Uttering angry imprecations and threats the manager returned to his office, changed his clothes, then strode off up town to a hotel to get a bath, of which he was very much in need at the moment.

"I guess he will be cooled off by the time he gets back," decided Teddy, emerging from his hiding place. "I think I will go back to work. I must earn my money somehow. That man is crazy, but I have an idea he will be sane after I get through with him."

Teddy returned to his paste-making. Henry, the porter, was so frightened that he hardly dared talk to Teddy, for fear the manager might catch him doing so and vent his wrath on the Englishman.

As the Circus Boy had surmised Mr. Snowden returned after a two hours' absence, much chastened in spirit. He did not even look at Teddy Tucker, though the latter was watching the manager out of the corners of his eyes. Mr. Snowden went directly to his stateroom where he locked himself in.

"I guess the storm has blown over," decided young Tucker, grinning to himself. "But won't Phil raise an awful row when he hears about it!"

The lad quickly learned the paste-making trick, and after dinner he set to work in earnest. He found it hard work stirring the stiff paste, and it seemed as if Teddy got the greater part of it over his clothes and face. He was literally smeared with it, great splashes of it disfiguring his face and matting his hair.

When the men from the country routes drove in there was a howl of merriment. The lad did present a ludicrous sight.

"Hello, Spotted Horse!" shouted one of them.

"Hello yourself," growled Teddy, in none too enviable a frame of mind.

"That's the name. That's the name that fits our friend Tucker!" cried Missing Link. From that moment on, aboard Car Three, Teddy Tucker lost his own name and became Spotted Horse.

The men had no sooner unloaded their paste cans than the porter had told them of the trouble that morning between Teddy and the manager.

The men howled in their delight. Mr. Snowden, off in his little office, heard the sounds of merriment and knew that the laughter was at his expense. His face was black and distorted with rage.

"I'll show them they can't trifle with and insult me," he gritted.

At that moment he roared for Billy.

"The regular evening seance is about to begin," announced Billy, with a grimace, as he turned toward the office.

"Bring the cub, Forrest, along!" shouted the manager.

"Who?" called Conley.

"Forrest and that fool friend of his."

"He means Spotted Horse," suggested Rosie. "Run along, Spotted Horse. Got your war paint on?"

"I always have my war paint on," grinned Teddy, as he started toward the private office, following Conley and Phil Forrest.

The three ranged up before the car manager, who surveyed them with glowering face.

"What have you done today?" he demanded, fixing his gaze on Billy.

"We got up more than four hundred sheets of paper."

"Four hundred sheets!" groaned Snowden. "What have you fellows been doing? Sleeping by the roadside?"

"No, sir, we have been working, and Mr. Forrest here pulled off one of the cleverest hits that's ever been made. He plastered a silo that stands out like a sore thumb on the landscape, and which every farmer within ten or twenty miles about will go to look at."

"Humph, I don't believe it! What have the other men done?"

Conley reported as to the number of sheets that the men had posted, whereat the manager rose, pounded his desk and, in a towering rage, expressed his opinion of the tribe of billposters again.

Billy smiled sarcastically, in which he was joined by Teddy, but Phil's face was solemn. He was becoming rather tired of this constant abuse.

"If you have nothing to say to me, I will go back to my place in the car," spoke up Phil.

Snowden glared at him.

"Did I tell you to leave this room?"

"I believe you did not."

"Then stand there until I tell you to go!"

"Very well, sir."

"Conley, I have called you in here to be a witness to what I am about to say. Do you hear?"

Billy nodded.

"During the past two days I have been insulted and abused by those two young cubs there, until it has come to a point where I appear to be no longer manager of this car. Your men outside have laughed at my discomfiture—yes, sir, actually made sport of me."

"I think you are mistaken. I—"

"I am not. I am never mistaken. This morning, this fellow Tucker not only defied me, but turned on the steam when I was examining a paste pot, and soaked me from head to foot. Then he ended up by throwing coal at me."

"Yes, and you started the row," retorted Teddy. "The idea of a big man like you pitching on to a boy. You ought to be ashamed of yourself."

"Stop it! I'll forget you are a boy if you goad me further. But I have had enough of it. I'll stand it no longer. Do you understand?"

No one replied to the question.

"This thing has gone far enough. Have you anything to say for yourself or your friend here, Forrest?"

"Yes, sir, I have."

"Say it."

"You are the most ill-tempered man it has ever been my experience to know."

"You're discharged! Both of you! Get off my car instantly! Do you hear me?"

"I could not very well help hearing you. I am sorry to disobey you, but we were ordered to Number Three by Mr. Sparling. We will try to do our duty, but we shall not leave this car until Mr. Sparling orders us to do so," answered Phil steadily.



CHAPTER X

A SURPRISE, INDEED

Phil had triumphed, but he felt little satisfaction in having done so.

The manager had ordered the two boys from his office after the interview and the command to leave the car at once. But the lads had stayed on, and had gone about their duties, Phil working with all the force that was in him. He had even stirred Teddy to a realization of his duty and the latter had done very well, indeed.

A week had passed and the car was now in South Dakota. >From there they were to make a detour and drop down into Kansas, whence their course would be laid across the plains and on into the more mountainous country.

Mr. Snowden had studiously avoided the boys; in fact he had not spoken a word to them since the interview in the stateroom, but he had bombarded Mr. James Sparling with messages and demands that the Circus Boys be withdrawn from the car, renewing his threats to leave in case his demand was not complied with.

One bright Sunday morning the car rolled into the station at Aberdeen, South Dakota, and as it came to a stop a messenger boy boarded it with a message for Billy Conley.

Billy looked surprised, and even more so after he had perused the message itself. He quickly left the car, saying he would return after breakfast, but instead of going directly to breakfast, he proceeded to the best hotel in the place, where he called for a certain man, at the desk.

Billy spent some two hours with the man whom he had gone to see, after which he returned to the car. There was a twinkle in his eyes, as he looked at the Circus Boys, who were at that moment getting ready to go to church, a duty that Phil never neglected. He still remembered the time when he used to go to church on Sunday mornings, holding to his mother's hand. Never a Sunday passed that he did not think of it.

"Will you go with us, Billy?" he asked, noting the gaze of the assistant manager fixed upon him.

"Not this morning. I expect company," answered Billy with a grin.

Teddy eyed him suspiciously.

"Billy is up to some tricks this morning. I can see it in his eyes," announced Tucker shrewdly. "I guess I will stay and see what's going on."

"No; you will come with me," replied Phil decisively. So Teddy went.

Shortly after their departure a gentleman boarded the car, at the stateroom end, and walked boldly into the office.

The man was James Sparling, owner of the Sparling Combined Shows.

Mr. Snowden sprang up, surprise written all over his face.

"Why, Mr. Sparling!" he greeted the caller. "I did not expect you."

"No; my visit is something of a surprise, but it is time I came on. Where are the boys?"

"You mean young Forrest and Tucker?" asked the manager, his smile fading.

"Yes."

"The young cubs have gone to church. A likely pair they are! What did you mean by turning loose a bunch like that on me?"

There was a slight tightening of Mr. Sparling's lips.

"What seems to be the trouble with them?"

"Insubordination. They are the worst boys I ever came across in all my experience."

"Have you done as I requested, and helped them to learn the business?"

"I have not!"

"May I inquire why not?"

"My telegrams should be sufficient answer to that question. Both of them are hopeless. I want nothing to do with either of them. They have thoroughly disorganized this car, and each of them has assaulted me. Had I followed the promptings of my own inclinations I should have smashed their heads before this. But I considered their youth."

Mr. Sparling leaned back and laughed.

"I am glad you did not try it."

"Why?" demanded the manager suddenly.

"Because you would have got the thrashing of your life. Mr. Snowden, I am fully informed as to what has been going on in this car."

"So, that's it; those cubs have been spying on me and reporting to you, eh? I might have known it."

"You are mistaken," answered the owner calmly. "While they had sufficient provocation to do so, not a murmur has come from either of them. They have taken their medicine like men. I make it a rule to keep posted on what is going on in every department of my show. I therefore know, better than perhaps you yourself could tell me, what has been going on on Car Three. And it is going to stop right here and now."

"What do you mean?"

"In the first place, the work has been unsatisfactory. The men have done as well as could be expected of them, but they have been in such a constant state of rebellion because of your attitude that the work was bound to suffer."

"You are very frank, sir."

"That's my way of doing business. You not only have neglected the work but you have openly defied me and my orders."

"That's exactly what these young cubs have done with me," interposed the manager quickly.

"My information is quite to the contrary. However, be that as it may, I have decided to make a change."

"Make a change?"

"Yes."

"I do not understand."

"Then I will make it more plain. I'm through with you."

"You mean you discharge me?"

"You have guessed it."

The manager smiled a superior sort of smile.

"You forget I have a contract with you. You can't discharge me until the end of the season."

"And you forget that I have already done so. Here! You see, I come prepared for your objections. Here is a check for your salary to the end of the season. We are quits. I do not have to do even that, but no one can say that James Sparling doesn't do business on the square."

The manager turned a shade paler.

"I—I'm sorry. When—when do you wish me to leave?"

"Now—this minute! I want you to get off this car, and if you don't get off bag and baggage inside of five minutes, I shall make it my personal business to throw you off," announced the showman with rising color. He had contained himself as long as he could. The indignities to which his Circus Boys had been subjected, ever since they joined the car, had stirred the showman profoundly.

"It is now a quarter to twelve. At noon sharp, your baggage and yourself will be outside of this car. I am in charge here now."

The showman leaned back and watched his former car manager hurriedly pack his belongings into a suitcase.

"I'll get even with you for this," snarled Snowden as he walked from the car, slamming the door after him.

"And a good riddance!" muttered the showman rising. "This will be a good time for me to look over the books and find out what shape the car is in."

Mr. Sparling pressed an electric button, and Henry, the porter, responded to the summons.

"Has Mr. Forrest returned yet?"

"No, sir."

"Is Mr. Conley out there?"

