"How long have you been on this car?"

"Four years; this is my fifth season here."

"Why, that is exactly the time we have been with the Sparling Shows."

Billy nodded.

"I saw you work last season. You are a bird on the trapeze, and ride--whew, but you can beat anything I ever saw on bareback!

I knew I had seen you before when you came in this evening, but I couldn't place you. I remembered after a little. Say, Phil, I'm glad you handed it out to the Boss this afternoon."

"And I am very sorry. I don't know what Mr. Sparling will think of it. Still, I had to do something. I saw right away that he had made up his mind to treat us badly. What time do we pull out tonight?"

"Twelve o'clock, I think. And speaking of that, it is time to turn in."

The three entered the car. Mr. Snowden already had turned in, his end of the car being dark and silent. Most of the billposters also had climbed to their berths near the roof of the car, and some of them were snoring heavily.

"Do they do this all night long?" questioned Teddy.

"Do what?"

"Roll logs!"

"Well, yes," laughed Billy; "they are pretty good snorers, all of them. Do you snore?"

"I might, on a pinch. I don't know whether I do or not. I am usually asleep when I snore. How about it, Phil, do I snore?"

"Not when I am within punching distance of you."

The boys undressed, got into their pajamas, and after considerable effort managed to climb to the top of the pile of paper, where their blankets had been spread for them by the porter.

"Not much of a bed, is it Teddy?" laughed Phil.

"The worst ever!" agreed Teddy. "How I'm going to stick in that bed when the car gets under motion I don't know. I wish I was back with the show."

"Never mind, old chap. We have had things pretty easy for the last four years. A little hardship will not hurt either of us.

And I know we are going to like this life, after we get more used to it. What time do we get up; do you know?"

"No, I don't know anything about it. I guess in time for late breakfast," answered Teddy grimly. "Good night."

In a few minutes the Circus Boys were sound asleep. They did not even awaken when, about midnight, a switch engine hooked to their car, and after racing them up and down the railroad yards a few times, coupled them to the rear of the pa.s.senger train that was to pull them to their next stand, some seventy-five miles away.

A few minutes later and they were rolling away. The road was a crooked one and the car swayed dizzily, but they were too used to the sensation to be in the least disturbed by it.

An hour or two had pa.s.sed when, all at once, every man in the car was suddenly startled by a blood-curdling yell and a wild commotion somewhere in the darkness of the car.

"What is it?"

"Are we wrecked?"

"What did we hit?"

This and other exclamations were shouted in loud tones, as the men came tumbling from their berths, some sprawling over the floor, where a lurch of the car had hurled them.

CHAPTER VI

ALMOST A TRAGEDY

"Strike a light!"

"Are we off the rails?"

"No, you idiot. Don't you feel the car going just the same as before? And he's wheeling her a mile a minute at that.

Hurry with that light, somebody!" commanded Billy.

At this moment they heard the sliding door of the manager's stateroom come open with a crash.

"Now, here's trouble for certain!" muttered the Missing Link.

"The Boss is on deck."

"I guess my friend Teddy has got into trouble," said Phil Forrest, slipping quickly from his bed on top of a pile of gaudy circus posters. "Ted! Ted, where are you?"

There was no answer.

"What is all this row about?" thundered the manager, stalking down the car, clad only in his pajamas.

"We do not know, sir. We are trying to find out. I am afraid my friend has fallen out of bed and hurt himself," answered Phil.

"I hope it killed him!" bellowed Mr. Snowden. "The idea of waking up the whole car at this time of the night! This nonsense has got to stop, and right quick at that. Where's that light?"

Phil was groping about the floor, trying hurriedly to locate Teddy. But no Teddy was to be found.

Finally a match flickered; after lurching about the car the man with the match finally succeeded in locating the bracket lamp near the end of the car.

Anxious eyes peered about them in the dim light.

"Look!" howled Rosie the Pig.

A pair of wildly kicking legs were seen protruding from one of the big paste cans, these cans being made like the big garbage cans that one sees in backyards in the city.

"It's Teddy! There he is!" cried Phil, springing forward.

"He's gone in the paste can head first!" yelled another of the crew.

"Help me get him out; he has stuck fast!" shouted Phil, tugging desperately at his companion's heels.

The car set up a roar of laughter at the ludicrous sight.

To Phil, however, it was no laughing matter. The paste can was nearly full of paste and of about the same consistency as dough in a bread pan. It was thick and wickedly blue, for it had been mixed with bluestone to preserve it until required by the billposters.