The Circus Boys on the Flying Rings : or, Making the Start in the Sawdust Life by Edgar B. P. Darlington
page 131 of 254 (51%)
page 131 of 254 (51%)
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"I agree with you," laughed Phil. "There's nothing but the
freaks there, and we'll see them, after this, every time we go for our meals." "Have you been in the dressing tent yet?" asked Teddy. "No, I haven't had time. We'll have to look in there tomorrow, though I don't think they care about having people visit them unless they belong there. Just now we don't. Do you start work in the cook tent tomorrow?" "Yes. I am to be the champion coffee drawer. I expect they will have my picture on the billboards after a little. Wouldn't I look funny with a pitcher of hot, steaming coffee in my hand leaping over a table in the cook tent?" and Teddy laughed heartily at the thought. "I'll bet I'd make a hit." "You mean you would get hit." "Well, maybe." The boys hung about until the big top had disappeared from the lot. The tent poles and boxes of properties were being loaded on the wagons, while out on the field, the ring horses, performing ponies and the like stood sleeping, waiting for the moment when they should be aroused for the start. "Come on, Teddy; let's you and I go make up our beds." "Where are they?" |
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