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."
"No, I want to do business with you," rejoined Dick, with a smile. "I live in Hamilton Corners. I'd like to see a circus there. In fact, I'm willing to pay for having one come there. I have a certain reason for it. If I give you a thousand-dollar guarantee will you bring the show there?"
"Yes, of course."
The manager seemed a little dazed. Dick drew out a thin red book.
