run a car. No two days are alike in any department of the
circus business. You will meet all emergencies and cope with
them nobly. Of that I am confident. And now, Mr. Philip
Forrest, I officially turn over to you Advertising Car Number
Three of the Sparling Shows. I wish you good luck and no
railroad wrecks. Come and have lunch with me; then I'll be
getting back to the show. The rest is up to you."

"Mr. Sparling," said Phil with a slight quaver in his voice, "if
I succeed it will be because of the training you have given me.
I won't say I thank you, for I do not know whether I do or not.
I may make an awful mess of it. In that case I shall suffer a
sad fall in your estimation. But it is not my intention to make
a mess of it, just the same."

"You won't. Come along, Teddy. We will have a meal, and it
won't be at a contract hotel, either," said the showman, with a
twinkle in his eyes.

The three left the car. Several of the men had returned from
their lunch, and the word quickly spread through the car that
Mr. Sparling was there. Rumors of high words between the
showman and Snowden were rife, but none appeared to know
anything definite as to what had really occurred.

Conley knew, but he preserved a discreet silence.

"I reckon, if they wanted us to know what was going on they
would tell us," declared Rosie the Pig. "That's the trouble
with these cars. We ain't human. We ain't supposed to