"Yes, sir."

"Send him in."

Billy entered the stateroom, a broad smile on his face.

"Sit down, Billy. Well, our friend has gone. I suppose you are sorry?"

"On the contrary," replied Billy promptly, "I am tickled half to death. Now we'll be able to do some real work! We'll show you what we can do! By the way, Mr. Sparling, are you intending to carry out the plan you told me about this morning?"

"Yes. You will have a chance next year."

"Thank you, sir."

"Now, we will go over the books together. I shall have to ask you some questions as we go along. Please first tell the porter to send Phil and Teddy in when they return, but not to tell them who is here."

Billy went out and gave the showman's orders to the porter. As it chanced there were none of the other men of the crew on board the car at that time. They knew nothing about the change that was taking place.

Upon Billy's return he and his chief settled down to a busy few minutes of going over books and reports. The chief found many things that did not please him, and his anger grew apace at some of them.

"I guess I did a good job in getting rid of Snowden. What I should have done was to have got rid of him before I joined him out in the spring."

"He was a bad one," agreed Billy. "I can work with most anybody, but I never could work with the likes of him. The boys are all right. He wouldn't have had any trouble with them if he'd used them like human beings. They both put up with more than I would have stood. But I tell you, that boy, Teddy—Spotted Horse, the boys call him—did hand it out to the Boss. If Snowden had stayed here much longer I'd been willing to lay odds that Teddy would have run him off the car. Did I tell you about how Phil posted the silo?"

"No; what about it?"

Billy began an enthusiastic narration of Phil's clever piece of work, Mr. Sparling nodding as the story proceeded.

"I am not surprised. He is a natural born showman. You will hear great things from Phil Forrest some of these days, and his friend, Teddy, will not be so far behind, either, when once he gets settled down."

"I guess they are coming now," spoke up Conley. "Somebody got on the back platform just now. I'll go out and see."

Billy met the Circus Boys coming in.

"You are wanted in the stateroom," he said.

"More trouble?" laughed Phil.

Billy nodded.

"Maybe, and maybe not, but I reckon the trouble is all over."

Phil and Teddy started for the stateroom. At the door they halted, scarcely able to believe their eyes. There sat Mr. Sparling, smiling a welcome to them.

"Mr. Sparling!" cried Phil dashing in, with Teddy close at his heels.

"Yes, I wanted to surprise you," laughed the showman, throwing an arm about each boy.

"I am so glad to see you," cried Phil, hugging his employer delightedly.

"And it does my heart good to set eyes on you two once more. The Sparling organization has not been quite the same since you left. And, Teddy, we haven't had any excitement since you left."

"How's the donkey?"

"Kicking everything out of sight that comes near him. He has not been in the ring since you left," laughed the showman.

"I wish I was back there. I don't like this game for a little bit."

"You mean you do not like the work?"

"Well, no, not exactly that. The work is all right, but—"

"But what?" persisted Mr. Sparling.

"Never mind, Teddy," interposed Phil. "No tales, you know."

"I'm telling no tales. I said I didn't like it and that's the truth. May I go back with you, Mr. Sparling?"

"You may if you wish, of course, if you think you want to leave Phil."

"Is Phil going to stay?"

"Certainly."

Teddy drew a long sigh.

"Then, I guess I'll stay, too, but there's going to be trouble on this car before the season ends, sir."

"Trouble?"

"Yes, sir."

"What kind of trouble?"

"I'm going to thrash a man within an inch of his life one of these fine days."

"I am astonished, Teddy. Who is the man?"

"Oh, no matter. A certain party on this car," replied Teddy airily.

"I sincerely hope you will do nothing of the sort, for conditions have changed somewhat on Number Three. Behave yourself, Teddy, and learn all you can. You may be a car manager yourself one of these times, and all this experience will prove useful to you," advised Mr. Sparling.

"Not the kind of experience I have been having; that won't be useful to me," retorted Teddy.

Mr. Sparling and Phil broke out into a hearty laugh, at which Teddy looked very much grieved.

"Have you seen Mr. Snowden?" questioned Phil, glancing keenly at his employer. There was something about the situation that gave the lad a sudden half-formed idea.

"Yes, I have seen him," answered the showman, his face sobering instantly.

"Where is he?"

"He has gone away. I might as well tell you, boys. Mr. Snowden is no longer manager of this car. He is no longer connected with the Sparling Show in any capacity, nor ever will be again," announced Mr. Sparling decisively.

The Circus Boys gazed at him, scarcely able to believe what they had heard.

"Not—not on this car any more?" questioned Phil.

"Never again, young man."

"Hip, hip, hooray!" shouted Teddy Tucker at the top of his voice, hurling his hat up to the roof of the car, and beginning a miniature war dance about the stateroom, until, for the sake of saving the furniture, Phil grabbed his friend, threw him over on the divan and sat down on him.

"Now, Mr. Sparling, having disposed of Teddy, I should like to hear all about it," laughed Phil.

"He is the same old Teddy. I can imagine what a pleasant time Snowden has had with Tucker on board the same car with him. There is little more to say. I have been disappointed in Snowden for sometime. I had about decided to remove him before you joined the car. I wished, however, to send you boys on, knowing full well that you would soon find out whether there was any mistake in my estimate of the man. Then, too, I had other reasons for sending you in the advance."

"Well, sir, now that he has gone, I will say I am heartily glad of it, though I am sincerely sorry for Mr. Snowden. He knew the work; I wish I were half as familiar with it as he is; but I wouldn't have his disposition—no, not for a million dollars."

"I would," piped Teddy, whom Phil had permitted to get up. "I'd be willing to be a raging lion for a million dollars."

"Have you decided what you are going to do with Car Three now?" inquired Phil. "You know I am interested now that I have cast my lot with it."

"Yes; I certainly have decided. Of course the car will go on just the same."

"I understand that, but have you made up your mind who you will appoint as the agent—who will be manager of the car?"

"I have."

"I presume we shall have to get a man before we can go on?"

"Yes."

"Then we shall have to lie here a day, at least. Well, we can busy ourselves. We are slighting a good many of these bigger towns. They are not half-billed."

"I am glad to hear you say that. It shows that you are already a good publicity man. But you will not have to lie here any longer than you wish," added the showman significantly.

"Will you tell me who the new manager is, Mr. Sparling?"

"Yes. You are the manager of Car Three!" was the surprising reply.



CHAPTER XI

THREE CHEERS AND A TIGER

"Man—Manager of Car Three?" stammered Phil.

"Yes."

Teddy's eyes grew large.

"That—manager of Car Three?" he said derisively.

Mr. Sparling gave him a stern glance.

"But, Mr. Sparling, I know so little about the work. Of course I am proud and happy to be promoted to so responsible a position, but almost, if not every man on the car, is better equipped for this work than I am."

"They may be more familiar with some of the details, but as a whole I do not agree with your view. In two weeks' time you will have grasped the details, and I will wager that there will not be a better agent in the United States."

The Circus Boy flushed happily.

"You will have to be alive. But I do not need to say that. You always are alive. You will have to fight the railroads constantly, to get your car through on time; you will have to combat innumerable elements that as yet you have not had experience with. However, I have no fear. I know the stuff you are made of. I ought to. I have known you for nearly five years."

"I will do my best, Mr. Sparling."

There was no laughter in the eyes of the Circus Boy now.

"Then again, you are going right into territory where you will have the stiffest kind of opposition. At least five shows are booked for our territory almost from now on."

"Have any of them billed that territory?"

"I think the Wild West Show has. The others are about due there now."

"It is going to be a hand-to-hand conflict, then?"

"Something of that sort," smiled the showman. "I shall expect you to beat them all out."

"You are giving me a big contract."

"I am well aware of that. We all have to do the impossible in the show business. That is a part of the game, and the man who is not equal to it is not a showman."

Phil squared his shoulders a little.

"Then I will be a showman," he said, in a quiet tone.

"That is the talk. That sounds like Phil Forrest. It is usual for shows to have a general agent who has charge of all the advance work, and who directs the cars and the men from some central point. Heretofore I have done all of this myself, but our show is getting so large, and there is so much opposition in the field, that I have been thinking of putting on a general agent next season. However, we will talk that over later."

"And so you are the car manager, eh," quizzed Teddy.

"It seems so."

"Won't I have a snap now?" chuckled the lad.

"Yes; your work will be done with a snap or back you go to Mr. Sparling, young man," laughed Phil. "There will be no drones in this hive."

"What have you been doing?" inquired the owner.

"I'm the dough boy."

"The dough boy?"

"He has been making paste," Phil informed him.

Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.

"I guess we shall have to graduate you from the paste pot and give you a diploma. I cannot afford to pay a man seventy-five dollars a week to mix up flour and water."

"And steam," corrected the irrepressible Teddy.

"Should not some press work be done from this car?" asked Phil.

"By all means. It is of vast importance. Hasn't it been done?"

"No, sir; not since I have been on board. I would suggest that we turn Teddy loose on that; let him call on the newspapers, together with such other work as I may lay out for him. Teddy is a good mixer and he will make friends of the newspaper men easily."

"A most excellent idea. I leave these matters all in your hands. As to matters of detail, in regard to the outside work, I would suggest that you consult Conley freely. He is a good, honest fellow, and had he a better education he would advance rapidly. I intend to promote him next season. Conley told me, this morning, of your brilliant exploit in billing the silo."

"Oh, you saw him this morning? Now I understand why he hurried away and came back all smiles. You—you told him I was to be manager?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"He was as pleased as a child with a new toy. He said you were a winner in the advance game."

"Will he tell the men?"

"No. That will be left for you to do in your own way."

Phil nodded reflectively.

"And now let us go into the details. We will first look over the railroad contracts, together with the livery, hotel and other contracts. I am going to leave you five hundred dollars in cash, and each week you will send in your payroll to the treasurer, who will forward the money by express to cover it. The five hundred is for current expenses. Spend money with a lavish hand, where necessary to advance the interests of the show, and pinch every penny like a miser where it is not necessary. That is the way to run a show."

