Cautiously he alighted and began to crawl—swat! the stout gentleman slapped sleepily, narrowly missing the tormentor.
Up rose Sarah and bore down upon the scene.
"Don't swat him!" she begged. "He won't hurt you—flies only tickle. Anyway, if you'd use a palm leaf fan, no flies would ever bother you."
The circus agent snatched the handkerchief from his face and sat up in astonishment, revealing a very kindly, very good-humored face fringed with white hair and lighted by a pair of twinkling eyes.
"Bless me!" he cried when he saw the determined small girl. "What's all this?"
"The fly!" explained Sarah seriously. "You tried to kill him. And he doesn't even bite."
"Well, I may have been hasty," apologized Mr. Robinson, his eyes twinkling more than ever. "I don't always think when I am half asleep."
Sarah's mind was already running on what she wanted to say to him. She was more direct by nature than tactful as her next remark showed.
"You're a circus man, aren't you?" she said, making it more a statement of fact than a question.
"I'm advance agent, yes," Mr. Robinson admitted.