“What are they going to do?” asked Phil of a showman.
“Going to parade.”
“Oh, yes, that’s so; I had forgotten about that.”
“Hello, boy—I’ve forgotten your name—”
“Forrest,” explained Phil, turning. The speaker was Mr. Sparling’s assistant, whom the lad had seen just after saving the lion cage from turning over.
“Can you blow a horn as well as you can stop a wagon?”
“Depends upon what kind of a horn. I think I can make as much noise on a fish horn as anyone else.”
“That’ll do as well as anything else. Want to go in the parade?”
“I’d love to!” The color leaped to the cheeks of Phil Forrest and a sparkle to his eyes. This was going beyond his fondest dreams.
The assistant motioned to a clown.