"Who's that?" he asked of Mr. Sparling, who was standing at the entrance with a broad grin on his face.
"That, my dear Phil, is your very good friend, Mr. Teddy Tucker."
"Teddy? You don't mean it?"
"Yes; he has decided to be a clown, and I guess he is on the way.
The people are kicking on the seats and howling."
"I should judge, from appearances, that the other clowns were getting even more entertainment out of his act than is the audience."
"It certainly looks that way. But let them go. It will do
Master Teddy a whole lot of good."
A clown jumped to the ring curbing and made a speech about the wonderful human football, announcing at the same time that the championship game was about to be played.
Then they began to play in earnest. Some had slapsticks, others light barrel staves, and with these they began to belabor the human football, each blow being so loud that it could be heard all over the tent. Of course the blows did not hurt Teddy at all, but the bouncing and buffeting that he got aroused his anger.
One clown would pick the lad up and throw him to a companion, who, in turn, would drop him. Then the audience would yell with delight as the ball bounced to an upright position again. This the clowns kept up until Teddy did not know whether he were standing on his feet or his head. The perspiration was rolling down his face, getting into his eyes and blinding him.
"Quit it!" he howled.