watery grave at the bottom of the Mississippi.

And now, for the fifth season, the Circus Boys are found under
canvas again, headed for the far west.

"How are things going with you?" questioned Mr. Sparling
after the two had seated themselves at the table in the
dining compartment.

"Rather slowly, Mr. Sparling."

"How is that?"

"I haven't enough to do this season. I am afraid I shall get
lazy, unless you give me something else to do."

"Let me see; how many acts have you this season?"

"I am on the flying trapeze, then I do a single bareback
riding act and a double with Little Dimples, the same as I
did last season."

The showman nodded reflectively.

"Besides which, you attend to numerous business details for me,
manage the side shows, keep an eye on the candy butchers, make
yourself responsible for the menagerie tent and other things too
numerous to mention. Yes; you should have a few more things to
do," grinned the showman. "I could run this show with a dozen
men like you, Phil. In all my circus experience I never saw