"I'm a little sore, Mr. Sparling. But I guess I'll be fit in a few minutes."

"Able to walk over to my tent? If not, I'll have some of the fellows carry you."

"Oh, no; I can walk if I can get my legs started moving.

They don't seem to be working the way they should this morning,"

laughed the lad. "My, that tent weighs something doesn't it?"

"It does," agreed the showman.

Just then the surgeon arrived. After a brief examination he announced that Phil was not injured, unless, perhaps, he might have injured himself internally by subjecting himself to the great strain of holding up the tent.

"I think some breakfast will put me right again," decided the lad.

"Haven't you had your breakfast yet?" demanded Mr. Sparling.

"No; I guess I've been too busy."

"Come with me, then. I haven't had mine either," said the showman.

Linking his arm within that of the Circus Boy, Mr. Sparling walked from the tent, not speaking again until they had reached the manager's private tent. This was a larger and much more commodious affair than it had been last year.

He placed Phil in a folding easy chair, and sat down to his desk where he began writing.

After finishing, Mr. Sparling looked up.

"Phil," he said in a more kindly tone than the lad had ever before heard him use, "I was under a deep obligation to you last season. I'm under a greater one now."

"I wish you wouldn't speak of it, sir. What I have done is purely in the line of duty. It's a fellow's business to be looking out for his employer's interests. That's what I have always tried to do."

"Not only tried, but have," corrected Mr. Sparling. "That's an old-fashioned idea of yours. It's a pity young men don't feel more that way, these days. But that wasn't what I wanted to say.

As a little expression of how much I appreciate your interest, as well as the actual money loss you have saved me, I want to make you a little present."

"Oh, no no," protested Phil.

"Here is a check which I have made out for a hundred dollars.

That will give you a little start on the season. But it isn't all that I am going to do for you--"

"Please, Mr. Sparling. Believe me I do appreciate your kindness, but I mustn't take the check. I couldn't take the check."

"Why not?"

"Because I haven't earned it."

"Haven't earned it? He hasn't earned it!"

"No, sir."

The showman threw his hands above his head in a hopeless sort of a way.

"I should not feel that I was doing right. I want to be independent, Mr. Sparling. I have plenty of money. I have not spent more than half of what I earned last summer.

This season I hope to lay by a whole lot, so that I shall be quite independent."

"And so you shall, so you shall, my boy," Sparling exclaimed, rising and smiting Phil good naturedly with the flat of his hand.

Instead of tearing up the check, however, Mr. Sparling put it in an envelope which he directed and stamped, then thrust in his coat pocket.

"I--I hope you understand--hope you do not feel offended,"

said Phil hesitatingly. "I should not like to have you misunderstand me."

"Not a bit of it, my lad. I can't say that I have any higher opinion of you because of your decision, but--"

Phil glanced up quickly.

"I already have as high an opinion of you as it is possible for me to have for any human being, and--"

"Thank you. You'll make me have a swelled head if you keep on that way," laughed Phil.

"No danger. You would have had one long ago, if that was your makeup. Have you seen Mrs. Sparling yet?"

"No, and I should like to. May I call on her in your car?"

"Not only may, but she has commissioned me to ask you to.

I think we had better be moving over to the cook tent, now, if we wish any breakfast. I expect the hungry roustabouts have about cleaned the place out by this time."

They soon arrived at the cook tent. Here Phil left Mr. Sparling while he pa.s.sed about among the tables, greeting such of his old acquaintances as he had not yet seen that morning. He was introduced to many of the new ones, all of whom had heard pretty much everything about Phil's past achievements before he reached their tables. The people of a circus are much like a big family, and everyone knows, or thinks he knows, the whole family history of his a.s.sociates.

Even Phil's plucky work in the big top, less than an hour before, had already traveled to the cook tent, and many curious glances were directed to the slim, modest, boy as he pa.s.sed among his friends quietly, giving them his greetings.

Teddy, on the other hand, was not saying a word. He was busy eating.

"How's your appet.i.te this morning, Teddy?" questioned Phil, sinking down on the bench beside his companion.

"Pretty fair," answered Teddy in a m.u.f.fled voice. "I began at the top--"

"Top of what?"

"Top of the bill of fare. I've cleaned up everything halfway down the list, and I'm going through the whole bill, even if I have to get up and shake myself down like the miller does a bag of meal."

"Be careful, old chap. Remember you and I have to begin our real work today. We shall want to be in the best of shape for our ring act. You won't, if you fill up as you are doing now,"

warned Phil.

"Not going to work today."

"What's that?"

"No flying rings today."

"I don't understand."