The Young Acrobat of the Great North American Circus

"But you never have yet?"

"Never yet. I do not think if I should see that man I could go through my part. It requires nerve, as you know, and my nerves would be so shaken that my life would be in peril. If you ever hear of my meeting with an accident, you may guess the probable cause."

"Then, if ever you recognize your husband among the spectators, it would be prudent to omit your performance."

"That is what I propose to do."

Kit little imagined how soon the contingency which his friend feared would arrive.

Two evenings later Harry Thorne brought him a little note. He opened it and read as follows:

Come and see me at once.   Louise Lefroy

Kit ascertained where Mlle. Lefroy was to be found, and obeyed the summons immediately.

He found the lady in great agitation.

"Are you not well?" he asked.

"Well in health, but not in mind," she answered.

"Has anything happened?"

"Yes; what I dreaded has come to pass."

"Have you seen your husband?" asked Kit quickly.

"Yes; I was taking a walk, and saw him on the opposite side of the street."

"Did he see you?"

"No; but I ascertained that he is staying at the hotel. Now he is likely to follow the crowd, and attend the circus to-night."

"That is probable. Then you will not appear."

"I should not dare to. But it will be a great disappointment to the management. The trapeze act is always a popular one, especially in a country town like this. Now I am going to ask a favor of you."

Kit's face flushed with excitement. He foresaw what it would be.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I want you to appear in my place this evening."

"Do you think I am competent?"

"You cannot do my act, but you can do enough to satisfy the public. But, my dear friend, I don't want to subject you to any risk. If you are at all nervous or afraid, don't attempt it."

"I am not afraid," said Kit confidently. "I will appear!"

In the evening the tent was full. Very few knew of the change in the programme. Mr. Barlow had consented to the substitution with some reluctance, for he feared that Kit might be undertaking something beyond his power to perform. Even the Vincenti brothers, Kit's associates, were surprised when the manager came forward and said:

"Ladies and gentlemen, Mlle. Lefroy is indisposed, and will be unable to perform her act this evening. Unwilling to disappoint the public, we have substituted one of our youngest and most daring performers, who will appear in her place."

When Kit came out, his young face glowing with excitement, and made his bow, the crowd of spectators greeted him with enthusiastic applause. His fellow actors joined in the ovation. They feared he had overrated his ability, but were ready to applaud his pluck.

Now was the time, if any, for Kit to grow nervous, and show stage fright. But he felt none. The sight of the eager faces around him only stimulated him. He caught the rope which hung down from the trapeze, and quickly climbing up poised himself on his elevated perch.

He did not allow himself to look down, but strove to shut out the sight of the hundreds of upturned faces, and proceeded to perform his act as coolly as if he were in a gymnasium, only six feet from the ground instead of thirty.

It is not to be supposed that Kit, who was a comparative novice, could equal Mlle. Louise Lefroy, who had been cultivating her specialty for ten years. He went through several feats, however, hanging from the trapeze with his head down, then quickly recovering himself and swinging by his hands. The public was disposed to be pleased, and, when the act was finished, gave him a round of applause.

Later in the evening a small man, with a very dark complexion, and keen, black eyes, approached him as he was standing near the lion's cage.

"Is this Luigi Vincenti?" he asked.

This was Kit's circus name. He passed for a brother, of Alonzo and Antonio Vincenti.

"Yes, sir," answered Kit.

"I saw your trapeze act this evening," he went on. "It was very good."

"Thank you, sir. You know, perhaps, that I am not a trapeze performer. I only appeared in place of Mlle. Lefroy, who is indisposed."

"So I understand; but you do very well for a boy. My name is Signor Oponto. I am at the head of a large circus in Havana. My visit to the United States is partly to secure additional talent. How long are you engaged to Mr. Barlow?"

"For no definite time. I suppose I shall remain till the end of the season."

"You have no engagements beyond?"

"No, sir; this is my first season with any circus."

"Then I will make you an offer. I don't want to take you from Mr. Barlow, but when the season is over I shall be ready to arrange for your appearance in Havana under my personal management."

