"Mister Larry has got something coming to him good and proper,
and he's going to get it, you take my word for that."

Phil laughed good naturedly.

"Please, now, Teddy, forget it. Don't go and get into any
more mix-ups. You'll be sending yourself back home first thing
you know. Then it will be a difficult matter to get into any
other show if you are sent away from this one in disgrace."

"Don't you worry about me. I'll take care of myself. I always
do, don't I?"

"I'm afraid I can't agree to that," laughed Phil. "I should say
that quite the contrary is the case."

Teddy fell suddenly silent as they walked on in the bright
morning light, drinking in the balmy air in long-drawn breaths.
Entering the paddock they turned sharply to the left and pushed
their way through the canvas curtains into the dressing tent.

"Hurrah for the Circus Boys," shouted someone. "Hello Samson,
are you the strong-armed man that held the tent up by your feet?"

"Strong-footed man, you mean," suggested another. "A
strong-armed
man uses his arms not his feet."

"Come over here and show yourself," shouted another voice.