great strain of holding up the tent.

"I think some breakfast will put me right again," decided
the lad.

"Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" demanded Mr. Sparling.

"No; I guess I've been too busy."

"Come with me, then. I haven't had mine either," said
the showman.

Linking his arm within that of the Circus Boy, Mr. Sparling
walked from the tent, not speaking again until they had reached
the manager's private tent. This was a larger and much more
commodious affair than it had been last year.

He placed Phil in a folding easy chair, and sat down to his desk
where he began writing.

After finishing, Mr. Sparling looked up.

"Phil," he said in a more kindly tone than the lad had ever
before heard him use, "I was under a deep obligation to you
last season. I'm under a greater one now."

"I wish you wouldn't speak of it, sir. What I have done is
purely in the line of duty. It's a fellow's business to be
looking out for his employer's interests. That's what I have
always tried to do."