Publisher's Synopsis
"You never can guess it-you never can guess the news, Teddy," cried Phil Forrest, rushing into the gymnasium, his face flushed with excitement. Teddy Tucker, clad in a pair of linen working trunks and a ragged, sleeveless shirt, both garments much the worse for their winter's wear, was lazily swinging a pair of Indian clubs. "What is it, some kind of riddle, Phil?" he questioned, bringing the clubs down to his sides. "Do be serious for a minute, won't you?" "Me, serious? Why, I never cracked a smile. Isn't anything to smile at. Besides, do you know, since I've been in the circus business, every time I want to laugh I check myself so suddenly that it hurts?" "How's that?" "Because I think I've still got my makeup on and that I'll crack it if I laugh." "What, your face?" "My face? No! My makeup. By the time I remember that I haven't any makeup on I've usually forgotten what it was I wanted to laugh about. Then I don't laugh." Teddy shied an Indian club at a rat that was scurrying across the far end of their gymnasium, missing him by half the width of the building. "If you don't care, of course I shan't tell you. But it's good news, Teddy. You would say so if you knew it."
