Reaching the farm, Phil jumped out and ran up to the house.

"Do you own this place, sir?" he asked of the farmer who answered
his ring at the bell.

"I do."

"It's a beautiful place. I am representing the Sparling Circus,
and we thought we would like to make a display on your silo."

The farmer gazed at him in amazement.

"Young man, you have a cast-iron nerve even to ask such a thing."

"I know the mere matter of tickets to the show will be no
inducement to a man of your position. But I am going to make you
a present of a box for six people at the circus. You will take
your whole family and be my guest. I will not only give you an
order for it, but will write a personal letter to the owner, who
is my very good friend. He will show you all there is to be
seen, and I will see to it that you take dinner with him in the
circus tent. No; there is no obligation. All the farmers--all
your neighbors will be envious. I want you to come. We won't
speak of the silo. I don't expect you to let me post that; but,
if you will permit me to put a three-sheet on your hog pen back
there, I shall be greatly obliged."

Despite the farmer's protestations, Phil wrote out the order for
the box, then scribbled a few lines to Mr. Sparling, which he
enclosed in an envelope borrowed from the farmer.