Phil assured her he was not.
“You will be, after you have been in the show business a while. Wait, I’ll get them.”
Phil’s eyes glowed as he saw her returning with a suit of bright red tights, trunk and shirt to match.
“Oh, thank you ever so much.”
“You’re welcome. Have you a trunk to keep your stuff in?”
“No; I have only a bag.”
“I’ve got a trunk in here that’s not in use. If you want to drag it over to the men’s dressing tent you’re welcome to it.”
Phil soon had the trunk, which he hauled across the open paddock to the place where the men were settling their belongings. He espied Mr. Miaco, the head clown.
“Does it make any difference where I place my trunk, Mr. Miaco?”
“It does, my lad. The performers’ trunks occupy exactly the same position every day during the show year. I’ll pick out a place for you, and every morning when you come in you will find your baggage there. Let me see. I guess we’ll place you up at the end, next to the side wall of the dressing room. You will be more by yourself there. You’ll like that, won’t you?”