Though Kit was modest he was human. He did feel flattered to find himself rated so high. It even occurred to him that he might like to be considered a star in circus circles, to be the admiration of circus audiences, and to be regarded with wondering awe by boys of his own age throughout the country. But Kit was also a sensible boy. After all, this preëminence was only of a physical character. A great acrobat or trapeze artist has no recognized place in society, and his ambition is of a low character. While these reflections were presenting themselves to his mind, Signor Oponto stood by in silence, waiting for his answer. He thought that Kit's hesitation was due to pecuniary considerations.

"What salary does Mr. Barlow pay you?" he asked, in a businesslike tone.

"Twenty-five dollars a week."

"I will give you fifty, and engage you for a year."

He regarded Kit intently to see how this proposal struck him.

"You are very liberal, Signor Oponto," Kit began, but the manager interrupted him.

"I will also pay your board," he added; "and of course defray your expenses to Havana. Is that satisfactory?"

"It would be very much so but for one thing."

"What is that?"

"I doubt whether I shall remain in the business after this season."

"Why not? Don't you like it?"

"Yes, very well; but I prefer to follow some profession of a literary character. I am nearly prepared for college, and I may decide to continue my studies."

"But even your college students devote most of their time to base ball and rowing, I hear."

"Not quite so bad as that," answered Kit, with a smile.

"You don't refuse definitely, I hope."

"No; it may be that I may feel obliged to remain in the business. In that case I will give you the preference."

"That is all I can expect. Here is my card. Whenever you are ready, write to me, and your communication will receive instant attention."

"Thank you, sir."

The next day Mlle. Lefroy resumed her work, the danger of meeting her husband having passed. She expressed her gratitude to Kit for serving as her substitute, and wished to make him a present of ten dollars, but he refused to accept it.

"I was glad of the chance to see what I could do on the trapeze," he said. "I never expect to follow it up, but I have already received an offer of an engagement in that line."

"So I heard. And you don't care to accept it?"

"No; I do not mean to be a circus performer permanently."

"You are right. It leads to nothing, and before middle life you are liable to find yourself unfitted for it."

CHAPTER XXXVI.

CLOSE OF THE CIRCUS

Days and weeks flew swiftly by. September gave place to October, and the circus season neared its close. Already the performers were casting about for employment during the long, dull winter that must elapse before the next season.

"What are your plans, Kit?" asked Antonio Vincenti, who in private called his young associate by his real name.

"I don't know yet, Antonio. I may go to school."

"Have you saved money enough to keep you through the winter?"

"Yes; I have four hundred dollars in the wagon."

This is the expression made use of to indicate "in the hands of the treasurer."

"You've done better than my brother or I. We must work during the winter."

"Have you any chance yet?"

"Yes; we can go to work in a dime museum in Philadelphia for a month, and afterwards we will go to Chicago, where we were last winter. I could get a chance for you, too."

"Thank you, but I don't care to work in that way at present. If I went anywhere I would go to Havana, where I am offered a profitable engagement."

"Has Mr. Barlow said anything to you about next season?"

"Yes; but I shall make no engagement in advance. Something may happen which will keep me at home."

"Oh, you'll be coming round in the spring. You'll have the circus fever like all the rest of us."

Kit smiled and shook his head.

"I haven't been in the business long enough to get so much attached to it as you are," he said. "But at any rate, I shall come round to see my old friends."

The last circus performance was given in Albany, and the winter quarters were to be at a town twenty miles distant. Kit went through his acts with his usual success, and when he took off his circus costume, it was with a feeling that it might be the last time he would wear it.

The breaking up was not to take place till the next day, and he was preparing to spend the night in some Albany hotel.

He had taken off his tights, as has been said, and put on his street dress, when a tall man, with a frank, good humored expression, stepped up to him.

"Are you Christopher Watson?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Kit, in surprise, for he had no recollection of having met the stranger before.

"Of course you don't know me, but I was a school-fellow and intimate friend of your father."

"Then," said Kit, cordially, "I must take you by the hand. All my father's friends are my friends."

The face of the stranger lighted up.

"That's the way to talk," he said. "I see you are like your father. Shake hands again."

