"Yes, hurry!" and Phil sank back, weak from lack of food and the severe strain he had put upon himself.
Mr. Sparling grasped the meaning of the lad's words in a flash. Snatching a whistle from his pocket he blew two short, shrill blasts. A mounted man came riding up at a gallop.
"Go to the lot! Have the tents surrounded. Let no one through who doesn't belong to the show. I trust you to look out for our property. An attempt may be made to do us damage while we are out on parade. Now, ride!"
The man did ride. He whirled his horse and set it at a run down the line, headed toward the circus lot.
"I've got to get back there myself, Phil. Can you stand it to stay in the carriage until it reaches the lot?"
"Yes, but I don't look fit. I—"
"Sit up and look wise. The people will think you are a clown and they'll split their sides laughing. I'll talk with you later. You must have had a rough time of it."
"I have had."
Mr. Sparling jumped out of the carriage, and, ordering a rider to dismount, took the latter's horse, on which he, too, rode back to the lot with all speed.
Phil pulled himself together. Half a block further on the people, espying him, did laugh as Mr. Sparling had said they would.