Alger Horatio Jr.
The Young Acrobat of the Great North American Circus
CHAPTER XXXIV.
SOME IMPORTANT INFORMATION
Two or three days later, the circus was billed to show at Glendale, a manufacturing village in Western Pennsylvania. The name attracted the attention of Kit, for this was the place where his uncle had lived for many years previous to the death of Kit's father. He naturally desired to learn something of his uncle's reputation among the villagers, who from his long residence among them must remember him well.
The circus had arrived during the night. As a general thing Kit was not in a hurry to get up, but as he was to stay but a day in Glendale, he rose early, with the intention of improving his time.
Breakfast in the circus tent was not ready till nine o'clock, for circus men of every description get up late, except the razorbacks, who are compelled to be about very early to unload the freight cars, and the canvas men, who put up the tents. So Kit went to the hotel, and registering his name called for breakfast.
After he had eaten it, he strolled into the office, hoping to meet some one of whom he could make inquiries respecting his uncle. This was made unexpectedly easy. A man of about his uncle's age had been examining the list of arrivals. He looked at Kit inquisitively.
"I beg your pardon, young man," he said, "but are you Christopher Watson?"
"Yes, sir," answered Kit, politely.
"Did you ever have any relatives living in this place?"
"Yes, sir. My uncle, Stephen Watson, used to live here."
"I thought so. I once saw your father. He came here to visit your uncle. You look like him."
Kit was gratified, for he cherished a warm affection for his dead father, and was glad to have it said that he resembled him.
"Are you going to stay here long?" asked the villager.
"No, sir; I am here only for the day."
"On business, I presume."
"Yes, sir," answered Kit, smiling. "I am here with Barlow's circus."
The other looked amazed.
"You don't mean to say that you are connected with the circus?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, sir."
"In what capacity?"
"I am an acrobat."
"I don't understand it at all. Why should your father's son need to travel with a circus?"
"Because I have my living to earn, and that pays me better than any other employment I can get."
"But your father was a rich man, I always heard."
"I supposed so myself, till a short time since my uncle informed me that I was penniless, and must learn a trade."
"But where did the money go, then? How does your uncle make a living?"
"He has my father's old place, and appears to have enough to support himself and Ralph."
"Sit down here, young man! There is something strange about this. I want to ask you a few questions."
"You are the man I want to see," said Kit. "I think myself there is some mystery, and I would like to ask some questions about my uncle Stephen from some one who knew him here. I suppose you knew him?"
"No one knew him better. Many is the time he has come to me for a loan. He didn't always pay back the money, and I dare say he owes me still in the neighborhood of fifty dollars."
"Was he poor then?"
"He was in very limited circumstances. He pretended to be in the insurance business, and had a small office in the building near the hotel, but if he made four hundred dollars a year in that way it was more than any one supposed."
"Then," said Kit, puzzled, "how could he have lent my father ten thousand dollars?"
"He lend you father ten thousand dollars, or anybody else ten thousand dollars! Why, that is perfectly ridiculous. Who says he did?"
"He says so himself."
"To whom did he tell that fish story?"
"He told me. That is the way he explained his taking possession of the property. That was only one loan. He said he lent father money at various times, and had to take the estate in payment."
Kit's auditor gave a loud whistle.
"The man's a deeper and shrewder rascal than I had any idea of," he said. "He is swindling you in the most barefaced manner."
"I am not very much surprised to hear it," said Kit. "I was not satisfied that he was telling the truth. If you are correct, then, he has wrongfully appropriated my father's money."
"There is not a doubt of it. Did he drive you from home?"
"About the same. He attempted to apprentice me to a blacksmith, while his own son Ralph he means to send to college, and have him study law."
"I remember Ralph well, though he was a small boy when he left this village. He was very unpopular among those of his own age. He was always up to some mean act of mischief. He got my boy into trouble once in school by charging him with something he had himself done."
"He hasn't changed much, then," said Kit. "We both attended the same boarding school, but nobody liked Ralph."
"Was he much of a scholar?"
"No; he dragged along in the lower half of the class."
"Were you two good friends?"
"We didn't quarrel, but we kept apart."
"So his father wants to make a lawyer of him?"
"Yes; I have had a letter from Smyrna in which I hear that my uncle has just bought Ralph a bicycle valued at a hundred and twenty-five dollars."
