did anyway. Maybe he's going to--but what's the use of
guessing?"

The lad stepped up to the tent, the flaps of which were closed.
He stretched out his hand to knock, then grinned sheepishly.

"I forgot you couldn't knock at a tent door. I wonder how
visitors announce themselves, anyway."

His toe, at that moment, chanced to touch the tent pole and that
gave him an idea. Phil tapped against the pole with his foot.

"Come in!" bellowed the voice of the owner of the show.

Phil entered, hat in hand. At the moment the owner was busily
engaged with a pile of bills for merchandise recently purchased
at the local stores, and he neither looked up nor spoke.

Phil stood quietly waiting, noting amusedly the stern scowl that
appeared to be part of Mr. Sparling's natural expression.

"Well, what do you want?" he demanded, with disconcerting
suddenness.

"I--I was told that you had sent for me, that you wanted to see
me," began the lad, with a show of diffidence.

"So I did, so I did."

The showman hitched his camp chair about so he could get a better