"But how did you know I was with Barlow's circus?" asked Kit, puzzled.

"Your uncle told me."

"Have you seen him lately?" asked Kit, quickly.

"No; I saw him about three months ago at Smyrna."

"What did he tell you about me?"

"He said you were a wayward lad, and preferred traveling with a circus to following an honest business."

"I am afraid you have got a wrong idea of me, then."

"Bless you, I knew your uncle before you were born. He is not at all like your father. One was as open as the day, the other was cunning, selfish, and foxy."

"I see you understand my Uncle Stephen as well as I do."

"I ought to."

"Were you surprised to hear that I was traveling with a circus?"

"Well, I was; but your uncle told me one thing that surprised me more. He said that your father left nothing."

"That surprised me, too; but I have got some light on the subject and I feel in need of a friend and adviser."

"Then if you'll take Henry Miller for want of a better, I don't believe you'll regret it."

"I shall be glad to accept your kind offer, Mr. Miller. Now that you mention your name, I remember it very well. My father often spoke of you."

"Did he so?" said the stranger, evidently much gratified. "I am glad to hear it. Of all my school companions, your father was the one I liked best. And now, before we go any further, I want to tell you two things. First, I should have hunted you up sooner, but business called me to California, where I have considerable property. Next, having learned that you were left destitute, I decided to do something for the son of my old friend. So I took a hundred shares of stock in a new mine, which had just been put on the market when I reached 'Frisco, and I said to myself: 'That is for Kit Watson.' Well, it was a lucky investment. The shares cost me five dollars apiece, and just before I left California I sold them for fifty dollars apiece. What do you say to that?"

"Is it possible mining shares rise in value so fast?" asked Kit in amazement.

"Well, sometimes they do, and sometimes they don't. Often it's the other way, and I don't advise you or anybody else that knows nothing about it to speculate in mining shares. It is a risky thing, and you are more apt to lose than to win. However, this turned out O. K., and you are worth five thousand dollars to-day, my boy."

"I don't know how to thank you, Mr. Miller," said Kit. "I can't seem to realize it."

"You needn't thank me at all. I did it for your father's sake, but now that I know you I am glad to do it for your own. When we get to New York I advise you to salt it down in government bonds, or in some other good reliable stock."

"I shall be glad to follow your advice, Mr. Miller."

"Then I'll invest all but five hundred dollars, for you may want to use that. What sort of a season have you had?"

"I've saved up four hundred dollars," said Kit proudly.

"You don't say so! You must have got pretty good pay."

"Twenty-five dollars a week."

"Your uncle said you probably got two or three dollars a week."

"He probably thought so. He has no idea I have been so well paid. I chose to keep it from him."

"You said you wanted to ask my advice about something."

"Yes, sir."

"Why not come round to the Delavan and take a room? I am staying there, and I will tell the clerk to pick you out a room next to mine."

"I will do so. I intended to stay at some hotel to night. This is the last night of the circus. To-morrow we close up, and separate. I shall draw my money and bid good-by to my circus friends."

"I am glad of that. We will keep together. I have neither chick nor child, Kit, and if you'll accept me as your guardian I'll do the best I can for you. But perhaps you prefer to go back to your uncle."

Kit shook his head.

"I should never do that," he said, "especially after what I have learned during my trip."

"Let it keep till to-morrow, for we are both tired. Now get ready and we'll go to the Delavan."

Kit was assigned a nice room next to Mr. Miller, where he passed a comfortable night.

The next day he revealed to his new friend the discoveries he had made in his uncle's old home in Pennsylvania—his uncle's poverty up to the time of his brother's death, and the evident falseness of his claim to have lent him large sums of money, in payment of which he had coolly appropriated his entire estate.

His late friend listened to this story in amazement.

"I knew Stephen Watson to be unprincipled," he said, "but I didn't think him as bad as that. He has swindled you shamefully."

"Just my idea, Mr. Miller."

"While he has carefully feathered his own nest. This wrong must be righted."

"It was my intention to find some good lawyer, and ask his advice."