Phil never forgot the advice.

"And Teddy?"

"Yes, sir."

"You may, in addition to your other duties, act as a sort of office assistant and secretary to Phil. I shall make only one request of you. Write to me every night, giving a full account of the day's doings, with any suggestions or questions that Phil may ask you to make, and enclose this with the report sheet. You understand, Phil, that your regular detailed reports go to the car behind you. The one that comes to me is a brief summary."

"I understand."

"Have you the route?"

"No, sir."

"Perhaps it is in the desk. Yes; here it is. Now and then we shall have to make changes in it, of which I shall advise you, in most instances, by telegraph. Wire me every morning as to your whereabouts so I may keep in touch with you."

"You may depend upon me, sir."

"I know it."

For the next half hour Mr. Sparling and Phil were deeply engaged in poring over the books, the contracts and the innumerable details appertaining to the work of an advance car.

"There, I guess we have touched upon most everything. Of course emergencies will arise daily. Were it not for those anyone could run a car. No two days are alike in any department of the circus business. You will meet all emergencies and cope with them nobly. Of that I am confident. And now, Mr. Philip Forrest, I officially turn over to you Advertising Car Number Three of the Sparling Shows. I wish you good luck and no railroad wrecks. Come and have lunch with me; then I'll be getting back to the show. The rest is up to you."

"Mr. Sparling," said Phil with a slight quaver in his voice, "if I succeed it will be because of the training you have given me. I won't say I thank you, for I do not know whether I do or not. I may make an awful mess of it. In that case I shall suffer a sad fall in your estimation. But it is not my intention to make a mess of it, just the same."

"You won't. Come along, Teddy. We will have a meal, and it won't be at a contract hotel, either," said the showman, with a twinkle in his eyes.

The three left the car. Several of the men had returned from their lunch, and the word quickly spread through the car that Mr. Sparling was there. Rumors of high words between the showman and Snowden were rife, but none appeared to know anything definite as to what had really occurred.

Conley knew, but he preserved a discreet silence.

"I reckon, if they wanted us to know what was going on they would tell us," declared Rosie the Pig. "That's the trouble with these cars. We ain't human. We ain't supposed to know anything."

"Rosie, don't talk. Someday you might make a mistake and really say something worth listening to," advised Slivers.

For some reason the men evinced no inclination to leave the car. They hung about, perhaps waiting for something to turn up. Each felt that there was something in the air, nor were they mistaken.

It was nearly three o'clock when Phil and Teddy returned to the car. Mr. Sparling was not with them. The lads went direct to the office, unlocked the door and entered.

The men looked at each other and nodded as if to say, "I told you so," but none ventured to speak.

After what seemed a long wait Phil stepped from the office, followed by Teddy. They heard the lads coming down the corridor. Phil stopped when he reached the main part of the car. His face was solemn.

"Boys," he began, "I have some news for you. Mr. Sparling has been here today, as you probably know."

Some of the men nodded.

"The next piece of news is that Mr. Snowden has closed with the car. He is no longer manager."

Phil paused, as if to accentuate his words. The men set up a great shout. It was a full minute before they settled down to listen to his further remarks.

"What I am about to say further is the most difficult thing I ever did in my life. I would prefer to turn, or to try to turn, a triple somersault off a springboard. Mr. Sparling has appointed me manager of Car Three. I suppose, instead of Phil Forrest, I shall be referred to as The Boss after this."

The whole crew sprang to their feet.

"Three cheers for The Boss!" shouted the Missing Link.

"Hip, hip, hooray! Tiger!" howled the crew, while Phil stood blushing like a girl. Teddy was swelling with pride.

"I'm it, too," he chimed in, tapping his chest significantly.

"Boys," continued Phil, "I probably know less about the actual work of the advance than any man here. Anyone of you can give me points."

"No, we can't," interrupted several voices at once.

"I am also younger than any of you. I know a great deal about the business back with the show, but not much of what should be done ahead. But I am going to know all about it in a very short time. While I shall be the Boss, I am going to be the friend of every man here. You are not going to be abused. Just so long as you do your work you will be all right. The first man caught shirking his work closes then and there. But I shall have to look to you for my own success. I'll work with you. I understand that we have strong opposition ahead of us. Let's you and me take off our coats, tighten our belts, sail in with our feet, our hands and our heads—and beat the enemy to a standstill! Will you do it?"

"We will, you bet!" shouted the crew.

"We will beat them to a frazzle," added Rosie the Pig.

"That will be about all from you, Rosie," rebuked the Missing Link.

"This car leaves at eight o'clock this evening. After we get started, come in and I will give you all your assignments for tomorrow. My friend, Teddy, has been promoted to the position of press agent with the car, and a few other things at the same time. Henry, you will attend to the paste-making, beginning tomorrow. This being a billboard town, I am going to skip it and get into the territory where the opposition is stronger. I have arranged with the local billposters to take care of the work here."

"That is all I have to say just now, boys. When you have anything to ask or to suggest, you know where the office is. Mr. Conley, will you please come to the office now? We have quite a lot to talk over."

The men gave three rousing cheers.

Phil Forrest had made his debut as a car manager in a most auspicious manner, at the same time winning the loyalty of every man on the car.



CHAPTER XII

FACING AN EMERGENCY

"Well, this is what I call pretty soft," chuckled Teddy Tucker.

Car Three was under motion again, bowling along for the next stand, fifty miles away. The lads were sitting in their cosy office, Teddy lounging back on the divan, Phil in an easy chair at the roll-top desk. The lights shed a soft glow over the room; the bell rope above their heads swayed, tapping its rings with the regularity of the tick of a watch.

"Who sleeps upstairs, you or I?" asked Teddy.

"I will, if you prefer the lower berth."

"I do. It has springs under it."

"You will wish it had no springs, one of these nights, when you get bounced out of bed to the floor. Do you know that Pullman cars have no springs?"

"No; is that so?"

"That is the fact."

"Why?"

"Because, on rough or crooked roads, most of the passengers would be sleeping in the aisle. All hands would be bounced out. You are welcome to the lower berth."

"Shall we turn in and try them?"

"No; I am going to wait until we get to our destination. I want to see that the car is properly placed, in view of the fact that this is our first night in charge. I want to know how everything is handled by the railroad. You may go to bed if you wish."

"No; I guess I will sit up. I have a book to read. This is too fine to spoil by going to bed. I could sit up all night looking at the place. Why, this is just like being on a private car, isn't it?"

"It is a private car."

There were delays along the route to the next stand, and the car was laid over for more than an hour at a junction point, so that it was well past midnight when they reached their destination.

Phil and Teddy both went outside when the train entered the yards, Tucker hopping off as they swung into the station.

"Where are you going?" called Phil.

"Going to see if I can find anything that looks like food," answered Teddy, strolling away. "My stomach must have attention. It's been hours since it had any material to work with. Will you come along?"

"No; I am going to bed as soon as we get placed."

"Bad habit to go to bed on an empty stomach," called back the irrepressible Teddy.

The train that had drawn them uncoupled and started away; in a few moments a switching engine backed down, hooked to the show car and tore back and forth through the yards, finally placing the car at the far side of the yard behind a long row of freight cars.

All the men on board were asleep, and now that the car would not be disturbed before morning, Phil entered his stateroom and went to bed.

He had not been asleep long when he felt himself being violently shaken. A hand, an insistent hand, was on his shoulder.

"Phil, wake up! Wake up!"

The boy was out of bed instantly.

"What is it? Oh, that you, Teddy? What did you wake me up for?"

"You'll be glad I did wake you when you hear what I have to say."

"Then hurry up and say it. I am so sleepy I can scarcely keep my eyes open. What time is it?"

"Half-past one."

"Goodness, and we have to get up before five o'clock! What is it you wanted to tell me? Nothing is wrong, I hope."

"I don't know. But there is something doing."

"Well, well, what is it?"

"I think there is another show car in the yards."

"A show car?"

"Yes."

"You don't say!"

"I do say."

"Who's car is it?"

"I didn't wait to look. I saw the engine shift it in."

"Where is it?"

"Way over the other side of the station, on the last track."

Phil sprang for his trousers, getting into them in short order, while Teddy looked on inquiringly.

"Anybody would think you were a fireman the way you tear into those pants. What's your rush?"

"Rush? Teddy Tucker, we have business on hand."

"Business?"

"Yes, business. It's mighty lucky for us that your appetite called you out. I shall never go to sleep again without knowing who is in the yard, and where. Come and show me where they are."

"I'm sorry I told you."

"And I am mighty thankful. You see, something told me to leave that last town and hurry on."

"Something tells me to go to bed," growled Teddy.

"You come along with me, and be quiet. Was the car dark?"

"I guess so."

The boys hurried from Car Three; that is, Phil did, Teddy lagging behind.

"Over that way," he directed.

Phil crawled under a freight car to take a short cut, and ran lightly across the railroad yards. The boys passed the station; then, crossing several switches, they beheld a big, yellow car looming up faintly under the lights of the station.

"It is an advertising car," breathed Phil. "I wonder whose it can be?"

"You can search me," grumbled Teddy. "Guess I'll go back to bed now."

"You wait until I tell you to go back," commanded Phil. "Keep quiet, now."

The Circus Boy crept up to the car with great caution. The light was so faint, however, that he was obliged to go close to it before he could read the letters on the side of it. Even then he had to take the letters one by one and follow along until he had read the length of the line.

"Barnum and Bailey's Greatest Show on Earth," was what Phil Forrest read, and on the end of the car a big figure "4."

"Car Four," he muttered. "Here's trouble right from the start. I am right in the thick of it from the word go."

Phil walked back to where Teddy was awaiting him.

"Find out whose car it is?"

"Yes; Barnum & Bailey."

"Humph! Let's go back to bed."

"There will be no bed for us tonight, I fear. Wait; let me think."

Phil walked over and sat down on a truck on the station platform, where he pondered deeply and rapidly.

