“Where is he now?”
“Seeing the performance, sir.”
“Nail him when he comes out. We’ll give him all the show he wants.”
With profuse thanks Phil Forrest backed from the tent and walked rapidly toward the entrance. It seemed to him as if he were walking on air.
“Let that boy through. He’s with the show now,” bellowed Mr. Sparling, poking his head from the doghouse tent.
The gateman nodded.
“How soon will the performance be over?” inquired Phil, approaching the gateman.
“Ten minutes now.”
“Then, I guess I won’t go in. I promised to meet Teddy over by the ticket wagon anyway.”
But Phil could not stand still. Thrusting his hands in his pockets he began pacing back and forth, pondering deeply. He did not observe the shrewd eyes of Mr. Sparling fixed upon him from behind the flap of the little tent.