your equal."

Phil flushed. He did not like to be complimented. He did his
work because he loved it, not wholly for the handsome salary that
he was now drawing from the little red ticket wagon every week.
Phil was ambitious; he hoped, as has been said before, to have a
show of his own someday, and he let no day pass that he did not
add to his store of knowledge regarding the circus business.

In this ambition Mr. Sparling encouraged him, in fact did
everything possible to aid the lad in acquiring a far-reaching
knowledge of the vocation he had chosen for his lifework.

"Thank you, Mr. Sparling. Let's talk about something else."

"We will eat first. You probably will enjoy that more than you
do my compliments."

"I am sure of it," answered the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I have been thinking of giving you some additional work."

Phil glanced up at his employer with quickened interest.

"Yes, I am thinking of closing you."

"You mean you are thinking of dropping me from the show?" asked
the lad, gazing at the showman with steady, inquiring eyes.

"Well, I should hardly say that. I am afraid the Sparling Show