"
Phil squared his shoulders a little.
"Then I will be a showman," he said, in a quiet tone.
"That is the talk. That sounds like Phil Forrest. It is usual
for shows to have a general agent who has charge of all the
advance work, and who directs the cars and the men from some
central point. Heretofore I have done all of this myself, but
our show is getting so large, and there is so much opposition in
the field, that I have been thinking of putting on a general
agent next season. However, we will talk that over later."
"And so you are the car manager, eh," quizzed Teddy.
"It seems so."
"Won't I have a snap now?" chuckled the lad.
"Yes; your work will be done with a snap or back you go to
Mr. Sparling, young man," laughed Phil. "There will be no
drones in this hive."
"What have you been doing?" inquired the owner.
"I'm the dough boy."
"The dough boy?"
"He has been making paste," Phil informed him.
Mr. Sparling laughed heartily.
"I guess we shall have to graduate you from the paste pot and
give you a diploma. I cannot afford to pay a man seventy-five
dollars a week to mix up flour and water."
"And steam," corrected the irrepressible Teddy.
"Should not some press work be done from this car?" asked Phil.
"By all means. It is of vast importance. Hasn't it been done?"
"No, sir; not since I have been on board.
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