"We'll do it, Kit. But, first of all, I'll go with you to this town in Pennsylvania, and obtain the necessary testimony sworn to before a justice. Then we'll find a good lawyer, and move on the enemy's works."

"I will be guided by your advice entirely, Mr. Miller."

"It will be a satisfaction to me to get even with your uncle. To swindle his own nephew in this barefaced manner! We'll bring him up with a short turn, Kit!"

The next day Kit and his new friend left Albany.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

KIT COMES HOME

One morning James Schuyler Kit's old acquaintance at Smyrna, received a letter from Kit, in which he said: "Our circus season is ended, but I am detained a few days by important business. I will tell you about it when we meet. If you see my uncle tell him that I expect to reach Smyrna somewhere about the twenty-fifth of October."

"I wonder what Kit's important business can be," thought James. "I hope it is something of advantage to him."

James happened to meet Stephen Watson an hour later.

"Mr. Watson," he said, "I had a letter from Kit this morning."

"Indeed!"

"He says that his circus season is over."

"And he is out of employment," said Watson, his lip curling.

"I suppose so; he expects to reach Smyrna somewhere about the twenty-fifth of the month."

Stephen Watson smiled, but said nothing.

"No doubt he will find it very convenient to stay at home through the winter," he reflected. "Well, he must think I am a fool to take back a boy who has defied my authority."

It was Saturday, and Ralph was home from boarding-school.

"Ralph," said his father, "I bring you good news."

"What is it, pa?"

"Your cousin will be home from the circus towards the last of next week."

"Who told you? Did he write you?"

"He wrote to James Schuyler, who told me."

"I suppose he expects you will give him a home through the winter."

"You may rest easy, Ralph. He won't have his own way with me, I can assure you."

"What shall you do, pa?"

"I shall see Bickford about taking him back. I have occasion to go over there on Monday to have the horse shod, and I can speak to him about it."

Ralph laughed.

"That will bring down his pride," he said. "I suppose he will beg off."

"He will find me firm as a rock. What I decide upon I generally carry through."

"Good for you, pa! I was afraid you would weaken."

"You don't know me, my son. I have been patient and bided my time. Your cousin presumed to set up his will against mine. He has got along thus far because he has made a living by traveling with a circus. Now the circus season is at an end, and he is glad enough to come back to me."

On Monday Stephen Watson rode over to Oakford, and made it in his way to call on Aaron Bickford.

"Have you got a boy, Mr. Bickford?" he asked.

"I had one, but he left me last Saturday. He didn't suit me."

This was the blacksmith's interpretation of it. The truth was the boy became disgusted with the treatment he received and the fare provided at his employer's table, and left him without ceremony.

"How would you like to take back my nephew?"

"Has he come back?" asked the blacksmith, pricking up his ears.

"Not yet; but I expect him back toward the end of next week."

"Has he left the circus?"

"The circus has left him. That is, it has closed for the season. He has sent word to a boy in Smyrna that he will be back in a few days."

"He gave me a great deal of trouble, Mr. Watson."

"Just so, and I thought you might like to get even with him," said Stephen Watson, looking significantly at the blacksmith.

"It would do me good to give him a flogging," said Aaron Bickford.

"I shan't interfere," replied Watson. "The boy has acted badly and he deserves punishment."

"Yes, I'll take him back," said the blacksmith. "I guess he'll stay this time," he added grimly.

"I think he will have to. There won't be any circus to give him employment."

"He is a good strong boy, and he can make a good blacksmith, if he has a mind to."

"You must make him have a mind to," said Stephen Watson.

When the horse was shod he got into the carriage and drove away.

After this interview Mr. Bickford seemed in unusually good spirits, so much so that his wife inquired: "Have you had any good luck, Aaron?"

"What makes you ask?"

"Because you look unusually chipper. I was hopin' somebody had died and left you a fortune."

"Well, not exactly, wife; but I've heard something that makes me feel good."

"What's that?"

"Stephen Watson, of Smyrna, was over here this morning."

"Well?"

"He says that boy Kit is coming home in a few days."

"What if he is?"

"He's goin' to bring him over here, and apprentice him to me again."

"I should think once would be enough, considerin' how he treated you."

