"You must write us every day," said Beany as the three trotted along.
"Oh, yes, I will write often, but I guess I can't every day. The ringmaster says that I will have to work hard for a spell. He wants me to be able to go into the show and drive Sir Wilton in a week, just as Tony did. Gee, it scares me when I think of it, but he says I will get used to the crowd."
"Aw, yes, of course you will," said Pickles contemptuously. "Such crowds as this one to-day won't be anything to you in a few weeks. Just wait until you get to playing in Madison Square. That is where my uncle says you see the crowd."
"Freckles," cried Beany, "if there is ever any opening for a feller in the Wild West shooting department, you write me quick. Tell them I will accept at once."
"Aw, no, you wouldn't," said Pickles scornfully. "His folks wouldn't let him. But if they should ever want a manager's helper, perhaps I might get off."
