Phil reached under the neck of his shirt for his little bag of money.
"Oh, pshaw! I've lost it. Let me see, did I put my money in there before I entered the ring?"
For the life of him he was unable to say whether he had done so, or whether his money was still in his clothes back in the dressing tent.
"Well, I shall never see that money again, I am thinking. If I left it in my clothes it is gone by this time, and if I didn't it is gone anyway," was his logical conclusion.
The first thing to be done now was to get off the lot, which Phil did as quickly as possible. Clad in the soiled, well-worn garments with his coat buttoned tightly about his neck, the lad attracted no special attention. Getting well away from the circus grounds, he halted to consider what his next move should he.
"I guess I'll go over to the station and get some information," he decided. This he did, but the lights looked so bright in the station that he did not consider it prudent to enter. So Phil waited about until he saw one of the railroad switchmen coming in from the yards.
"How far is it to Corinto, please?" he asked.
"Fifty miles."
"Whew! So far as that?"
"Yes. Belong to the show?"