"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," repliedTeddy 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 whichTeddy 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.
"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 werethey 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 workwithyou. 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 theMissing 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.
"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!"
"Idosay."
"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 PhilForrest 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 youdo!"
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 ofJuly 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.
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.
"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 beengoing on on Car Three. Billy Conley had written fully ofPhil 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 youwrite 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?"