slowly. Not so hard on the nigh side there. Ease off there,
Bill. Push, Patsy. What do you think this is--a game of croquet?
There you go. Right. Now let's see if you woodenheads know
enough to keep the wagon right side up."

Mr. Sparling took off his hat and wiped the perspiration from his
forehead, while Phil stood off calmly surveying the men who were
straightening the wagon, but with more caution than they had
exercised before.

"Come here, boy."

Someone touched Phil on the arm.

"What is it?"

"Boss wants to speak to you."

"Who?"

"Boss Sparling, the fellow over there with the big voice and the
sombrero."

Phil walked over and touched his hat to Mr. Sparling.

The showman looked the lad over from head to foot.

"What's your name?" He shot the question at the lad as if angry
about something, and he undoubtedly was.