CHAPTER VII
THE FIRST DAY'S EXPERIENCE
"Give it to him, Teddy!" howled the crew.
Tucker, as soon as he could right himself, sat down on themanager's head, at the same time holding Mr. Snowden's handspinioned to the floor.
The muffled voice under the quilts waxed louder and more angry asthe seconds passed. Phil, who had gone to the wash room to makehis toilet, hurried back at sound of the row.
"Teddy Tucker, what are you doing?" demanded Phil, for the momentpuzzled at the scene before him.
"I'm sitting on the Boss," answered Teddy triumphantly. "Shall Igive him one for you?"
"Yes--give him two for each of us," shouted the billposters.
Phil strode to his companion, grabbed the lad by the collarof his pajamas and jerked him from the helpless man underthe quilts.
"Now, you behave yourself, young man, or you will have to reckonwith me," he commanded, pushing Teddy aside.
"You let me alone. This is my inning. I guess I can sit on theBoss, if I want to, without your interfering with the fun."
Giving no heed to the words, Phil quickly hauled the quilts offand assisted Mr. Snowden to rise.
"I guess Teddy must have fallen on you, sir," suggestedPhil solemnly.
"He did it on purpose! He did it on purpose!"
"You pulled him out of bed, did you not, sir?"
"Yes; and next time I'll pull him so he'll know it. Get out ofhere, every man of you, and get your breakfasts; then get off onyour routes. Things are coming to a fine pass on this car.Young man, I will talk to you later."
The manager, with red face and angry eye, strode to hisstateroom, while the grinning billposters made haste to get intotheir clothes. A few minutes later, and all hands were on theirway to breakfast.
This meal at the new hotel was a slight improvement over thedinner they had eaten the night before. Besides, all hands werein good humor, for they had had more real excitement on CarThree, since the advent of the Circus Boys, than at any timeduring the season.
By the time they reached the car again six livery teams were inwaiting for the men who were to go out on the country routes.
All was instantly bustle and excitement. Paste cans were loadedinto the wagons, brushes and pails, together with the paper thathad been carefully laid out and counted, the night before, foreach billposter. A record of this was kept on the car.
Phil lent a hand at loading the stuff, and they found thatthe slim lad was stronger than any of them. It was an easymatter for him to lift one of the big cans of paste to awagon without assistance. Teddy, however, stood by withhands thrust in pockets, an amused grin on his face.The baleful eye of the car manager was upon him.
"Have you heard from Mr. Sparling this morning?" asked Phil.
"Yes," answered Mr. Snowden shortly.
"What did he say?"
"That is none of your business, young man."
"You are right. I accept the rebuke. While I am interested, itreally is none of my business," answered the lad with a smile.
"Where are you going?"
"You told me to go out on one of the country routes."
"Oh! What route are you going on, if I may ask?"
"I had thought of going with Mr. Conley."
"You will do nothing of the sort. You will go where I tellyou to. I--"
"I suggested that he go with me, Mr. Snowden," interposed Billy."I have a hard route to work today and I shall need some help ifI get over it before dark."
"Very well; go on. I hope he falls off a barn or something.If he does, leave him."
"For your sake, I shall try to take care of myself," answeredPhil with an encouraging smile.
"Tucker!"
"Yes, sir."
"Start a fire under that boiler. Henry, you show him how tomanage the boiler and mix the paste. I don't imagine he evenknows dough when he sees it."
"I know a dough-head when I see one," spoke up Teddy promptly,after delivering himself of which sentiment he strolled away withhands in his pockets, whistling merrily.
The drive to the country in the fresh morning air was a mostdelightful one to Phil.
After leaving the town they soon came in sight of adeserted house. It evidently had been abandoned, forit was in a bad state of dilapidation.
"There's a dandy daub!" exclaimed Billy. "We'll plaster it withpaper until the neighbors won't know it. When we get there, hopoff and bring some pails of water, will you?"
"Sure," answered Phil. While he was doing this, the billposterwas spreading his paper out on the ground, deciding on the layoutthat he would post.
A few minutes later and the gaudy bills were going up like magicon the road side of the house and the two ends, so that thepictures might be seen from every point of view from the highway.The house had been transformed into a blaze of color.
"All right," sang out Billy. "Good job, too."
Phil had learned something. He had noted every movement ofthe billposter.
"How long does it take to learn to post, Billy?" he asked.
