"The Boss is on deck."
"I guess my friend Teddy has got into trouble," said Phil
Forrest, slipping quickly from his bed on top of a pile of gaudy
circus posters. "Ted! Ted, where are you?"
There was no answer.
"What is all this row about?" thundered the manager, stalking
down the car, clad only in his pajamas.
"We do not know, sir. We are trying to find out. I am afraid my
friend has fallen out of bed and hurt himself," answered Phil.
"I hope it killed him!" bellowed Mr. Snowden. "The idea of
waking up the whole car at this time of the night! This nonsense
has got to stop, and right quick at that. Where's that light?"
Phil was groping about the floor, trying hurriedly to
locate Teddy. But no Teddy was to be found.
Finally a match flickered; after lurching about the car the man
with the match finally succeeded in locating the bracket lamp
near the end of the car.
Anxious eyes peered about them in the dim light.
"Look!" howled Rosie the Pig.
A pair of wildly kicking legs were seen protruding from one of
the big paste cans, these cans being made like the big garbage
cans that one sees in backyards in the city.
"It's Teddy! There he is!" cried Phil, springing forward.
"He's gone in the paste can head first!" yelled another of
the crew.
"Help me get him out; he has stuck fast!" shouted Phil, tugging
desperately at his companion's heels.
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