The season was drawing to a close. One day Phil received a wire from Mr. Sparling reading:
"Close at Deming, New Mexico, September fifteen."
"Boys, the end is in sight; and I, for one, shall be glad when we are through," announced Phil, appearing in the men's part of the car, where he read the telegram from the owner of the show.
The men set up a cheer.
"Now let's drive the other fellows off the map during these remaining two weeks."
How those men did work! No man on that car overslept during the rest of the trip. Phil seemed not to know the meaning of the word "tired." All hours of the night found him on duty, either watching the movements of his car or laying out work ahead, planning and scheming to outwit his rivals.
At last Car Three rolled into the station at Deming. It was a warm, balmy Fall day.
"Now burn the town up with your paper, boys," commanded Phil, after they had finished their breakfast. "Come in early tonight. I want all hands to drop paste pots and brushes tonight, and take dinner with me. It will not be at a contract hotel, either. Dinner at eight o'clock."
"Hooray!" exclaimed Teddy. "A real feed for once, fellows!
No more meals at The Sign of the Tin Spoon this season!"
The crew of Car Three were not slow about getting in that night. Every man was on time. They dodged out of the car with bundles under their arms, got a refreshing bath, and spick and span in tailor-made clothes and clean linen, they presented themselves at the car just before eight o'clock.