"Because some of your light-fingered gentlemen would be dipping into my pocket, when I wasn't looking, and take the money away from me. That's the way you would get it back."
"That will be about all for you, boy," growled the showman. "That is, unless you are willing to tell me what you are here for?"
The Circus Boy laughed lightly.
"I have nothing new to say to that question."
"You've done your part well. You must have got busy pretty quick to have tipped off Sparling before we caught you."
"Tipped him off to what?" inquired Phil.
"Well, never mind what. You know and so do I."
After that the lad was sent to his closet to spend the night. The next day was a repetition of the previous one, except that Phil rode better than ever, if that were possible. But as he was riding under the name of the performer who had been injured, he could not make himself known.
Saturday came along, with the lad apparently as far from making his escape as ever. But what he had hoped would come to pass had done so in a measure. That is, the owner of the show had become a little careless in watching the boy.
Instead of accompanying Phil into the ring, Sully satisfied himself with standing by the entrance to the paddock, next to the bandstand.