Mr. Sparling was about to laugh, but one glance into the earnest eyes of Phil Forrest told him that the boy’s interest was wholly in wishing to improve the act—not for the sake of showing himself, alone.
“Yes, I think perhaps it might not be a bad idea. You go tell Mrs. Waite to fix you up with a suit. But I would prefer to have you wear your own clothes today.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
“I’ll tell you why. I telegraphed on to my advance man all about you last night, and what you did yesterday will be spread all over town here today. It will be a rattling good advertisement. You and the tiger are my best drawing cards today,” smiled Mr. Sparling.
“Glad I have proved of some use to you, sir.”
“Use? Use?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t be a fool!” exploded the showman, almost brutally.
Phil’s countenance fell.
“Don’t you understand, yet, that you already have been worth several thousand dollars to me?”