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.
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