"
Approaching them, the boys saw a thin, nervous-appearing man of
perhaps forty-five years of age.
"Are you Mr. Snowden?" asked Phil, politely.
"Yes; what do you want?"
"I am Phil Forrest, and this is my friend, Teddy Tucker. We have
come on to join the car."
Mr. Snowden looked the lads over critically.
"Humph!" he said. "Come inside."
Whether or not his survey of them had been satisfactory neither
lad knew.
"Now, what are you going to do on this car?" demanded the car
manager sharply, when they had seated themselves in his office.
"That is for you to say, sir. We are at your disposal,"
replied Phil.
"What can you do?"
"We do not know. This is entirely new work for us. We have been
performers back with the show, you know."
"Humph! Nice bunch to ring in on an advertising car!" grunted
the manager. "Either of you know how to put up paper?"
"I think not."
"What do you mean by paper?" interposed Teddy.
The manager groaned.
"You don't know what paper is?"
"No, sir."
"Paper is advertising matter, any kind of show bills that are
posted on billboards, barns or any other old place where we get
the chance. Everything is paper on an advertising car.
Forrest, I think I'll send you out on a country route tomorrow.
Know what a country route is?"
"I think so.
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