This was where Phil came to grief. A gust of wind doubled the
paper up, the pasted side smearing the bright colors of the face
of the picture, until the colors were one hopeless daub. To cap
the climax the whole thing came down over Phil's head, wrapping
him in its slimy folds.
"Hey, help!" he shouted. "I'm posting myself instead of
the barn."
Billy sat down on the ground, laughing until the tears ran down
his cheeks.
"If it hadn't been for that unexpected gust of wind I should have
made it nicely," explained Phil with a sickly grin. "Oh, pshaw,
I'm not as much of a billposters as I thought I was. I guess
there is more to this game than I had any idea of."
"You will learn. You took a pretty big contract when you tried
to put up that eight-sheet."
"We will let you try a one-sheet on the farther end of the barn.
A one-sheet is a small, twenty-eight inch piece of paper,
you know."
Phil nodded.
"I'll try it," he said. "I guess a one-sheet is about as big a
piece of paper as I am fit to handle just yet."
He managed the one-sheet without the least trouble, and did a
very good job, so much so that Billy complimented him highly.
"You will make a billposter yet. One good thing about you is
that you are willing to learn, and you are quick to admit that
you do not know it all.
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