shall get an outfit later."
"No money, I suppose?"
"Well, no, sir."
"Humph! Why didn't you ask for some?"
"I did not like to."
"You're too modest. If you want a thing go after it. That's my
motto. Here's ten dollars. Go downtown and get you a coat, and
be lively about it. Wait a minute!" as Phil, uttering profuse
thanks, started away to obey his employer's command.
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