"He ain't goin' to serve me so again, you may bet on that. I'm goin' to have my way this time."

"Ain't you afraid he'll run away again?"

"Not much. The circus has shut up, and he'll have to stay with me, or starve. His uncle tells me I can punish him when I think he deserves it."

"I hope you won't be disappointed, Mr. Bickford, but that boy's rather hard to handle."

"I know it, but I'm the one that can handle him."

"You thought so before, the evening we went to the show."

"I know so this time."

CHAPTER XXXVIII.

CONCLUSION

Several days passed. On Thursday afternoon Kit arrived in Smyrna, accompanied by his generous California friend Henry Miller. They put up at the hotel, and after dinner Kit walked over to the house occupied by his uncle.

Mr. Watson saw him from the window, and hastening to the door opened it himself.

"Good afternoon, Uncle Stephen," said Kit.

"So you're back!" said his uncle curtly.

"Yes; did you expect me?"

"James Schuyler told me you were coming."

"Yes, I wrote him that he might inform you."

"That was a good thought of yours. I have made arrangements for you."

"What arrangements?"

"I shall take you over to Oakford on Saturday, and place you with Aaron Bickford to learn the blacksmith's trade. This time I'd advise you not to run away."

Kit didn't exhibit any dismay when his uncle informed him of the plan he had arranged for him.

"I will talk this over with you, Uncle Stephen," he said. "With your permission I will go into the house."

"You can stay here till Saturday. Then you will go with me to Oakford."

Kit followed his uncle into the house. "I have something important to say to you, Uncle Stephen," he went on. "Sit down, and I will tell you what I have discovered within the last few months."

Stephen Watson anxiously awaited Kit's communication.

"Can he have found out?" he asked himself. "But no! it is impossible."

"I will give you five minutes to tell me your astonishing discovery," he said, with an attempt at his usual sneer.

"I may need a longer time, but I will be as quick as I can. Among the places where our circus exhibited was Glendale, Pennsylvania. Remembering that you once lived there, I made inquiries about you in the village. I saw the house where you lived for many years. Judge of my surprise when I learned that you were always in extreme poverty. Then I recalled your story of having lent my father ten thousand dollars, in payment of which you took the bulk of his property. I mentioned it, and found that it was pronounced preposterous. I discovered that on the other hand, you were frequently the recipient of money gifts from my poor father. In return for this you have attempted to rob his son. The note which you presented against the estate was undoubtedly a forgery. But even had it been genuine, the property of which you took possession must have amounted to at least twenty thousand dollars."

Stephen Watson had not interrupted Kit by a word. He was panic stricken, and absolutely did not know what to say. He finally succeeded in answering hoarsely: "This is an outrageous falsehood, Christopher Watson. It is an ingenious scheme to rob me of what rightfully belongs to me. You must be a fool to think I am going to be frightened by a boy's wild fiction. Leave my house! I would have allowed you to stay till Saturday, but this is too much. If you come here again, I will horsewhip you!"

But even when he was making this threat his face was pallid, and his glance uneasy.

At this moment the bell rang.

Kit himself answered the call, and returned with his friend, Henry Miller.

"Why, it is Mr. Miller!" said Stephen Watson, who had not forgotten that Miller was very wealthy. "When did you return from California?"

"Kit, have you told your uncle?" asked Henry Miller, ignoring this greeting.

"Yes, and he orders me to leave the house."

"Hark you, Stephen Watson!" said Henry Miller sternly. "You are in a bad box. For over a week Kit and I have been looking up matters, and we are prepared to prove that you have outrageously defrauded him out of his father's estate. We have enlisted a first class lawyer in the case, and now we come to you to know whether you will surrender or fight."

"Mr. Miller, this is very strange. Are you in the plot too?"

"Don't talk of any plots, Stephen Watson. Your fraud is so transparent that I wonder you dare to hope it would succeed. You probably presumed upon Kit's being a boy of an unsuspicious nature. But he has found a friend, who was his father's friend before him, and who is determined that he shall be righted."

"I defy you!" exclaimed Stephen Watson recklessly, for he saw that submission would be ruin, and leave him penniless.