"Yes, sir," answered Phil turning inquiringly.
"Come here."
He walked back to where the farmer was standing fingering the
pass and the letter.
"I--I reckon you needn't stick them bills on the hog pen."
The Circus Boy's heart took a sudden drop.
"Very well, sir; just as you say. I do not wish to do anything
to displease you."
"But I reckon you can plaster that silo full of them circus
pictures from top to bottom, if you want to," was the
unexpected announcement.
Phil Forrest's heart bounded back into position again.
CHAPTER VIII
THE CIRCUS BOY WINS
"Oh, thank you, thank you ever so much!" answered the lad, his
eyes glowing.
"You're a square kid and I like you."
"I appreciate your kindness, I assure you, and I will write a
letter to the owner of the show about you this evening when I get
back to the car. Have you any ladders that we can borrow, and a
long rope?"
"I reckon you'll find all them things in the hay barn.
Help yourself. I've got to run up to the back farm, but
maybe I'll be back before you get through your job.
So long."
Phil hurried back to the road, where Billy and the wagon
were waiting. The lad's feet felt lighter than usual.
"Well, what luck?" demanded Billy.
"I may be a poor apology as a billposter, but as a diplomat I'm a
winner, Billy.
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