"Beg pardon," mocked Mr. Sparling. "I had forgotten that you are
still a Reuben. A rag is a tent, in show parlance."

"Oh!"

"Any orders after we get settled?" asked Phil.

"Nothing for you to do till parade time tomorrow. You will look
to the same executives that you did last year. There has been no
change in them."

The lads hurried from the private car, and after searching about
the railroad yard for fully half an hour they came upon car
number eleven. This was a bright, orange-colored car with the
name of the Sparling Shows painted in gilt letters near the roof,
just under the eaves. The smell of fresh paint was everywhere,
but the wagons being covered with canvas made it impossible for
them to see how the new wagons looked. There were many of these
loaded on flat cars, with which the railroad yard seemed to
be filled.

"Looks bigger than Barnum & Bailey's," nodded Teddy,
feeling a growing pride that he was connected with so great
an organization.

"Not quite, I guess," replied Phil, mounting the platform of
number eleven.

The boys introduced themselves to the porter, who showed them
to their berths. These were much like those in the ordinary