The Circus Boys On The Flying Rings | Page 4

should like to be the fellow who cracks the
whip with the long lash and makes the clowns hop around on one
foot--"
"You mean the ringmaster?"
"I guess that's the fellow. He makes 'em all get around lively. Then,
sometimes, I think I would rather be a clown. I can skin a cat on the
flying rings to beat the band, now. What would you rather be, Phil?"
"Me? Oh, something up in the air--high up near the peak of the
tent--something thrilling that would make the people sit up on the
board seats and gasp, when, all dressed in pink and spangles, I'd go
flying through the air--"
"Just like a bird?" questioned Teddy, with a rising inflection in his
voice.
"Yes. That's what I'd like most to do, Teddy," concluded the lad, his
face flushed with the thought of the triumphs that might be his.
Teddy Tucker uttered a soft, long-drawn whistle.
"My, you've got it bad, haven't you? Never thought you were that set on
the circus. Wouldn't it be fine, now, if we both could get with a show?"
"Great!" agreed Phil, with an emphatic nod. "Sometimes I think my
uncle would be glad to have me go away--that he wouldn't care whether
I joined a circus, or what became of me."
"Ain't had much fun since your ma died, have you, Phil?" questioned
Teddy sympathetically.
"Not much," answered the lad, a thin, gray mist clouding his eyes. "No,
not much. But, then, I'm not complaining."
"Your uncle's a mean old--"

"There, there, Teddy, please don't say it. He may be all you think he is,
but for all the mean things he's said and done to me, I've never given
him an impudent word, Teddy. Can you guess why?"
"Cause he's your uncle, maybe," grumbled Teddy.
"No, 'cause he's my mother's brother--that's why."
"I don't know. Maybe I'd feel that way if I'd had a mother."
"But you did."
"Nobody ever introduced us, if I did. Guess she didn't know me. But if
your uncle was my uncle do you know what I'd do with him, Phil
Forrest?"
"Don't let's talk about him. Let's talk about the circus. It's more fun,"
interrupted Phil, turning to the billboard again and gazing at it with
great interest.
They were standing before the glowing posters of the Great Sparling
Combined Shows, that was to visit Edmeston on the following
Thursday.
Phillip Forrest and Teddy Tucker were fast friends, though they were as
different in appearance and temperament as two boys well could be.
Phil was just past sixteen, while Teddy was a little less than a year
younger. Phil's figure was slight and graceful, while that of his
companion was short and chubby.
Both lads were orphans. Phil's parents had been dead for something
more than five years. Since their death he had been living with a
penurious old uncle who led a hermit-like existence in a shack on the
outskirts of Edmeston.
But the lad could remember when it had been otherwise--when he had
lived in his own home, surrounded by luxury and refinement, until evil
days came upon them without warning. His father's property had been

swept away, almost in a night. A year later both of his parents had died,
leaving him to face the world alone.
The boy's uncle had taken him in begrudgingly, and Phil's life from that
moment on had been one of self-denial and hard work. Yet he was
thankful for one thing--thankful that his miserly old uncle had
permitted him to continue at school.
Standing high in his class meant something in Phil's case, for the boy
was obliged to work at whatever he could find to do after school hours,
his uncle compelling him to contribute something to the household
expenses every week. His duties done, Phil was obliged to study far
into the night, under the flickering light of a tallow candle, because oil
cost too much. Sometimes his candle burned far past the midnight hour,
while he applied himself to his books that he might be prepared for the
next day's classes.
Hard lines for a boy?
Yes. But Phil Forrest was not the lad to complain. He went about his
studies the same as he approached any other task that was set for him to
do--went about it with a grim, silent determination to conquer it. And
he always did.
As for Teddy--christened Theodore, but so long ago that he had
forgotten that that was his name--he studied, not because he possessed
a burning desire for knowledge, but as a matter of course, and much in
the same spirit he did the chores for the people with whom he lived.
Teddy was quite young when his parents died leaving him without a
relative in the world. A