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Updated: June 29, 2025
When you 'n I run into the las' dark deepo that's waitin' fur us at the end, I hope we'll be able to show's good stiffikits as hern. Here's the bridge! Will be soon home, now." It was a long bridge, built far out to be above high tides. As they touched it the furnace-door flew open.
"Mark Riley's been goin' to put up them bills sence day 'fore yesterday," said Anderson Crow, with exasperation in his voice, "an he ain't done it yet. The agent fer the troupe left 'em here an' hired Mark, but he's so thunderation slow that he won't paste 'em up 'til after the show's been an' gone. I'll give him a talkin' to to-morrer." "What-fer show is it?" asked Jim Borum.
All this was beginning to get on the nerves of the owner of the show, as well as on those of some of his people who knew about it. Things had come to a point where it was necessary to place more men on guard about the lot to protect the show's property.
Another and another followed, until six had thudded into the soft earth at the young man's feet. He stood quite motionless, and though he went a little pale, his coolness did not desert him. After the sixth shot silence fell abruptly. Elliott stood still for some moments, then moved forward a single step. "Guess the show's over," he remarked with a curt laugh.
And so, though they are no end nice and kind to one, play up and give one a good time and have a jolly good one themselves trust 'em to take care of that one knows all the while, if one knows anything, that the whole show's merely a rechauffe.
"The greatest work ever done by an advance car. I congratulate you all. Keep it up," was what Phil read. Phil rubbed his forehead in perplexity. "Now, how in the world did he find out about this so soon, I wonder?" questioned the boy. As a matter of fact, the manager of the Robinson Show's car, who was a friend of Mr. Sparling, had wired him of the day's doings.
"Now hit the trail for all you are worth!" They were off again. A cloud of dust to their rear told them that one of their rival's wagons was after them. At the next stop the pursuing wagon rolled by them, the men yelling derisively. "It is the Wallace Show's crowd!" shouted Phil. "Get after them." The Wallace people went on half a mile further.
Eleanor shrank aside when a dozen men pushed their way into the private office. Then, suddenly the electric lights went on, and a gruff voice said, "Drop them guns, you two. The show's over." It was McCloskey who gave the order, and it was obeyed sullenly.
Sparling was not present to witness it. He was busy down by the docks, attending to the loading of such of the show's equipment as was ready to be packed away for shipment on the Sparling fleet. Perhaps it was just as well for Teddy, that the owner of the show was not present, as he might have objected to the Circus Boy's interruption of the performance. Teddy was irrepressible.
"The show's broke up, an' that's all there's to it," said Bob, sorrowfully, as he gazed alternately at the hole in the canvas and his rapidly vanishing calf. "Are the squirrels all gone?" asked Joe, driving the cat from her intended prey long enough to allow Master Bushy-tail to gain a refuge under the barn. "Every one," replied Reddy.
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