In one tent hundreds of the performers and helpers were at dinner, while a curious crowd looked on under the raised flaps. The two boys, in company with scores of others, watched the cooks of the circus at work over the portable ranges and soup kettles, where it seemed as though enough food for an army was being prepared. "Say, it's great, isn't it!" exclaimed Frank. "I can hardly wait until it's time to begin. Let's go get a hot frankfurter sausage somewhere." "I'm afraid I've got to leave you," replied Dick. "I have some business on hand. I'll see you later. Maybe in the main tent." "All right," assented Frank, a little disappointed, but he soon forgot about that in watching the many scenes of interest. "Where can I find the manager?" asked Dick, of a man who wore a uniform and seemed to be some one in authority. "In the ticket wagon," was the reply. "But you needn't think you can deadhead in. The free list is suspended." "I've no intention of asking for a pass," replied Dick, with a smile. "Is the manager in?" he asked, a moment later, of the man who looked out of the high ticket wagon. "I guess so. What do you want?" "I want to see him in regard to the next town where he is to play." "Who is it?" inquired a voice from within the vehicle. "Some lad from our next town. Maybe the mayor's sent to say he's going to raise the license fee. I never see such a hold-up game as these country mayors try to pull off," and the ticket seller looked disgusted. "No, I'm not from the mayor," said Dick. "I want to see the manager on my own account." At this another man joined the one at the ticket window. He was large and fat, and wore a red necktie, in which sparkled a pin with a large stone. He had on a tall hat and a frock coat. "Come around to the side door," he said, in no very gracious tones, and Dick noticed that a pair of steps at the side gave access to the wagon. He was soon inside the place, which was fitted up like a small office, with desks, and even a typewriter, at which a young man was busy pounding the keys. "What is it?" asked the manager, abruptly. "I've come to see if you won't give a show in Hamilton Corners," began Dick. "I think the town would like to see it." "Maybe the town would, but I wouldn't," replied the manager quickly. "I'm not in business for my health. I want to make a little money, and Hamilton Corners is too small. We couldn't clear expenses." "How much do you have to clear to make it worth your while to show in a town?" asked Dick. "Well, a thousand dollars is fair business." "If you were sure of a thousand dollars clear, would you come to Hamilton Corners?" "Yes, or any place else within traveling distance. But what are you? A newspaper reporter? If you are, you want to see our press agent. He's in that tent over there."