"All right; I have it figured out. We have our work cut out for us. You wait here while I run back to the car."

Teddy curled up on the truck, promptly going to sleep, while Phil hurried to the car to get the address of the liveryman who had the contract for running the country routes for the show.

The lad came running back, and, darting into the station, found a telephone. After some delay he succeeded in reaching the livery stable.

"This is Car Three of the Sparling Shows," he said. "Yes, Car Three. I want those teams at our car at two o'clock this morning. Not a minute later. Can't do it? You've got to do it! Do you hear what I say? I want those teams there at two o'clock. Very well; see that you do!"

Out to the platform darted Phil in search of Teddy. The latter was snoring industriously.

Phil grabbed him by the collar and slammed him down on the platform.

"Ouch!" howled Teddy.

"Get up, you sleepy-head!"

"I'll friz you for that!" declared Tucker, squaring off pugnaciously.

"Don't be silly, Teddy. This is the first emergency we have had to face. Don't let's act like a couple of children. We must beat the opposition, and I'm going to beat them out, no matter what the cost or the effort. Listen! I want you to go to the contract livery stable. Here is the address. Go as fast as your legs will carry you."

"What, at this time of night?"

"Yes."

"Not I!"

"You go, or you close right here, young man. Come now, Teddy, old chap, remember the responsibility of this car rests on your shoulders almost as much as on mine. Let's not have any hanging back on your part."

"I'm not hanging back. What is it you want me to do? I'm ready for anything."

"That's the talk. Hustle to the livery stable and camp right on the trail. See that those teams are here at two o'clock, or by a quarter after two, at the latest. Have the men drive up quietly, and you show them the way. Don't you go to sleep at the stable. Now, foot it!"

Teddy was off at a dogtrot. His pride was aroused.

"I guess we'll clean 'em up!" he growled as he hurried along.

In the meantime, Phil hastened into the station and ran to the lunch room. It was closed.

"Pshaw!" he muttered.

Phil now turned toward town on a brisk run. After searching about, he found an all-night eating place that looked as if it might be clean.

"Put me up ten breakfasts. I have some men that I want to give an early start. They haven't time to come here. Wrap up the best breakfasts you can get together. Put in a jug of coffee and a jug of milk. I will call for the food inside of half an hour. Don't delay a minute longer than that. Hustle it!"

Phil darted out and back to the car. Every nerve in his body was centered on the work in hand. He ran to Conley's berth and shook him.

"What is it?" mumbled Billy sleepily.

"Get up and come into the stateroom. There is business on hand."

Billy hopped out of bed, wide awake instantly, and ran to the stateroom.

Phil briefly explained the situation and what he had planned to do. After he had finished Billy eyed him approvingly.

"You're a wonder," he said. "What about breakfast?"

"I am having some prepared at a restaurant. But the men will not have time to eat it. They may take it with them and eat it on the road."

"I'll rout out the crew," returned Billy, hurrying back into the car.

There was much grumbling and grunting, but as soon as the men were thoroughly awake they were enthusiastic. Not a man of them but that wanted to see this bright-faced, clean-cut young car manager beat out his adversaries.

By the time the men had washed and dressed the rigs began to arrive. These were quickly loaded with brushes, paste cans and paper, all with scarcely a sound, the men speaking in subdued tones by Phil's direction.

The darkness before the dawn was over everything.

At last all was in readiness.

Phil handed each man his route.

"Now, boys, it is up to you. I look to you to put the Greatest out of business, for one day at least. You should be out of town and on the first daub inside of thirty minutes. I will go with you and pick up the breakfasts; then you will go it alone. Don't leave a piece of board as big as a postage stamp uncovered. Wherever you strike a farmer, make him sign a brief agreement not to let anyone cover our paper. Pay him something in addition to the tickets you give him. Here is an agreement that you can copy from. Make your route as quickly as you can and do it well; then hurry back here. I may need you."

"Hooray!" muttered Rosie the Pig.

"Hold your tongue!" commanded Billy, "Think this is a Fourth of July celebration?"

"Go ahead!"

Phil hopped into one of the wagons, and off they started. It was but the work of a few minutes to load the packages of breakfast into the wagons, after which the men drove quickly away. Phil paid the bill. But he was not yet through with his early morning work. He made his way to the livery stable.

"Send another rig over to the car at once. I want you to bring the day's work of lithographs and banners here, and my men will work them out from your stables. I do not want the opposition car to know what we are doing until it is nearly all done."

"Whew, but you're a whirlwind!" grinned the livery stable man.

The horse and wagon were made ready at once, Phil riding back to the car with it. The banner-men and lithographers who were to work in town had not been awakened. Phil wished them to get all the sleep possible; so, with Teddy's help, he loaded the paper on the wagon and sent the driver away with it. Then he awakened the rest of the men.

Phil briefly explained what had happened.

"Now, I want all hands to turn out at once. Go to the restaurant on the third street above here and get your breakfasts. Here is the money. By daylight some of the business places will begin to open. I want every man of you to spend the forenoon squaring every place in town. Make an agreement that no other show is to be allowed to place a bill in their windows. While you are eating your breakfasts I will lay out the streets and assign you. I have the principal part of the town in my mind, now, so I can give you the most of your routes. Teddy, you will turn in and help square. I will collect the addresses of the places you have squared, early in the morning, and by that time I shall have a squad of town fellows hired, to place the stuff. Now, get going!"

All hands hurried into their clothes; after locking the car, Phil led them to the restaurant. But the Circus Boy did not take the time to eat. Instead he busied himself laying out the routes for the town men to work.

By the time that they had finished their breakfast faint streaks of dawn were appearing in the east.

"Now, boys, do your prettiest!" urged Phil.

"We will; don't you worry, Boss."

The men hurried off, full of enthusiasm for the work before them, while Phil started out to round up a squad of men to distribute the lithographs after his own men had squared the places to put them.

In an hour he had all the men he wanted. This done, Phil took his way slowly back to the railroad yards and stepped up to the platform of his own car. The freight cars had been removed from in front of him and the rival car stood out gaudily in the morning light. All was quiet in the camp of the rival. Not a man of its crew was awake.

"I hope they sleep all day," muttered Phil, entering his own car and pulling all the shades down, after which he took his position at a window and watched from behind a shade.



CHAPTER XIII

A BAFFLED CAR MANAGER

It was nearly seven in the morning when Phil's vigil was rewarded by the sight of a man in his pajamas, emerging from the rival car. The man stood on the rear platform and stretched himself. All at once he caught sight of Car Three.

The fellow instantly became very wide awake. Opening the car door he called to someone within; then three or four men came out and stared at the Sparling car.

"They are pretty good sleepers over there, I guess," grinned the rival car manager, for such he proved to be.

The men dodged back, and there was a lively scene in the rival car. The men realized that they had been remiss in their duty in sleeping so late, but still they had not the least doubt of their ability to outwit their rivals, for the crew of Car Four was a picked lot who had never yet been beaten in the publicity game.

About this time Phil Forrest strolled out to the rear platform of his car. He was fully dressed save for coat and vest and hat, yet to all appearances he, too, had just risen.

The manager of the rival car came out and hailed him.

"Hello, young fellow!" he called.

"Good morning," answered Phil sweetly.

"Seems to me you sleep late over there."

"So do you," laughed Phil. "There must be something in the air up this way to induce sleep."

"I guess that's right. Who are you?" inquired the rival manager.

"I am one of the crowd."

"You're the programmer, perhaps?"

"I may be most anything."

The manager of the rival car strolled toward Car Three, whereupon Phil started, meeting him half-way. For reasons of his own he did not wish his rival to get too close to the Sparling car.

"I never saw you before," said the rival, eyeing Phil keenly.

"Nor I you."

"What's your name?"

"Philip."

"Glad to know you, Philip. How long have you been with the car?"

"A few weeks only."

"Who's your car manager?"

"A fellow named Forrest."

"Never heard of him. Is he in bed!"

"No; he is out."

"Humph! What time do you start your men on the country routes?"

"Usually about seven to seven-thirty."

"Well, you won't start them this morning at that time."

"No; I think not."

"I'll tell you what you do; you come and take breakfast with me. We won't go to any contract hotel, either."

"Thank you; I shall be delighted. Wait till I get my clothes on."

Phil hastened back to his own car.

"That fellow is playing a sharp trick. He is trying to get me away so he can get his men out ahead of mine. I will walk into his trap. He knows I am the manager. I could see that by the way he acted."

Phil stepped out and joined his rival.

"I believe you said you were the manager of that car, did you not?" asked the rival.

"I am, though I do not recollect having said so."

"A kid like you manager of a car? I don't know what the show business is coming to, with all due respect to you, young man."

"Oh, that's all right," answered the Circus Boy with a frank, innocent smile. "I am just learning the business, you know."

"I thought so," nodded the rival. "My name's Tripp—Bob Tripp."

"You been in the business long?"

"Fifteen years, my boy. After you have been in it as long as I have, you will know every crook and turn, every trick in the whole show business," said the fellow proudly. "You are a bright-faced young chap. I should like to have you on my car. Don't want a job, do you?"

"No, thank you. I am very well satisfied where I am. I can learn on a Sparling car as well as anywhere else, you know."

"Yes, of course."

The couple stopped at the leading hotel of the town, where the rival manager ordered a fine breakfast. Phil Forrest was quite ready for it. He already had done a heavy day's work and he was genuinely hungry.

"Guess they don't feed you very well with your outfit," smiled Tripp.

"Contract hotels, you know," laughed Phil. "I do not get a chance at a meal like this every day."

"Do the way I do."

"How is that?"

"Feed at the good places and charge it up in your expense account."

"Oh, I couldn't do that. It would not be right."

"That shows you are new in the business. Get all you can and keep all you get. That's my way of doing things. I was just like you when I began."

They tarried unusually long over the meal, Tripp seeming to be in no hurry. Phil was sure that he was in no hurry, either. And he knew why there was no need for hurry. Bob, in the meantime, was relating to the show boy his exploits as a manager. In fact he was giving Phil more information about the work of his own car than he realized at the time.

