"And what do I do?" demanded Teddy.

The car manager eyed him disapprovingly.

"What do you do?"

"Yes."

"I have a nice gentlemanly job laid out for you. You will operate the steam boiler and make up the paste for the next day.

You'll wish you had stayed back with the show before I get through with you."

"And I'll go there, too, if you talk like that to me," retorted Teddy, flushing angrily.

"What's that? What's that?" snapped the manager. "See here, young man, I am in charge of this car. You will do as I tell you, and if you get noisy about it I'll show you how we do things on an advertising car. Get out of here before I throw you out."

"See here, you, I won't be talked to like that. I'll wring your neck for you, some fine day, first thing you know!" bellowed Teddy, now thoroughly aroused.

The manager grabbed the lad by the shoulders and shot him through the screen doors before Teddy had an opportunity to object.

Teddy, red-faced and boiling with rage, was about to project himself into the stateroom again when Phil motioned him to go away. Teddy did so reluctantly.

"Where do we sleep, Mr. Snowden?" inquired Phil, hoping to get the car manager in a more gentle frame of mind by changing the subject.

"Sleep on the roof, sleep in the cellar! I don't care where you sleep! You get out of here, too, unless you want me to throw you out!"

"I think you had better not do that, sir." Phil's voice was cool and pleasant.

"What's that! What's that! You dare to talk back to me.

I'll--"

"Wait a moment, Mr. Snowden. We might as well understand each other at the beginning."

The car manager's words seemed to stick in his throat. He gazed at the slender young fellow before him in amazement. Mr. Snowden was unused to having a man in his employ talk back to him, and for the moment it looked as though trouble were brewing in the stateroom of Car Number Three.

"Say it!" he exploded.

"I have very little to say, sir. But what I have to say will be to the point. I am well aware that discipline must be preserved here as well as back with the show. I shall always look up to you as my superior, and treat you in a gentlemanly and respectful manner. I shall hope that you, also, will treat me in a gentlemanly manner as long as I deserve it, at least."

"You--you threaten me, you young cub--you--"

"No; I do not threaten you. I am simply seeking to come to a friendly understanding with you."

"And--and if--if I decide to treat you as I do the rest of my men--what then?" sneered the manager.

"That depends. I can answer that question when I see how you do treat them. From what I have seen, I should imagine they do not lead a very happy existence," continued the Circus Boy with a pleasant smile.

"If I keep you on this car I'll use you as I please, and the quicker you understand that the better. Now, what do you propose to do?"

"I propose," said Phil, still preserving an even tone, "to do my duty and at the same time keep my self-respect. I propose, if you persist in directing insulting language at me, to give you a thrashing that will last you all the rest of the season."

Teddy, who had sat down on a pile of railroad ties beside the tracks, could see and hear all that was going on in the stateroom.

"Soak him, Phil!" howled the boy on the tie pile.

Snowden's eyes blazed and his fingers opened and closed convulsively.

With an angry growl he hurled himself straight at Phil Forrest.

CHAPTER III

COMING TO AN UNDERSTANDING

"Be careful, Mr. Snowden!" warned the Circus Boy, stepping out of harm's way. "I am not looking for trouble, but I shall defend myself."

"I'll teach you to talk back to me. I'll--"

Just then the car manager stumbled over a chair and went down with a crash, smashing the chair to splinters.

"Mr. Sparling will not tolerate anything of this sort, I am sure," added Phil.

By this time, the manager was once more on his feet. His rage was past all control. With a roar of rage Snowden grabbed up a rung of the broken chair and charged his slender young antagonist.

A faint flush leaped into the face of Phil Forrest. His eyes narrowed a little, but in no other way did he show that his temper was in the least ruffled.

The chair rung was brought down with a vicious sweep, but to Snowden's surprise the weapon failed to reach the head of the smiling Circus Boy.

Then Phil got into action.

Like a flash he leaped forward, and the car manager found his wrists clasped in a vise-like grip.

"Let go of me!" he roared, struggling with all his might to free himself, failing in which he began to kick.

Phil gave the wrists a skillful twist, which brought another howl from Snowden, this time a howl of pain.

"I am not looking for trouble, sir. Will you listen to reason?"

urged the lad.

"I'll--I'll--"

Snowden did not finish what he had started to say. Instead he moaned with pain, writhing helplessly in the iron grip of Phil Forrest.

"Do you give up? Have you had enough?"

"_No!_" gritted the car manager.

The Circus Boy tightened his grip ever so little.

"How about it?"