"That's what I mean. Do we live in here?"
"No; I should imagine we are to berth at the other end of
the car."
"Let's go look at it."
The other end of the car comprised one long apartment with
folding berths and benches for laying out the lithographs.
At the far end was a steam boiler, used in making paste with
which to post the bills. That compartment had nothing either
of elegance or comfort.
"Do the men sleep on those shelves up there?" questioned Teddy of
the porter.
"Shelves, sir? Hi calls them berths, sir," answered the porter,
who was an Englishman.
"Humph!"
"What do you think of our new home, Teddy?" smiled Phil.
"I've seen better," grumbled the Circus Boy. "I think I prefer
the stateroom. Where's the boss?"
"He's out just now looking over the work."
Teddy, with a scowl on his face, went outside to take a look
at the car from the outside. The car was a bright red, with
the name of the Sparling Shows spread over its sides in
gilded letters.
"If the inside were half as good-looking as the outside, it would
be some car," was Teddy's conclusion, after walking all around
the car. "I think I'll go back and join the show."
"Oh, be sensible, Teddy," chided Phil. "We shall be very
comfortable after we once get settled. Here comes Mr. Snowden,
I think.
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