Now and then the Circus Boy would slip in an innocent question, which Bob would answer promptly. By the time the meal was finished Phil had a pretty clear idea of the workings of his rival's advance business, as well as their plans for the future, so far as Tripp knew them.

"By the way, how did you happen to get a berth like this, young man?" questioned Tripp. "I thought a fellow by the name of Snowden was running Car Three for old man Sparling."

"He was."

"Closed?"

"Yes."

"What for?"

"I would rather not talk about that. You will have to ask headquarters, or Snowden himself. You see, it is not my business, and I make it a rule never to discuss another fellow's affairs in public."

"Nor your own, eh?"

"Oh, I don't know. I think I have talked a good deal this morning. But you and I had better get back to our cars and get our men started, had we not? This is a late morning all around."

"No hurry, no hurry," urged Bob. "Why the men haven't got back from their breakfast yet. Wait awhile. Have a smoke."

"Thank you; I do not smoke."

Tripp looked at him in amazement.

"And you in the show business?"

"Is that any reason why a man's habits should not be regular?"

"N-n-n-o," admitted the rival slowly.

"Well, I must be going, just the same. I have considerable work to do in the car."

Bob rose reluctantly and followed Phil from the dining room. He had hoped to detain the young car manager longer, or until his own men could get a good start on the work of the day.

He looked for no difficulty, however, in outwitting his young opponent.

As they approached the railroad yards each car stood as they had left it, shades pulled well down and no signs of life aboard.

"Looks as if your crew was still asleep," smiled Tripp.

"I might say the same of yours, did I not know to the contrary," answered Phil suggestively.

Bob shot a keen glance at him.

"What do you mean?"

"Nothing much. Of course I did not think your men would be asleep all this time. They are surely out to breakfast by this time."

"You ain't half as big a fool as you look, are you?" demanded the rival manager. "Well, I will see you later."

Each went to his little office and began the work of the day, but there was a grim smile of satisfaction on the face of each.

Fully an hour passed, and one of the lithographers from the rival car went aboard with the information that they were unable to get a piece of paper in any window in town thus far.

"Why not?" demanded Tripp.

"They say their windows are already contracted for," was the answer.

"Contracted for?"

"Yes."

"By whom?"

"I don't know. That's all the information we can get."

"Seen any other showmen about town this morning?"

"No; not any that I know, nor any with paper and brush under his arm."

"H-m-m-m," mused the showman. "That's queer. It can't be that the young man across the way has got the start of us. No; that is not possible. He is too green for that. Have his men gone out on the country routes yet, or are they still asleep?"

"I don't know. Nobody has seen a living soul around that car this morning, so far as I know."

"I'll go over town and do a little squaring on my own hook. I'll soon find out who has been heading us off, if anyone has."

The manager hurried off with his assistant, but even he was unable to get any information.

He was baffled and perplexed. He did not understand it. Tactics entirely new had been sprung on him. He was an expert in the old methods of the game, but these were different.

In the meantime, Phil Forrest, the young advance agent, sat calmly in his stateroom, now and then receiving a report from Teddy Tucker who sauntered in under cover of a string of freight cars on the opposite side, then slipped out again.

Teddy was Phil's blockade runner this day.

At noon the party on the rival car all adjourned for luncheon, and there they were joined by their manager, who discussed the queer situation with them. This was the time for Phil Forrest.

"Now for the surprise," he said, hurriedly going uptown, where he got his own lithographers together, and the crew that he had hired in town. Every man had been pledged to silence, as had the livery stable man and his helpers.

"Now, shoot the stuff out! Get every window full before those fellows are through their dinner. A five-dollar bill for the man who covers his route first. The banner locations we cannot fill so quickly, but they are all secured, so our friend can't take them away from us. Now get busy!"

They did. The men of Car Three forgot that they were hungry. Never before had the lithographers and banner men worked as they did that day. With the extra help that Phil had put on he was able to cover the ground with wonderful quickness.

When the men of the rival crew emerged from the contract hotel, and sat down in front to digest the contract meal, they suddenly opened their eyes in amazement.

In every window within sight of them there hung a gaudy Sparling circus bill, some windows being plastered full of them.

They called the manager hastily.

"Look!" said his assistant.

"What! We're tricked! But they haven't got far with their work. They haven't had time. Don't you see, the lazy fellows have just got to work. After them, men! Beat them out! You've got to out bill this town!"

As the men hurried out into the other streets the same unpleasant sight met their eyes. Every available window bore a Sparling bill; every wall obtainable had a Sparling banner tacked to it. One could not look in any direction without his gaze resting on a Sparling advertisement.

Bob Tripp was mad all through.

He had been outwitted.

In his anger he started for Car Three. Reaching it he discovered the young advance agent on the shady side of Car Three, lounging in a rocking chair reading a book.

Phil's idea of dramatic situations was an excellent one.

"What do you mean, playing such a trick on me?" demanded the irate rival.

The Circus Boy looked up with an innocent expression on his face.

"Why, Mr. Tripp, what is it?"

"Is that the way you repay my hospitality?" he shouted.

"Please explain."

Phil's tone was mild and soothing.

"You have grabbed every hit in this town. It's unprofessional. It's a crooked piece of business. I'll get even with you for that."

"Why, Mr. Tripp, how can that be, I am green; I am only a beginner, you know," answered the Circus Boy, with his most winning smile.

Bop Tripp gazed at him a moment, then with an angry exclamation turned on his heel and strode back to his own car.

Half an hour later Phil Forrest's men drove in from their country routes. They had covered them quickly, having got such an early start.

Phil heard their reports. They had left nothing undone. Phil then hurried over town to pay the bills he had contracted, first leaving word that not a man was to leave the car until his return.

He was back in a short time.

"We go out at two o'clock, boys," he announced upon his return. "I am leaving the banner men here. They will take a late train out tonight, and join us in the morning."

An express train came thundering in, and before Bob Tripp knew what was in the wind it had coupled on to Car Three. A few moments later Phil Forrest and his crew were bowling away for the next stand. His rivals would not be able to get another train out until very late that night.

Late in the afternoon Bob Tripp's country crew returned, tired, disgusted and glum.

"Well, what is it?" demanded the now thoroughly irritated manager.

"Not a dozen sheets of paper put up by the whole crew," was the startling announcement. "That Sparling outfit has plastered every spot as big as your hand for forty miles around here."

"What! Why didn't you cover them?" shrieked the manager.

"Cover them—nothing! They had every location cinched and nailed down. Every farmer stood over the other fellow's paper with a shot gun."

"Sold! And by a kid at that!" groaned Bob Tripp settling down despairingly into his office chair.



CHAPTER XIV

TEDDY WRITES A LETTER

"I'm only a beginner," mused Phil Forrest, as his car spun along at a sixty-mile gait. "And I'm green, and I have a whole lot to learn, but if Bob Tripp catches up with Car Three, now, he will have to travel some!"

The next town was made quite early in the afternoon. Phil, however, did not settle down to wait for another day. He had wired the liveryman in the next town to meet his car, so, immediately upon arrival, he bundled his billposters off on the country routes.

"Work as far as you can before dark, then find places to sleep at a farmhouse. Do the best you can. We must be out of these yards before noon tomorrow, and as much earlier as possible. If you can post by moonlight do it, even if you have to wake the farmers up along the line to get permission."

The men were well-nigh exhausted, but they rose manfully to the occasion. They realized that there was a master hand over them, even if it were the hand of a boy inexperienced in their line of work.

No manager had ever reeled off work at such a dizzy pace as Phil Forrest was doing. It challenged their admiration and made them forget their weariness.

The country routes started, Phil set his lithographers at work. The men kept at it until nearly midnight. They had completed their work in the town and in the meantime Phil and Teddy had squared the hits, as they are called—the places where the banners were to be tacked up—all ready for the banner men to get to work when they arrived in town next morning, or late that night.

They arrived about midnight, but the other car did not come on the train with them. They brought the information that the train was a limited one, and would not carry the rival car. Bob Tripp would not be able to get through until sometime the next forenoon.

Phil felt like throwing up his hat and shouting with delight, but his dignity as a car manager would not permit him to do so. No such limitations were imposed upon Teddy Tucker, however, and Teddy whooped it up for all that was in him.

All hands were weary when they turned in that night. At about eleven o'clock the following morning, the country billposters came in, having completed their routes. Phil had made his arrangements to have his car hauled over the road by a special engine, and shortly after noon Car Three was again on its way, every man on board rejoicing over the drubbing they had given their rival.

Phil Forrest was a hero in their eyes. Not a man of that crew, now, but who would go through fire for him, if need be!

That afternoon the same plan was followed, Phil driving his men out to their work.

"I am sorry, boys," he said. "I don't like to drive you like this, but we've simply got to shake off Tripp and his crew. In a day or so we will be straightened around again so we can settle down to our regular routine, unless, perhaps, we run into more trouble. You have all done nobly. If it hadn't been for you I should have been whipped to a standstill by that other outfit."

"Not you," growled the Missing Link. "They don't grow the kind that can whip the likes of you," in which sentiment the entire crew concurred.

No more was seen of Bob Tripp and his men on that run. Tripp heard from his general agent, however, with a call-down that made his head ache. The general agent kept the telegraph wires hot for twenty-four hours, and in the end, sent another car ahead of Tripp into the territory that Phil Forrest and his men were working.

Phil, of course, was not aware of this at the time, but he found it out before long.

His car had slipped over into Kansas, by this time, and the crew were now working their way over the prairies.

"It seems to me that it is time you were attending to your press work, Teddy Tucker," said Phil on the following day. "You have not called at a newspaper office since we started under the new arrangement."

"Nope," admitted Teddy.

"Why not?"

"Why, do you think?"

"I am sure I do not know."

"Well, you ought to, seeing you have been keeping me running my legs off twenty-four and a half hours out of every day."

"You have been pretty busy, that is a fact. But you had better start in today. You have plenty of time this afternoon to attend to that work."

