A BATTLE OF WITS
"The Robinson people, at least, have got to work," muttered the
Circus Boy as he made his way downtown. Here and there, at rare
intervals, he came across a window bill of the show mentioned.
There were blocks of windows, however, with no billing in them.
Phil interpreted this to mean that his own men had secured the
requisite permission to place their own bills there.
He smiled as he thought of the little trick. It was an idea
of his own to square locations ahead of the lithographers.
Ordinarily, the lithographer made his rounds with a bundle of
bills on his arm. Entering a store he would say, "May I place
this bill in your window?" Phil had adopted the plan of sending
the men around first. After they had obtained the signed
permission they would go back over the same ground and place
the bills. This took a little more time, but it had the merit
of fooling his rivals and getting many more places squared than
could have been done in the old way.
Suddenly a great wall loomed ahead of him.
Phil paused and surveyed it critically.
"Wouldn't I like to fasten Sparling banners all over that
place, though. What a hit that would be. Why," he added
looking about him, "it could be seen pretty much all
over town."
Phil started on, intending to find out who owned the building.
As he did so he saw a man from the canary-colored car entering
the building. The man was going into a store on the
ground floor.
"I'll bet he is after that very wall. Oh, pshaw! Why didn't I
stay in town and attend to my business, as I should have done,
instead of racing over the country at that mad pace? I'm going
over to see what he is up to."
The Circus Boy hurried along. Entering the store he saw the
man from the rival car, who proved to be the manager of it,
engaged in earnest conversation with a man whom Phil supposed
to be the proprietor.
After a little the manager of the other car hurried out.
Phil stepped forward.
"Are you the proprietor?" he asked politely.
"Yes; what can I do for you?"
"Do you own this building?"
"No, but I am the agent for it."
"Very good. You are the man I want to talk with. I am from the
Sparling Shows. I should like the privilege of fastening some
banners on that south wall there."
"You're too late, young man. I just gave the other man
permission to do that."
"Did he pay you?" asked Phil sweetly.
"No."
"Did you sign a contract with him?"
"No."
"May I ask how much he is to give you for the privilege?"
"Twenty-five dollars."
"He ought to be ashamed to offer you such a mean figure as that
for such a privilege."
The proprietor grew interested.
"Where has he gone?"
"Said he had to talk with someone back with the show by long
distance telephone before he could close the bargain."
Phil glanced apprehensively at the door.
"I guess you had better sell the privilege to me while you have
the chance. He may not come back, you know; then you will be out
all around."
"I couldn't think of it. I gave him the privilege of buying
the wall."
"Money talks, doesn't it, sir?"
"It does, young man. It always makes such a loud noise around me
that I can't hear much of anything else."
Phil grinned.
"Yes; it's pretty noisy stuff."
The lad calmly drew a big roll of bills from his pocket, placing
it on the counter before the storekeeper. To the pile he added
his watch, a jackknife, a bunch of keys and a silver matchbox.
"Help yourself," he begged calmly.
"Wha--what?" gasped the storekeeper.
"I said help yourself. I want that wall. I leave it to you to
say what is a reasonable price for it--a price fair to you and
to me. You admit that money talks. This money is addressing
its remarks to you direct, at this very moment."
The proprietor hesitated, glanced at the money and other articles
that Phil had arrayed so temptingly before him, and turned
reflectively facing the rear of the store.
"I will scribble off a little contract," said Phil softly.
"How much shall we make the consideration?"
"What'll you give?"
"I've got him!" was Phil Forrest's triumphant thought, but he
allowed none of his triumphant feeling to appear in his face.
"Well, were I making the offer I should say the wall was worth
about forty dollars, no other bills to appear on it until
after my show has left town. But I told you to help yourself.
I'll stick to my word."
"Count me out forty dollars and take it. I like your style.
Your way of doing business makes a hit with me."
Phil inserted the agreed-upon price in the contract.
"Just sign your name there, please," he said, still in that soft,
persuasive voice.
The storekeeper read the brief contract through, nodded
approvingly, then affixed his signature with the fountain pen
that Phil had handed to him.
This done, the lad counted out forty dollars, stowed the rest
away in his pockets, together with his other belongings, then
extended his hand cordially to the proprietor.
"Thank you very much," murmured Phil, his face all aglow now.
"You're welcome. When do you put up your bills?"
"At once. We leave town tonight, and we have a lot of work to
do first."
"Let's see; were you one of the fellows mixed up in that race
this morning?"
Phil blushed.
"I am afraid I was very much mixed up in it.
Well, good afternoon."
The lad turned and started for the door. At that moment
someone entered. It was the manager of the canary car.
"It's all right. I'll take the location," he announced, smiling
broadly, as he walked rapidly to where the proprietor was
standing, laying two tens and a five-dollar bill on the counter.
"I--I'm sorry," stammered the storekeeper, flushing. "I have
just sold it to another party."
"Sold it!"
The manager's face went several shades paler.
"Yes."
"To--to whom?"
"To that young gentleman there."
The manager whirled and faced Phil.
"Who--who are you?"
"My name is Forrest," answered Phil, smiling easily. He could
well afford to smile.
"And you--you have bought this location?"
"I have."
"Whom do you represent?"
"The Sparling Combined Shows."
The Circus Boy's rival flushed angrily.
"I demand that the location be turned over to me instantly!
It belongs to me, and I'll have it if I have to fight for it.
Here's my money, Mr. Storekeeper. I command you to make out
a paper giving me the right to bill that wall."
"I do not think he will do anything of the sort, my dear sir,"
spoke up Phil. "I have bought and paid for the location and
I propose to hold it. You had no more right to it than any
other man. You did not have the nerve to put down your money
for it when you had the chance, and you lost your opportunity.
You will see the wall covered with Sparling banners in a very
short time."
"I will not!"
"Be on your way, my man. Let me tell you the Sparling banners
are going up."
"There's my money!" shouted the manager of the canary
colored car. "The wall is _mine!_"
He dashed out of the store and started for his car on the run.
"If you let those other showmen banner the wall I'll have
the law on you!" announced Phil sternly. Then the Circus
Boy ran out of the store, starting off at a lively sprint
for his own car. He caught up with the rival manager in
a moment, passed him and bounded on. His rival already
was puffing and perspiring under the unusual effort.
"Turn out every man in town!" he called, dashing into the car.
"Teddy, run to the main street and send everyone of our banner
men and lithographers to the Ward Building. You and Henry carry
over there at once all the banners you can scrape together.
Do not lose a minute. But wait! I'll telephone the liveryman
for a wagon to carry the paper, brushes and paste pots over.
You remain here, Henry, and go with the wagon. Teddy, you
hustle for the men. Run as if the Rhino from the Sparling
menagerie were charging you!"
Teddy leaped from the car platform and was off, with Phil
sprinting after him in long strides.
They passed the manager of the canary colored car just as they
were running across the switches in the railroad yard. He was
only then getting to his car.