About this book
"Bates!" The voice of James Sparling rose above even the roar of the storm. A uniformed attendant stepped into the little office tent occupied by the owner of the Great Sparling Combined Shows. Shaking the water from his dripping cap, he brought a hand to his forehead in precise military salute. "How's the storm coming, Bates?" demanded the showman, with an amused twinkle in his eyes as he noted the bedraggled condition of his messenger. "She's coming wet, sir," was the comprehensive reply.