"Money seems to be more plenty with him now than it used to be in his Glendale days. By the way would you like to see the place where your uncle used to live?"
"Yes, sir, if you don't mind showing me."
"I will do so with pleasure. Put on your hat, and we will go at once."
They walked about a third of a mile, till they reached the outskirts of the village.
"This is the home of the foreign population," said Kit's guide. "And there is the house which was occupied for at least ten years by your uncle."
Kit eyed the building with interest. It was a plain looking cottage, containing but four rooms, which stood badly in need of paint. There was about an acre of land, rocky and sterile, attached to it.
"This is the residence of the man who lent your father ten thousand dollars," said his guide, in an ironical tone. "Not much of a palace, is it?"
"It can't be worth over a thousand dollars."
"Your uncle sold it for seven hundred and eighty dollars, but he didn't get that sum in money, for it was mortgaged for six hundred."
"You said my father came here once?"
"It was to visit your uncle. While he was here, he stood security at the tailor's for new suits for your uncle and cousin, and must have given your uncle some cash besides, for he appeared to be in funds for some time afterwards. So you see the loan, or rather gift, was on the other side."
"I don't see how my uncle dared to misrepresent matters in that way."
"Nor I; for he could easily be convicted of fraudulent statements."
"I am very much obliged to you, Mr.–"
"Pierce."
"Mr. Pierce, for your information."
"I hope you will make some use of it."
"I certainly shall," said Kit, his good humored face showing unwonted resolution.
"Whenever you do, my testimony will be at your service, and there are plenty others who will corroborate my statements of your uncle's financial condition when here. The fact is, my young friend, your uncle has engaged in a most shameless plot against you."
Kit was deeply impressed by this conversation. He was resolved, when the time came, to assert his rights, and lay claim to his dead father's property.
CHAPTER XXXV.
ON THE TRAPEZE
Kit was on pleasant relations with his fellow performers. Indeed, he was a general favorite, owing to his obliging disposition and pleasant manners. He took an interest in their acts as well as his own, and in particular had cultivated an intimacy with Louise Lefroy, the trapeze performer. He had practiced on the trapeze in the gymnasium, and had acquired additional skill under the tuition of Mlle. Lefroy.
"Some time you will make an engagement as a trapeze performer, Christopher," said the lady to him one day.
"No," answered Kit, shaking his head.
"You wouldn't be afraid?"
"No; I think I would make a very respectable performer; but I don't mean to travel with the circus after this season, unless I am obliged to."
"Why should you be obliged to?"
"Because I have my living to earn."
"It is a pity," said Mlle. Lefroy. "You seem cut out for a circus performer."
"Do you like it, Mlle. Lefroy?"
The lady looked thoughtful.
"I have to like it," she said. "Besides, there is an excitement about it, and I crave excitement."
"But wouldn't you rather have a home of your own?"
"Listen! I had a home of my own, but my husband was intemperate, and in fits of intoxication would illtreat me and my boy."
"Then you have a boy?" said Kit, surprised.
"Yes; and I support him at a boarding school out of my professional earnings, which are large."
"I am going to ask you another question, but you may not like to answer it."
"Speak plainly."
"Your husband is living, is he not?"
"Yes."
"Does he know that you are a circus performer?"
"No; and I would not have him know for worlds."
"Would he feel sensitive about it?"
Mlle. Lefroy laughed bitterly.
"You don't know him, or you would not ask that question," she said. "He would want to appropriate my salary. That is why I do not care to have him know how I am earning the living which he ought to provide for me."
"I sympathize with you," said Kit, gently.
"Then you don't think any the worse of me because I am a trapeze performer."
"Why should I? Am I not a circus performer also?"
"Yes; but it is different with you, being a man. You would not like to think of your mother or sister in my position."
"No; I would not, yet I can imagine circumstances that would justify it."
From this time Kit was disposed to look with different eyes upon Mlle. Lefroy. He did not think of her as a daring actor, but rather as an injured wife and devoted mother, who every day risked her life for the sake of one who was dear to her.
"Did you never fear that your husband might be present when you are performing?" asked Kit.
"It is my constant dread," answered Mlle. Lefroy. "When I come out in my costume, and look over the sea of heads, I am always afraid I shall see his face."
"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.
