"Oh no, not very. I belong back with the show. I am a performer, you know. I am out with the advertising car to learn the business."
"A performer?" wondered the farmer, looking over the trim figure and bright boyish face. "What do you perform?"
"I perform on the flying trapeze and do a bareback riding act."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know, young fellow, I never got such a close squint at a circus fellow before in my life. But, come to size you up, I reckon you can do all them things you've been telling me about. Yes, sir, I'll go to the circus. Will you be there to cut up in the ring?"
"I cannot say. It is doubtful, as I probably shall be ahead of the show for the rest of the season. Well, thank you very much. We will decorate the hog pen," added the lad, touching his cap and turning away.
An arena box, value twelve dollars, was a pretty high price to pay for a three-sheet on a hog pen, but Phil Forrest knew what he was doing. At least he thought he did, and he did not walk very fast on his way to the road.
"Hey, come back here," called the farmer.
"Yes, sir," answered Phil turning inquiringly.