“All right, Mr. Teddy. There’s one thing about working in the cook tent that ought to please you.”
“What’s that?”
“You can piece between meals all you want to. If you are like most boys, you ought to have a good healthy appetite all the time, except when you are sleeping.”
“That’s right. I could eat an elephant steak now—right this minute. How long before breakfast?”
“Seven o’clock, I told you.”
“What time does Mr. Sparling get up?” inquired Phil.
“Up? Ask me what time he goes to bed. I can answer one question as well as the other. Nobody knows. He’s always around when you least expect him. There he is now.”
The owner was striding toward the cook tent for his morning cup of coffee.
“Good morning, sir,” greeted the boys, pausing in their work long enough to touch their hats, after which they continued unpacking the dishes.
“Morning, boys. I see you are up early and getting right at it. That’s right. No showman was ever made out of a sleepy-head. Where did you sleep last night?”