"Thank you very much," murmured Phil, his face all aglow now.
"You're welcome. When do you put up your bills?"
"At once. We leave town tonight, and we have a lot of work to
do first."
"Let's see; were you one of the fellows mixed up in that race
this morning?"
Phil blushed.
"I am afraid I was very much mixed up in it.
Well, good afternoon."
The lad turned and started for the door. At that moment
someone entered. It was the manager of the canary car.
"It's all right. I'll take the location," he announced, smiling
broadly, as he walked rapidly to where the proprietor was
standing, laying two tens and a five-dollar bill on the counter.
"I--I'm sorry," stammered the storekeeper, flushing. "I have
just sold it to another party."
"Sold it!"
The manager's face went several shades paler.
"Yes."
"To--to whom?"
"To that young gentleman there."
The manager whirled and faced Phil.
"Who--who are you?"
"My name is Forrest," answered Phil, smiling easily. He could
well afford to smile.
"And you--you have bought this location?"
"I have."
"Whom do you represent?"
"The Sparling Combined Shows."
The Circus Boy's rival flushed angrily.
"I demand that the location be turned over to me instantly!
It belongs to me, and I'll have it if I have to fight for it.
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