“I have it open already. I’m going to put the screen in now to keep the mosquitoes out,” retorted Teddy, not to be outdone.
“Has Mr. Sparling gone yet do you know?”
“No; he and Kennedy are over yonder where the front door was, talking.”
“All right.”
Teddy’s head disappeared. No sooner had it done so than Phil Forrest turned and ran swiftly toward the opposite side of the lot. He ran in a crouching position, as if to avoid being seen.
Reaching a fence which separated the road from the field, he threw himself down in the tall grass there and hid.
“In Ohio tomorrow. I’m going to try it,” he muttered. “It can’t be wrong. They had no business, no right to do it,” he decided, his voice full of indignation.
He heard the wagons rumbling by him on the hard road, the rattle of wheels accompanied by the shouts of the drivers as they urged their horses on.
And there Phil lay hidden until every wagon had departed, headed for the border, and the circus lot became a barren, deserted and silent field.