"He's too modest to live."

"Pity modesty isn't more prevalent in this show, then. How many
do you want? Have a whole section if you say the word."

"How many are there in a section?" asked Phil.

" 'Bout a hundred seats."

Phil gasped.

"I--I guess two will be enough," he made answer.

"Here you are," snapped the owner, thrusting a card at the lad,
on which had been scribbled some characters, puzzling to the
uninitiated. "If you want anything else around this show you
just ask for it, young man. Hey, there! Going to be all day
getting that canvas up? Don't you know we've got a parade coming
along in a few hours?"

Phil Forrest, more light of heart than in many days, turned away
to acquaint his companion of his good fortune. Teddy Tucker was
making his way cautiously back to the scene of the excitement of
a few moments before.

"Did he get away?" Teddy questioned, ready to run at the drop of
the hat should the danger prove to be still present.

"Who, the manager?"