"Some fellows never learn. Others get fairly expert after a fewweeks puttering around."
"May I try one today?"
"Sure thing. If the next one is easy I will give you a chanceat it."
The next daub proved to be a small hay barn a little way back ina field.
"There's your chance, my boy," he said.
Phil jumped out before the wagon had come to a stop and, withpaper and brush under his arms, ran across the field. With moreskill than might have been expected with his limited experiencehe smeared the paper with paste, then sought to raise it up tothe side of the building as he had seen Billy Conley do.
This was where Phil came to grief. A gust of wind doubled thepaper up, the pasted side smearing the bright colors of the faceof the picture, until the colors were one hopeless daub. To capthe climax the whole thing came down over Phil's head, wrappinghim in its slimy folds.
"Hey, help!" he shouted. "I'm posting myself instead ofthe barn."
Billy sat down on the ground, laughing until the tears ran downhis cheeks.
"If it hadn't been for that unexpected gust of wind I should havemade it nicely," explained Phil with a sickly grin. "Oh, pshaw,I'm not as much of a billposters as I thought I was. I guessthere is more to this game than I had any idea of."
"You will learn. You took a pretty big contract when you triedto 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 apiece of paper as I am fit to handle just yet."
He managed the one-sheet without the least trouble, and did avery good job, so much so that Billy complimented him highly.
"You will make a billposter yet. One good thing about you isthat you are willing to learn, and you are quick to admit thatyou do not know it all. Most fellows, when they start, haveideas of their own--at least they think they have."
After that Phil did the small work, thinned the paste and madehimself 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 posta 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 bythat 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. W
e haveno ladders that would reach; in fact we have no laddersat 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 whichhe thought he might accomplish the feat, providing the farmerwas willing.
Reaching the farm, Phil jumped out and ran up to the house.
"Do you own this place, sir?" he asked of the farmer who answeredhis ring at the bell.
"I do."
"It's a beautiful place. I am representing the Sparling Circus,and we thought we would like to make a display on your silo."
The farmer gazed at him in amazement.
"Young man, you have a cast-iron nerve even to ask such a thing."
"I know the mere matter of tickets to the show will be noinducement to a man of your position. But I am going to make youa present of a box for six people at the circus. You will takeyour whole family and be my guest. I will not only give you anorder for it, but will write a personal letter to the owner, whois my very good friend. He will show you all there is to beseen, and I will see to it that you take dinner with him in thecircus tent. No; there is no obligation. All the farmers--allyour neighbors will be envious. I want you to come. We won'tspeak of the silo. I don't expect you to let me post that; but,if you will permit me to put a three-sheet on your hog pen backthere, I shall be greatly obliged."
Despite the farmer's protestations, Phil wrote out the order forthe box, then scribbled a few lines to Mr. Sparling, which heenclosed in an envelope borrowed from the farmer.
"Thank you so much," beamed the Circus Boy, handing over theletter to the farmer, accompanied by the pass and order forthe arena box at the circus. "It is a pleasure to meet a manlike you. I come from a country town myself, and have workedsome on my uncle's farm."
"You with the circus, eh?"
"Yes, sir."
"Looks to me like you was a pretty young fellow to be acircus man."
"Oh no, not very. I belong back with the show. I am aperformer, you know. I am out with the advertising car to learnthe business."
"A performer?" wondered the farmer, looking over the trim figureand bright boyish face. "What do you perform?"
"I perform on the flying trapeze and do a bareback riding act."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, sir."
"Do you know, young fellow, I never got such a close squint at acircus fellow before in my life. But, come to size you up, Ireckon you can do all them things you've been telling me about.Yes, sir, I'll go to the circus. Will you be there to cut up inthe ring?"
"I cannot say. It is doubtful, as I probably shall be ahead ofthe show for the rest of the season. Well, thank you very much.We will decorate the hog pen," added the lad, touching his capand turning away.
An arena box, value twelve dollars, was a pretty high price topay for a three-sheet on a hog pen, but Phil Forrest knew what hewas doing. At least he thought he did, and he did not walk veryfast on his way to the road.
"Hey, come back here," called the farmer.
"Yes, sir," answered Phil turning inquiringly.
"Come here."
He walked back to where the farmer was standing fingering thepass 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 anythingto displease you."
"But I reckon you can plaster that silo full of them circuspictures from top to bottom, if you want to," was theunexpected announcement.
Phil Forrest's heart bounded back into position again.