"What shall I tell them?"

"Oh, tell them a funny story. Make them laugh, and they will do the rest."

"But I don't know any funny stories."

"Tell them the story of your life as a circus boy. That will be funny enough to make a hyena laugh."

"Ho, ho!" exploded Teddy. "It is a joke. He who laughs first laughs last."

"You mean 'he who laughs last laughs best,'" corrected Phil, smiling broadly.

"Well, maybe. Something of the sort," grinned the Circus Boy.

"And look here, Teddy!"

"Yes?"

"Have you written to Mr. Sparling yet, as he requested you to do?"

"No."

"And why not?"

"Same reason."

"You must write to him every day, no matter how busy you are. Sit up a little later every night; go without a meal if necessary, but follow his directions implicitly."

"Implicitly," mocked Teddy.

However, Mr. Sparling was not without news of what had been going on on Car Three. Billy Conley had written fully of Phil Forrest's brilliant exploits. After one of these letters, Mr. Sparling wrote Conley, as follows:

"Those boys will never tell me when they do anything worthwhile. It isn't like Phil to talk about his own achievements. So you write me anything of this sort you think I would like to know. I do not mean you are to act as a spy, or anything of the sort. Just write me the things you think they will not write about."

Bill understood and faithfully followed out his employer's directions. Mr. Sparling proudly showed Conley's letters to all of his associates back with the show, where there was much rejoicing, for everyone liked Phil; not only liked but held him in sincere admiration for his many good qualities.

That evening, however, Teddy sat down at the typewriter and laboriously hammered out a letter to his employer.

"Hang the thing!" he growled. "I wish I had only one finger."

"Why? That's a funny wish," laughed Phil. "Why do you wish that?"

"Because all the rest of them get in the way when I try to run a typewriter."

"I am afraid you never would make a piano player, Teddy."

"I don't want to be one. I would rather ride the educated donkey. It's better exercise." Teddy then proceeded with his letter. This is what he wrote:

"Dear Mr. Sparling:"

"Nothing has happened since you were here."

One of the lithographers had a fit in the dining room of the contract hotel this morning (I don't blame him, do you?) and they hauled him out by the feet. We run amuck with another advance car, the other day, but nobody got into a fight. I thought rival cars always—excuse the typewriter, it doesn't know any better— got into a fight when they met.

"One of the billposters fell off a barn—it was a hay barn, I think. I am not sure. I'll ask Phil before I finish this letter. Let me see, what happened to him? Oh, yes, I remember. He broke his arm off and we left him in a hospital back at Aberdeen. Phil let one of the banner men go this morning. The fellow had false teeth and couldn't hold tacks in his mouth. I tell him it would be a good plan to examine the teeth of all these banner men fellows before he joins them out, just the same as you would when you're buying a horse. Don't you think so?"

"By the way, I almost forgot to tell you. We ran over a switchman in the night last night. I don't think it hurt the car any."

"Well, good-bye. I'll write again when there is some news. How's January? Wish I was back, riding him in the ring. Expect I'll have an awful time with him when I start in again. Don't feed him any oats, and keep him off the fresh grass. I don't want him to get a fat stomach, because I can't get my legs under him to hold on when he bucks."

"Well, good-bye again. Love to all the boys."

"Your friend,"

"Teddy Tucker."

"P. S. Did I tell you we killed the switchman? Well, we did. He's dead. He's switched off for keeps."

"T. T."

"P. S. Yes, Phil says it was a hay barn that the billposter fell off from. Wouldn't it be a good plan to furnish those fellows with nets? Billposters are scarce and we can't afford to lose any good ones."

"T. T."



CHAPTER XV

IN AN EXCITING RACE

"More trouble," announced Teddy, one morning a few days later, when the boys awoke in Lawrence, Kansas.

"What's the trouble now, Old Calamity?" demanded Phil, who was washing his face and hands.

Contrary to his usual practice, he had not looked from his stateroom window immediately upon getting up. Teddy had, however. His eyes grew a little larger as he did so, but otherwise the sight that met them did not disturb his equanimity in the least.

"The usual."

"What do you mean? Have we run over another man?"

"Worse than that."

"You are getting to be a regular calamity howler."

"I'm a showman, I am. I keep my eyes open and I know what's going on about me. That's more than you can say for some people not more than a million miles away."

"All right; I will take that for granted. But tell me what it is that is disturbing you so early in the morning?" questioned Phil with a short laugh.

"We're all surrounded," answered Teddy grimly.

"Surrounded?"

"Yes."

"I don't understand."

"You will, pretty soon."

"Surrounded by what?"

"Opposition."

"What!"

"What's the matter, can't you hear this morning?"

"I hear very well, but I don't understand what you mean when you say we are surrounded by opposition. It strikes me we have been surrounded by nothing else since we took charge of Car Three."

Teddy nodded.

"Yep, that's right. But this is different. On our left, if you will observe closely, you will notice the canary yellow of Car Three of the so-called Greatest Show on Earth. On your right, if you still keep your eyes open and look hard, you will discover the flaming red of the Wallace advance car. And—"

"What!"

"And, as I was saying, if that fails to make an impression on you, a glance to the rear will discover to your feeble eyesight, one John Robinson's publicity car."

Having delivered himself of this monologue, Teddy calmly sat down and began to draw on his trousers, yawning broadly as he did so.

"Methinks, milord, that trouble is brewing in bucketfuls," he added.

Phil sprang to the car window, threw up the shade and peered out. He stepped to the other side of the car, looking from the window there.

"You're right."

"Of course I am right. I'm always right. How does it happen you did not discover all this after we got in last night!"

"They were not here then. They must have come in afterwards."

Dashing out into the main part of the car Phil called the men.

"Wake up, fellows!"

"What's up," called a voice.

"The yards are full of opposition. Three advertising cars are here besides our own."

No other urging was necessary to get the crew out of bed. They came tumbling from their upper berths like as many firemen upon a sudden alarm. All hands ran to the windows and peered out.

"Sure enough, they are all here," shouted Conley. "I reckon they have caught us napping this time."

"No; they are not awake yet. I hope they sleep as well as Bob Tripp's crew did," answered Phil. "But we have a big job before us today. You had better hustle through your breakfasts, boys. I will call up the livery and get the country routes off at once. Perhaps we can get ahead of the other fellows."

Phil did so, but as his teams drove up another set swung over the tracks, pulling up before the canary car.

"Hustle it! Hustle it!" cried Phil. "You drivers, if you get out ahead of the others and keep ahead, you'll get a bonus when you come in tonight."

Each side was now striving to get away first. The crew from the canary car made the getaway ahead of Phil's men, but they had less than a minute's headway.

The Circus Boys had their coats off and were hustling cans of paste over the side of the car into the wagons. Every move on their part counted. There was not a particle of lost motion.

Phil sprang into the first wagon to leave.

"Come on, fellows! Never mind the horses. I can buy more, if these break their necks."

With a rattle and a bang both rigs smashed over the tracks, and were on their way down the village street, each team on a runaway gallop. Phil's team was gaining gradually.

"Hang on to the cans!" shouted the Circus Boy. "We are coming to a bad crosswalk!"

People paused on the street, not understanding what the mad pace meant. A policeman ran out and raised his stick. Teddy, who had hopped on behind at the last minute, not wishing to lose any of the fun, now stood up unsteadily, hanging to the driver's coat collar and nearly pulling that worthy from his seat.

They overhauled the first wagon from the canary car and passed it.

"Ye—ow!" howled Teddy as their wagon swept by. "This is a Wild West outfit!"

The paste cans in the two wagons were dancing a jig by this time. Teddy suddenly lost his grip on the driver's collar, sitting down heavily on the nearest can. At that moment they struck the rough crossing, whereat Teddy shot up into the air, landing in a heap by the side of the road.

"Whoa!" commanded Phil, at the same time jumping on the can to keep it from following in the wake of Teddy.

"Go on!" howled Teddy, partially righting himself.

The driver urged his horses on and the team sprang away with loud snorts. But the rival wagon had taken a fresh start, and was drawing up on the Sparling outfit, the rear team, with lowered heads, appearing to be running away.

These horses struck the crosswalk with a mighty crash. The rear wheels slewed. The big can of paste was catapulted over a fence, narrowly missing Teddy Tucker's head as it shot over him. He flattened himself on the ground, but was up like a flash, sprinting out of harm's way.

There was reason for his last action. Other things were coming his way. As the wheels of the rival wagon slewed, they struck a gutter.

The wagon turned turtle, and men, paste brushes, paper and all were scattered all over the place.

"Oh, that's too bad!" muttered Phil. "But we can do nothing for them if we stop. There are plenty back there to lend assistance."

His tender heart told him to go back, whether he could be of service to his rival or not, but his duty lay plain before him. He must outdistance the enemy.

A second team came plunging down the road from the canary car, close behind the unfortunate wagon. These horses, too, were instantly mixed in the wreck. The wagon did not turn turtle as the one before it had done, but one of the horses went down.

Now came other wagons of the Sparling outfit. They were running two abreast in the road. But the drivers saw the obstruction in time, slowed down and dodged it. They were off at a tremendous speed, and a few moments later branched off on different roads, quickly disappearing in a cloud of dust.

Phil's wagon crew discovered a farm barn just ahead of them. They drove up to it on a run. All hands piled out. And how they did work! In a few moments the old barn was a blaze of color.

"First blood for the Sparling Combined Shows!" shouted the boy. "Now hit the trail for all you are worth!"

They were off again. A cloud of dust to their rear told them that one of their rival's wagons was after them. At the next stop the pursuing wagon rolled by them, the men yelling derisively.

"It is the Wallace Show's crowd!" shouted Phil. "Get after them."

The Wallace people went on half a mile further. As Phil drew up on them he shouted to his driver to go on to the next stop. When they made it finally, they were passed by the crew from the canary advance car.

It was give and take. Such billing never had been seen along the Kansas highway before. But, up to the present moment, the Sparling crew had much the best of it.

