“Of course not. They never have anything in these tank towns. You ought to know that by this time.”
“They have a hotel. I know for I took dinner there today. If you will get a carriage of some sort I think we had better take him there.”
“Leave him, you mean?” questioned Mr. Sparling.
“Yes; that will be best. We can put him in charge of a local physician here. He ought to be able to take care of the boy all right.”
“Not by a jug full!” roared Mr. James Sparling. “We’ll do nothing of the sort.”
“It will not be safe to take him with us, Sparling.”
“Did I say it would? Did I? Of course, he shan’t be moved, nor will he be left to one of these know-nothing sawbones. You’ll stay here with him yourself, and you’ll take care of him if you know what’s good for you. I’d rather lose most any five men in this show than that boy there.”
The surgeon nodded his approval of the sentiment. He, too, had taken quite a fancy to Phil, because of the lad’s sunny disposition and natural brightness.
“Get out the coach some of you fellows. Have my driver hook up and drive back into the paddock here, and be mighty quick about it. Here, doc, is a head of lettuce (roll of money). If you need any more, you know where to reach us. Send me a telegram in the morning and another tomorrow night. Keep me posted and pull that boy out of this scrape or you’ll be everlastingly out of a job with the Sparling Combined Shows. Understand?”
The surgeon nodded understandingly. He had heard Mr. Sparling bluster on other occasions, and it did not make any great impression upon him.