The Circus Boys Across The Continent | Page 7

season, don't you?"
"Yes, sir. What time do we go out?"
"One section has already gone. The next and last will leave tonight about ten o'clock. We want to make an early start, for the labor is all green. It'll take three times as long to put up the rag as usual."
"The rag? What's the rag?" questioned Teddy.
"Beg pardon," mocked Mr. Sparling. "I had forgotten that you are still a Reuben. A rag is a tent, in show parlance."
"Oh!"
"Any orders after we get settled?" asked Phil.
"Nothing for you to do till parade time tomorrow. You will look to the same executives that you did last year. There has been no change in them."
The lads hurried from the private car, and after searching about the railroad yard for fully half an hour they came upon car number eleven. This was a bright, orange-colored car with the name of the Sparling Shows painted in gilt letters near the roof, just under the eaves. The smell of fresh paint was everywhere, but the wagons being covered with canvas made it impossible for them to see how the new wagons looked. There were many of these loaded on flat cars, with which the railroad yard seemed to be filled.
"Looks bigger than Barnum & Bailey's," nodded Teddy, feeling a growing pride that he was connected with so great an organization.
"Not quite, I guess," replied Phil, mounting the platform of number eleven.
The boys introduced themselves to the porter, who showed them to their berths. These were much like those in the ordinary sleeper, except that the upper berths had narrow windows looking out from them. Across each berth was stretched a strong piece of twine.
Phil asked the porter what the string was for.
"To hang your trousers on, sah," was the enlightening answer. "There's hooks for the rest of your clothes just outside the berths."
"This looks pretty good to me," said Phil, peering out through the screened window of his berth.
"Reminds me of when I used to go to sleep in the woodbox behind the stove where I lived last year in Edmeston," grumbled Teddy in a muffled voice, as he rummaged about his berth trying to accustom himself to it. Teddy never had ridden in a sleeping car, so it was all new and strange to him.
"Say, who sleeps upstairs?" he called to the porter.
"The performers, sah--some of them. This heah is the performers' car, sah."
"How do they get up there? On a rope ladder?"
Phil shouted.
"You ninny, this isn't a circus performance. No; of course they don't climb up on a rope ladder as if they were starting a trapeze act."
"How, then?"
"The porter brings out a little step ladder, and it's just like walking upstairs, only it isn't."
"Huh!" grunted Teddy. "Do they have a net under them all night?"
"A net? What for?"
"Case they fall out of bed."
"Put him out!" shouted several performers who were engaged in settling themselves in their own quarters. "He's too new for this outfit."
Phil drew his companion aside and read him a lecture on not asking so many questions, advising Teddy to keep his ears and eyes open instead.
Teddy grumbled and returned to the work of unpacking his bag.
Inquiry for their trunks developed the fact that they would have to look for these in the baggage car; that no trunks were allowed in the sleepers.
Everything about the car was new and fresh, the linen white and clean, while the wash room, with its mahogany trimmings, plate glass mirrors and upholstered seats, was quite the most elaborate thing that Teddy had ever seen.
He called to Phil to come and look at it.
"Yes, it is very handsome. I am sure we shall get to be very fond of our home on wheels before the season is ended. I'm going out now to see if our trunks have arrived."
Phil, after some hunting about, succeeded in finding the baggage man of the train, from whom he learned that the trunks had arrived and were packed away in the baggage car.
By this time night had fallen. With it came even greater confusion, while torches flared up here and there to light the scene of bustle and excitement.
It was all very confusing to Phil, and he was in constant fear of being run down by switching engines that were shunting cars back and forth as fast as they were loaded, rapidly making up the circus train. The Circus Boy wondered if he ever could get used to being with a railroad show.
"I must be getting back or I shall not be able to find number eleven," decided Phil finally. "I really haven't the least idea where it is now."
The huge canvas-covered wagons stood up in the air like a procession of wraiths of the night, muttered growls and guttural coughs issuing from their interiors. All this was disturbing to one