"This won't do, boys; I have got to get back. I have no business here. Keep this right up. Don't lag for an instant. Is there a town near here?"

The driver informed Phil that there was one about a mile ahead of them.

Phil rode on until he reached it. Here he jumped out, taking a bundle of paper with him, ordering his men to drive on. With him he carried a bucket of paste and a brush.

Phil went to work like a seasoned billposter, plastering every old stable and tight board fence in the village. By the time the rival crews drove in there was little space left for them, and such spots as were left were all on back or side streets.

"I guess they will know we have been here," decided Phil. "Now I must find a way to get back to the car."

Inquiring at the post office he learned where he might be able to hire a rig.

Losing not a minute the boy hunted up the man who owned the horse, and, by offering to pay him about twice what the service was worth, got the fellow to take him back.

The journey back to town was executed in almost as good time as that which Phil had made in driving out. The rig rattled into town at a gallop, and Phil was landed on his car again, safe and sound after his exciting rides.

"Did you beat them," cried Teddy, as Phil drove up.

"We did and we didn't. But we have got the start of them on the billing. Were any of the other men hurt?"

"One of the canary bird crowd got a broken arm. The others were pretty well bruised up, but they are still in the ring."

"What is doing in the town?"

"I sent our men out to square the locations. Told them not to put up any paper, but to hustle the squaring."

"Good for you, Teddy! You are a winner. Where did you learn that trick?"

"Oh, it's a little trick I picked up the other day. I'm a professional publicity man, you know."

"Are our opposition friends doing the same thing?"

"I think not. I got the start of them by fully an hour. Worked the same game on them that we did on Tripp the other day. You remember?"

Phil nodded. Indeed, he did remember.

"The men were so excited over the race that they couldn't spend time to attend to business. I got a pretty good bump, but I thought it was a good time to get back in the town and hustle our fellows, seeing that you had hit the long trail. I didn't expect you back before the middle of next week, the rate you were going."

Phil laughed good-naturedly.

"You remain here and watch the car, Teddy. I am going to run over town. Had your breakfast?"

"Say, I forgot all about that. I haven't had a thing."

"Your appetite will keep. I must look around a little. Something may be going on that needs attention from our side."

Phil had reason, a few minutes later, to be thankful that his instinct had prompted him to hurry over town.



CHAPTER XVI

A BATTLE OF WITS

"The Robinson people, at least, have got to work," muttered the Circus Boy as he made his way downtown. Here and there, at rare intervals, he came across a window bill of the show mentioned.

There were blocks of windows, however, with no billing in them. Phil interpreted this to mean that his own men had secured the requisite permission to place their own bills there.

He smiled as he thought of the little trick. It was an idea of his own to square locations ahead of the lithographers. Ordinarily, the lithographer made his rounds with a bundle of bills on his arm. Entering a store he would say, "May I place this bill in your window?" Phil had adopted the plan of sending the men around first. After they had obtained the signed permission they would go back over the same ground and place the bills. This took a little more time, but it had the merit of fooling his rivals and getting many more places squared than could have been done in the old way.

Suddenly a great wall loomed ahead of him.

Phil paused and surveyed it critically.

"Wouldn't I like to fasten Sparling banners all over that place, though. What a hit that would be. Why," he added looking about him, "it could be seen pretty much all over town."

Phil started on, intending to find out who owned the building. As he did so he saw a man from the canary-colored car entering the building. The man was going into a store on the ground floor.

"I'll bet he is after that very wall. Oh, pshaw! Why didn't I stay in town and attend to my business, as I should have done, instead of racing over the country at that mad pace? I'm going over to see what he is up to."

The Circus Boy hurried along. Entering the store he saw the man from the rival car, who proved to be the manager of it, engaged in earnest conversation with a man whom Phil supposed to be the proprietor.

After a little the manager of the other car hurried out. Phil stepped forward.

"Are you the proprietor?" he asked politely.

"Yes; what can I do for you?"

"Do you own this building?"

"No, but I am the agent for it."

"Very good. You are the man I want to talk with. I am from the Sparling Shows. I should like the privilege of fastening some banners on that south wall there."

"You're too late, young man. I just gave the other man permission to do that."

"Did he pay you?" asked Phil sweetly.

"No."

"Did you sign a contract with him?"

"No."

"May I ask how much he is to give you for the privilege?"

"Twenty-five dollars."

"He ought to be ashamed to offer you such a mean figure as that for such a privilege."

The proprietor grew interested.

"Where has he gone?"

"Said he had to talk with someone back with the show by long distance telephone before he could close the bargain."

Phil glanced apprehensively at the door.

"I guess you had better sell the privilege to me while you have the chance. He may not come back, you know; then you will be out all around."

"I couldn't think of it. I gave him the privilege of buying the wall."

"Money talks, doesn't it, sir?"

"It does, young man. It always makes such a loud noise around me that I can't hear much of anything else."

Phil grinned.

"Yes; it's pretty noisy stuff."

The lad calmly drew a big roll of bills from his pocket, placing it on the counter before the storekeeper. To the pile he added his watch, a jackknife, a bunch of keys and a silver matchbox.

"Help yourself," he begged calmly.

"Wha—what?" gasped the storekeeper.

"I said help yourself. I want that wall. I leave it to you to say what is a reasonable price for it—a price fair to you and to me. You admit that money talks. This money is addressing its remarks to you direct, at this very moment."

The proprietor hesitated, glanced at the money and other articles that Phil had arrayed so temptingly before him, and turned reflectively facing the rear of the store.

"I will scribble off a little contract," said Phil softly. "How much shall we make the consideration?"

"What'll you give?"

"I've got him!" was Phil Forrest's triumphant thought, but he allowed none of his triumphant feeling to appear in his face.

"Well, were I making the offer I should say the wall was worth about forty dollars, no other bills to appear on it until after my show has left town. But I told you to help yourself. I'll stick to my word."

"Count me out forty dollars and take it. I like your style. Your way of doing business makes a hit with me."

Phil inserted the agreed-upon price in the contract.

"Just sign your name there, please," he said, still in that soft, persuasive voice.

The storekeeper read the brief contract through, nodded approvingly, then affixed his signature with the fountain pen that Phil had handed to him.

This done, the lad counted out forty dollars, stowed the rest away in his pockets, together with his other belongings, then extended his hand cordially to the proprietor.

"Thank you very much," murmured Phil, his face all aglow now.

"You're welcome. When do you put up your bills?"

"At once. We leave town tonight, and we have a lot of work to do first."

"Let's see; were you one of the fellows mixed up in that race this morning?"

Phil blushed.

"I am afraid I was very much mixed up in it. Well, good afternoon."

The lad turned and started for the door. At that moment someone entered. It was the manager of the canary car.

"It's all right. I'll take the location," he announced, smiling broadly, as he walked rapidly to where the proprietor was standing, laying two tens and a five-dollar bill on the counter.

"I—I'm sorry," stammered the storekeeper, flushing. "I have just sold it to another party."

"Sold it!"

The manager's face went several shades paler.

"Yes."

"To—to whom?"

"To that young gentleman there."

The manager whirled and faced Phil.

"Who—who are you?"

"My name is Forrest," answered Phil, smiling easily. He could well afford to smile.

"And you—you have bought this location?"

"I have."

"Whom do you represent?"

"The Sparling Combined Shows."

The Circus Boy's rival flushed angrily.

"I demand that the location be turned over to me instantly! It belongs to me, and I'll have it if I have to fight for it. Here's my money, Mr. Storekeeper. I command you to make out a paper giving me the right to bill that wall."

"I do not think he will do anything of the sort, my dear sir," spoke up Phil. "I have bought and paid for the location and I propose to hold it. You had no more right to it than any other man. You did not have the nerve to put down your money for it when you had the chance, and you lost your opportunity. You will see the wall covered with Sparling banners in a very short time."

"I will not!"

"Be on your way, my man. Let me tell you the Sparling banners are going up."

"There's my money!" shouted the manager of the canary colored car. "The wall is mine!"

He dashed out of the store and started for his car on the run.

"If you let those other showmen banner the wall I'll have the law on you!" announced Phil sternly. Then the Circus Boy ran out of the store, starting off at a lively sprint for his own car. He caught up with the rival manager in a moment, passed him and bounded on. His rival already was puffing and perspiring under the unusual effort.

"Turn out every man in town!" he called, dashing into the car. "Teddy, run to the main street and send everyone of our banner men and lithographers to the Ward Building. You and Henry carry over there at once all the banners you can scrape together. Do not lose a minute. But wait! I'll telephone the liveryman for a wagon to carry the paper, brushes and paste pots over. You remain here, Henry, and go with the wagon. Teddy, you hustle for the men. Run as if the Rhino from the Sparling menagerie were charging you!"

Teddy leaped from the car platform and was off, with Phil sprinting after him in long strides.

They passed the manager of the canary colored car just as they were running across the switches in the railroad yard. He was only then getting to his car.



CHAPTER XVII

THE CHARGE OF THE PASTE BRIGADE

Phil's plans were formed instantly.

He ran to a place where he had seen a painter's sign earlier in the day. Reaching there he ordered the painter to send out to the Ward Building a gang of painters with their swinging platform, tackle and full equipment, telling the man briefly what was wanted of him after the apparatus reached the building in question.

"Now hurry it, and I'll double the price you ask if you get there and do the work I am asking of you."

The painter needed no further inducement. Once again money made its announcement in unmistakable tones.

Phil again started off on a run. Reaching the Ward Building he found his banner men and lithographers gathering. A few moments after his arrival the livery wagon with the paste, brushes and paper, came dashing up with Henry, the porter, standing guard over it. Teddy had thoughtfully turned out all the available men in the livery stable and came charging down the street, driving them before him, howling at every jump. That is, Teddy was howling; as he did whenever the occasion presented itself.

By this time quite a crowd had been attracted to the scene, not understanding what all the excitement was about. None of the rival posters had appeared as yet. Phil had got a very good start.

