They drew up beside the tracks and the carriage halted.
"Now, not a sound!" warned the showman. "If you raise your voice, or so much as speak to anyone you see, I'll forget that you are a kid and—"
"I am not afraid of your threats," interrupted Phil. "I know you are brute enough to do what you say you will, but it won't be good for you if you do. Go on. I'll follow till I get a chance to escape."
"You'll not get the chance," retorted Sully, taking firm hold of the boy's arm.
They made their way through the yards, avoiding the gasoline torches that flared familiarly here and there among the mass of cars, then turned toward the station. As the lights of the latter came into view, the showman halted, looked up and down the tracks, then led Phil to the platform of a car which the boy recognized as being one of the show's sleepers.
"That's what I thought he was up to," muttered Phil, watching for an opportunity to leap off the other side and lose himself among the cars.
No such opportunity was offered to him, however, and a moment later the door of the sleeper had been opened, and he was pushed roughly inside, Mr. Sully following in quickly, slamming and locking the door behind them.
"Get in there and sit down!"
"Where?"
"In the private office there."