Most fellows, when they start, have
ideas of their own--at least they think they have."
After that Phil did the small work, thinned the paste and made
himself generally useful.
"Oh, look at that!" he cried, pointing off ahead of them.
"What is it, Phil?"
"See that building standing up on that high piece of ground.
Wouldn't that be a dandy place on which to post some paper?"
The building he had indicated was a tall circular structure,
painted a dark red, with a small cupola effect crowning its top.
"That is a silo. You wouldn't be able to get permission to post
a bill on there, even if you could get up there to do it,"
said Conley.
"Why not?"
"Why not? Why that farmer, I'll wager, sets as much store by
that building as he does his newly-painted house."
"I'll go ask him. You don't mind if I 'square' him, do you?"
questioned the lad with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Ask him, for sure. But we couldn't post up there. We have
no ladders that would reach; in fact we have no ladders
at all. I mean the farmer has no ladders long enough."
"Never mind; I'll figure out a way," replied the Circus Boy,
whose active mind already had decided upon a method by which
he thought he might accomplish the feat, providing the farmer
was willing.
Reaching the farm, Phil jumped out and ran up to the house.
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