Telling off three of his banner men he sent them to the roof, while the painter was preparing to swing his scaffold.

"I am afraid I shall have to block your store for a short time, Mr. Storekeeper," said Phil, entering the store. "Our friend is going to try to take the place by storm, I think, and we shall have to stand him off."

"He had better not try it," growled the proprietor.

"He will, just the same. But, with your permission, he will not get upstairs to the roof while I am here."

"Do whatever you like. I've got his money, but it's here for him when he wants it."

Phil, having arranged with the proprietor, went out and gave his final instructions to his men.

"You are not to let a man through here unless with my permission," he said. "I am going up to the roof. If anything occurs, call me at once. Teddy, I leave the front of the store in your hands while I am away. There is trouble brewing. I feel it in my bones."

"Yes; trouble for the other fellow," grinned Teddy.

In a very short time the painters had succeeded in swinging their scaffold over the roof. An interested crowd was watching the proceeding from the street.

The banner men climbed down on the swinging platform, and, as if by magic, the Sparling banners began appearing on the big wall.

About this time shouting down in the street drew the attention of Phil Forrest. Stepping to the edge of the roof he looked down. A crowd was pressing his men back.

In the lead was the manager of the canary car.

"Drive them off!" roared Phil. "Don't let them get by you!"

"We will!" shrieked Teddy Tucker, now in his element.

Phil turned and hurried down the ladder to the upper floor, then took the stairs in a series of jumps until he had reached the ground floor.

Teddy Tucker had proved himself a real general. He had armed his forces with paste brushes, which he had first thoroughly soaked in the sticky paste pots.

Teddy was dancing up and down the line.

"Paste them, fellows!" he roared. "Paste them good and proper. We'll stick them to the walls when we get them properly daubed!"

With a yell the Sparling crowd began wielding the paste brushes. They wielded them effectively, too. Every sweep of the brushes found a human mark.

Shouts of rage followed the onslaught, above which could be heard the voice of the manager of the canary car, urging the crowd on to violence.

Phil came dashing out.

"Drive them back!" he shouted. "But be careful that you do not hurt anybody. Keep your heads, men!"

"Look out—the police are coming!" shouted a voice.

"Never mind the police! Give it to them!" cried the rival.

A squad of bluecoats came charging down the street.

"Steady, fellows! Don't do anything that will cause the police to take you in," cautioned Phil.

The crowd in front gave way as the police charged in; and, as they did so, the Circus Boy pushed his way to the front of his own line.

A sergeant made for him with upraised club, but Phil did not flinch.

"Wait a minute, officer!" he cautioned.

"I arrest you for disturbing the peace!" was the stern reply.

"You will do nothing of the sort, sir. We have not broken the peace. We are within our rights, protecting our own property and the property of this gentleman," pointing to the proprietor of the store.

"Arrest them! They are stealing my property!" came the cry from the rival manager.

"I guess you had better both come over to the police station, and we will let the captain settle this," decided the sergeant.

"Wait!" commanded the rival. "I have here an injunction commanding this fellow to stop work. I have bought the right to banner this location, and he has stepped in and taken it away from me."

"Is this right?" demanded the sergeant, appealing to the storekeeper, whom he knew well.

"No, it's all wrong. That man has bought nothing. He left his money on my counter after I had sold my wall to this young man here."

"Is this right?" repeated the sergeant turning to Phil.

"I am inclined to think it is. If that man has obtained an injunction, he has done so by false representation. Here is my contract, properly signed, giving us the right to put up our banners, and that is exactly what we are going to do in spite of all the police in the state. You can't stop us. You had better not try."

The sergeant glanced over the paper and scratched his head. He was at a loss what to do. At that moment a lieutenant came running up, demanding to know what the trouble was about.

The sergeant explained, handing the contract to his superior. After perusing it, the lieutenant passed the paper back to Phil.

"You can't stop this man as long as he is not disturbing the peace. That fellow's injunction is not worth the paper it is written on. This is a contract as plain as the nose on your face."

"That is the way it strikes me," answered Phil, with a pleasant smile.

"Disperse the crowd. Keep half a dozen men on duty here, and, if there is any further disturbance, lock them all up."

"Thank you," said Phil, edging near the lieutenant. "And, now that the matter is all settled, if you will call at the Sparling advance car this afternoon, at five o'clock, I shall be happy to furnish you with tickets for yourself and family. That is not a bribe, because we have got the matter all straightened out."

The lieutenant smiled.

"I'll do it," he said. "Five o'clock, you say?"

"Yes."

"Now, get out of here, the whole crowd of you. And you, young fellow," indicating the manager of the canary rival, "if you create any further disturbance in this town, you'll go to the cooler, and stay there. Do you understand?"

The rival manager tried to protest, but the lieutenant started for him.

"I want my money!" he shouted.

"Come and get it. I don't want your money."

"I told you that before," called the storekeeper.

"Go, get your money, and get out of here!" commanded the lieutenant.

Crestfallen and now thoroughly subdued, the manager of the canary car made his way through the crowd; his money was thrust into his hands; then, calling upon his men to follow him, he hurried away.

"There, I guess we won't hear any more from our canary bird friend today," decided Teddy, strutting about and throwing out his chest.

"Not today, perhaps," answered Phil Forrest; "but I am thinking we have not heard the last of him yet. We shall have to look pretty sharply, or he will get the best of us yet. This is a game that one person cannot expect to win at every day. Boys, you may go back to your lithographing now. The police will see that we are protected until we have finished bannering this building."

Phil walked off half a block to survey the work going on high up in the air.

"That location is worth five hundred dollars to any show," he mused. "And I got it for forty. Good job!"



CHAPTER XVIII

THE MISSING SHOW CARS

The work was completed late that afternoon. The Sparling crowd had got the best of their rivals in the window work as well. Sparling show bills were everywhere.

But Phil was thoughtful. He did not like the methods he was obliged to follow, yet he knew that it was a part of the show business. He had the satisfaction, too, of knowing that he had done nothing unfair. He had got the best of his rivals by perfectly fair methods, and he would pursue no others, no matter how badly he was beaten.

After making a round of the town, during which he had twice passed the scowling manager of the canary car, Phil returned to his own car, as there were frequently matters arising there that needed his attention. He found a telegram awaiting him from Mr. Sparling.

"The greatest work ever done by an advance car. I congratulate you all. Keep it up," was what Phil read.

Phil rubbed his forehead in perplexity.

"Now, how in the world did he find out about this so soon, I wonder?" questioned the boy. As a matter of fact, the manager of the Robinson Show's car, who was a friend of Mr. Sparling, had wired him of the day's doings. It was too good to keep, and then again Mr. Sparling's friend was too delighted at the downfall of Snowden, the man whom he thoroughly disliked, to be at all jealous of Phil's triumph.

Phil went over to the yardmaster to find out what train he would be able to go out on that night.

"We are going to send the whole bunch of you out on number 42," was the reply.

"What time does number 42 leave?"

"Half-past eleven."

"What do you mean by 'the bunch of us'?"

"All you advance car fellows. I have got to do that. That is the only train through tonight. You will have to go on that or wait until tomorrow morning."

"Very well; I do not know as I care whether my rivals go on the same train or not. It would do me no good if I did object."

That night the unusual sight of four advance cars hooked together was presented to those who chanced to be in the railroad yards when number 42 pulled out of the station.

Car Three had been coupled up first, the others being hooked on behind it, with the canary car at the rear.

"I am afraid we shall not cut a very big slice tomorrow, Teddy," said Phil after they had got under way.

"Why not?"

"What, with all those crews working against us? It will be a case of three to one. Of course we shall do as much as any one of them, and perhaps a little more, but we cannot expect any great results."

"Maybe I can think of something," mused Teddy.

"I wish you might."

"What would you say to ditching the other fellows?" asked Teddy innocently.

"Teddy Tucker, I am ashamed of you!" exclaimed Phil.

"Sometimes I am ashamed of myself, I am so easy. If it wasn't for my tender heart, Phil, I would have been a great showman by this time."

"Yes, it really is too bad about your tender heart. I—"

His words were cut short by a jolt that nearly threw the lads from their chairs.

"Collision!" yelled Teddy. "Brace yourself!"

"Don't get excited," laughed Phil. "They have forgotten or neglected to couple the airbrake pipes up. Someday one of these crews will wreck us all. I have talked until I am tired. You see there is air on the front end of this train, but these show cars have not been coupled up with the air pipes of the regular train. It is very bad business. I'll report it when we get in tomorrow."

"Let me. I know how to do it up brown."

"No, I will attend to it myself."

"Say, Phil!"

"Yes?"

"If the air was coupled on and the train broke in two in the middle what would happen?"

"Why it would bring everything up standing. Breaking the air circuit would set the brakes the entire length of the train."

"And if the air was not coupled up, what then?"

"In that event nothing would happen."

"The train wouldn't stop?"

"No."

"H-m-m."

"Why do you ask?"

"For information. What do you suppose I am asking for unless I want to know."

Teddy relapsed into a moody silence.

"Why don't you go to bed?" Teddy asked after awhile, looking up suddenly.

"I guess it would be a good idea," replied Phil. "We shall have to get up rather early in the morning. I will set my alarm for three o'clock. I have an idea some of the rival crews will be up and out about that time. They won't be so easily beaten tomorrow."

"Oh, I don't know," answered Teddy. "Maybe so and maybe not. You can't most always sometimes tell."

"Aren't you going to turn in?" demanded Phil, beginning to undress.

"No, not yet. I am not very sleepy tonight."

"You will be, in the morning, and you will not want to get up," cautioned Phil.

"I will take the chance."

Teddy picked up a book and settled himself to read.

Little conversation passed between them after that, and Phil, tumbling into his berth, was soon asleep.

Teddy eyed him narrowly. He waited until his companion was sleeping soundly; then Teddy got up and strolled out to the rear platform. It was deserted. The trainmen did not come back that far, because the doors of the show cars were kept locked so they could not. Show people do not like strangers about them.