"Phil Forrest."

"Do they grow your kind around here?"

"I can't say, sir."

"If they do, I'd like to hire a dozen or more of them. You've
got more sense than any boy of your age I ever saw. How old are
you?"

"Sixteen."

"Huh! I wish I had him!" growled Mr. Sparling. "What do you
want?"

"I should like to have a chance to earn a pass to the show this
afternoon. Rodney Palmer said the boss canvasman might give me a
chance to earn one."

"Earn one? Earn one?" Mr. Sparling's voice rose to a roar again.
"What in the name of Old Dan Rice do you think you've been doing?
Here you've kept a cage with a five-thousand-dollar lion from
tipping over, to say nothing of the people who might have been
killed had the brute got out, and you want to know how you can
earn a pass to the show? What d'ye think of that?" and the owner
appealed helplessly to an assistant who had run across the lot,
having been attracted to the scene by the uproar.

The assistant grinned.