Instead of the narrow berths they had
expected to see, there were white enameled iron bedsteads, a
washstand with the same neat finish, and several pictures on
the walls.
The cabin was a large one. In the center of it stood a table on
which lay a large portfolio and inscribed in gold letters on the
outside they read the words, "For the Circus Boys."
The portfolio was filled with writing materials.
"Oh, isn't that fine?" exclaimed Phil.
"Yes, it's a fine egg. I'm going to have the feast of my life
when I get it baked--"
"Teddy Tucker!"
"What?"
"What do you think I am talking about?"
"Eggs."
"I am not. I am talking about this beautiful cabin that
Mr. Sparling has fixed for us. Look at it--look at
this portfolio. I am afraid you don't appreciate how
good our employer is to us. There is an easy chair for
each of us, too. Why, we ought to be very happy."
"I am happy. So would you be if a hen had laid a five pound egg
for you," retorted Teddy.
"Hopeless, hopeless," groaned Phil.
Teddy, muttering to himself, carefully laid the egg away in his
trunk, first wrapping it up in an old silk ring shirt, then
locking the trunk and putting the key in his pocket.
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