THE BARNYARD CIRCUS
When next Phil opened his eyes he was lying on the grass on the shady side of a freight car with someone dashing water in his face, while two or three others stood around gazing at him curiously.
"Whe--where am I?" gasped the boy.
"I reckon you're lucky to be alive," laughed the man who had been soaking him from a pail of water."Who be ye?""My name is Phil Forrest."
"How'd ye git in that car? Stealing a ride, eh? Reckon we'd better hand ye over to the town constable.It's again the law to steal rides on freight trains.""I've not stolen a ride.It's no such thing," protested Phil indignantly."Ho, ho, that's a rich one!Paid yer fare, hey?Riding like agentleman in a side-door Pullman.Good, ain't it, fellows?""Friends, I assure you I am not a tramp.Someone assaulted me and locked me in that car last night.I've got money in my pocket to prove that I am not a tramp."The lad thrust his hands into his trousers' pockets, then a blank expression overspread his face.Reaching to his vest to see if his watch were there, he found that that, too, was missing.
"I've been robbed," he gasped."That's what it was.Somebody robbed and threw me into this car last night.See, I've got a lump on my head as big as a man's fist.""He sure has," agreed one of the men."Somebody must a given him an awful clout with a club.""What town is this, please?" "Mexico, Missouri." "Mexico?""Yes."
"How far is it from St.Joseph?"
"St.Joseph?Why, I reckon St.Joe is nigh onto a hundred and fiftymiles from here." Phil groaned.
"A hundred and fifty miles and not a cent in my pocket! What shall I do?Can I send a telegram? Where is the station?""Sunday.Station closed." "Sunday?That's so."Phil walked up and down between the tracks rather unsteadily, curiously observed by the villagers.They had heard his groans in the freight car on the siding as they passed, and had quickly liberated the lad.
"Do you think I could borrow enough money somewhere here to get me to St.Joseph? I would send it back by return mail."The men laughed long and loud.
"What are you in such a hurry to get to St.Joe for?" demanded the spokesman of the party.
"Because I want to get back to the circus." "Circus?" they exclaimed in chorus.
"Yes.I belong with the Sparling Combined Shows.I was on my way to my train, in the railroad yards, when I was knocked out and thrown into that car.""You with a circus?"The men regarded him in a new light."Yes; why not?"This caused them to laugh.Plainly they did not believe him.Nor did Phil care much whether they did or not.
"What time is it?" he asked."Church time."He knew that, for he could hear the bells ringing off in the village to the east of them.
"I'll tell you what, sirs; I have got to have some breakfast.If any of you will be good enough to give me a meal I shall be glad to do whatever you may wish to pay for it.Then, if I cannot find the telegraph operator, I shall have to stay over until I do.""What do you want the telegraph man for?""I want to wire the show for some money to get back with.I've got to be there tomorrow, in time for the show.I must do it, if I have to run allthe way."
The men were impressed by his story in spite of themselves; yet they were loath to believe that this slender lad, much the worse for wear, could belong to the organization he had named.
"What do you do in the show?"
"I perform on the flying rings, ride the elephant and ride bareback in the ring.What about it? Will one of you put me up?"The villagers consulted for a moment; then the spokesman turned to Phil.
"I reckon, if you be a circus feller, you kin show us some tricks, eh?" "Perform for you, you mean?""Yep."
"Well, I don't usually do anything like that on Sunday," answered the Circus Boy reflectively.
"Eat on Sunday, don't you?"
"When I get a chance," Phil grinned."I guess your argument wins.I've got to eat and I have offered to earn my meal.What do you want me to do?""Kin you do a flip?"
Phil threw himself into a succession of cartwheels along the edge of the railroad tracks, ending in a backward somersault.
"And you ride a hoss without any saddle, standing up on his back--you do that, too?""Why, yes," laughed Phil, his face red from his exertion."Then, come along.Come on, fellers!"Phil thought, of course, that he was being taken to the man's home just outside the village, where he would get his breakfast.He was considerably surprised, therefore, when the men passed the house that his acquaintance pointed out as belonging to himself, and took their way on toward a collection of farm buildings some distance further up the road.
"I wonder what they are going to do now?" marveled Phil."This surely doesn't look much like breakfast coming my way, and I'm almost famished."The leader of the party let down the bars of the farmyard, conductinghis guests around behind a large hay barn, into an enclosed space, in the center of which stood a straw stack, the stack and yard being surrounded by barns and sheds.
