James Sparling. "We'll do
nothing of the sort."
"It will not be safe to take him with us, Sparling."
"Did I say it would? Did I? Of course, he shan't be moved, nor
will he be left to one of these know-nothing sawbones. You'll
stay here with him yourself, and you'll take care of him if you
know what's good for you. I'd rather lose most any five men in
this show than that boy there."
The surgeon nodded his approval of the sentiment. He, too, had
taken quite a fancy to Phil, because of the lad's sunny
disposition and natural brightness.
"Get out the coach some of you fellows. Have my driver hook up
and drive back into the paddock here, and be mighty quick about
it. Here, doc, is a head of lettuce (roll of money). If you need
any more, you know where to reach us. Send me a telegram in the
morning and another tomorrow night. Keep me posted and pull that
boy out of this scrape or you'll be everlastingly out of a job
with the Sparling Combined Shows. Understand?"
The surgeon nodded understandingly. He had heard Mr. Sparling
bluster on other occasions, and it did not make any great
impression upon him.
The carriage was quickly at hand.
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