The Circus Boys On The Flying Rings | Page 5

the principal reason," smiled the boy. "Are you?"
"Sure. Don't need any money to go to a circus."
"You don't?"
"No."
"How do you manage it?"
"Crawl in under the tent when the man ain't looking," answered Teddy promptly.
"I wouldn't want to do that," decided the older lad, with a shake of the head. "It wouldn't be quite honest. Do you think so?"
Teddy Tucker shrugged his shoulders indifferently.
"Never thought about it. Don't let myself think about it. Isn't safe, for I might not go to the show if I did. What's your other reason?"
"For not going to the circus?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't think Uncle would let me; that's a fact."
"Why not?"
"Says circuses and all that sort of thing are evil influences."
"Oh, pshaw! Wish he was my uncle," decided Teddy belligerently. "How long are you going to stand for being mauled around like a little yellow dog?"
"I'll stand most anything for the sake of getting an education. When I get that then I'm going to strike out for myself, and do something in the world. You'll hear from me yet, Teddy Tucker, and maybe I'll hear from you, too."
"See me, you mean--see me doing stunts on a high something-or- other in a circus. Watch me turn a somersault."
The lad stood poised on the edge of the ditch, on the other side of which the billboard stood. This gave him the advantage of an elevated position from which to attempt his feat.
"Look out that you don't break your neck," warned Phil. "I'd try it on a haymow, or something like that, first."
"Don't you worry about me. See how easy that fellow in the picture is doing it. Here goes!"
Teddy launched himself into the air, with a very good imitation of a diver making a plunge into the water, hands stretched out before him, legs straight behind him.
He was headed straight for the ditch.
"Turn, Teddy! Turn! You'll strike on your head."
Teddy was as powerless to turn as if he had been paralyzed from head to foot. Down he went, straight as an arrow. There followed a splash as his head struck the water of the ditch, the lad's feet beating a tattoo in the air while his head was stuck fast in the mud at the bottom of the ditch.
"He'll drown," gasped Phil, springing down into the little stream, regardless of the damage liable to be done to his own clothes.
Throwing both arms about the body of his companion he gave a mighty tug. Teddy stuck obstinately, and Phil was obliged to take a fresh hold before he succeeded in hauling the lad from his perilous position. Teddy was gasping for breath. His face, plastered with mud, was unrecognizable, while his clothes were covered from head to foot.
Phil dumped him on the grass beneath the circus billboard and began wiping the mud from his companion's face, while Teddy quickly sat up, blinking the mud out of his eyes and grumbling unintelligibly.
"You're a fine circus performer, you are," laughed Phil. "Suppose you had been performing on a flying trapeze in a circus, what do you suppose would have happened to you?"
"I'd have had a net under me then, and I wouldn't have fallen in the ditch," grunted Teddy sullenly.
"What do you suppose the folks will say when you go home in that condition?"
"Don't care what they say. Fellow has got to learn sometime, and if I don't have any worse thing happen to me than falling in a ditch I ought to be pretty well satisfied. Guess I'll go back now. Come on, go 'long with me."
Phil turned and strode along by the side of his companion until they reached the house where Teddy lived.
"Come on in."
"I'm sorry, Teddy, but I can't. My uncle will be expecting me, and he won't like it if I am late."
"All right; see you tomorrow if you don't come out again tonight. We'll try some more stunts then."
"I wouldn't till after the circus, were I in your place," laughed Phil.
"Why not!"
"Cause, if you break your neck, you won't be able to go to the show."
"Huh!" grunted Teddy, hastily turning his back on his companion and starting for the house.
Phil took his way home silently and thoughtfully, carrying his precious bundle of books under an arm, his active mind planning as to how he might employ his time to the best advantage during the summer vacation that was now so close at hand.
A rheumatic, bent figure was standing in front of the shack where the lad lived, glaring up the street from beneath bushy eyebrows, noting Phil Forrest's leisurely gait disapprovingly.
Phil saw him a moment later.
"I'm in for a scolding," he muttered. "Wonder what it is all about this time. I don't seem able to do a thing to please Uncle Abner."

CHAPTER II
PHIL HEARS HIS DISMISSAL
"Where you been, young man?" The question was a snarl