KIT RECEIVES A LETTER.
Kit received compliments enough to spoil him, if he had not been
strong-minded and level-headed boy. Among others Mr. Barlow, who had
been present and witnessed his daring act, took the opportunity to
congratulate him.
"You seem to be born for a circus performer, my young friend," he said.
"You have come to the front at once."
"Thank you, sir," said Kit. "I am glad that I succeeded, but such
success as that does not satisfy my ambition."
"You mean, perhaps, that you want to jump over four, perhaps five
elephants?" suggested the manager.
Kit smiled.
"No," he answered; "I don't think I shall venture beyond three. But I
don't expect to remain in the circus more than this season."
"That is almost a pity, when you are so well qualified to excel in it."
"Mr. Barlow," said Kit, seriously, "if I were a great manager like you,
I would not mind, but I don't care to go through life as a circus
performer."
"I don't know but you are right, my boy. In fact I know you are. I
shouldn't care to be a performer myself."
"I don't think you would excel in that line," said Kit, with a glance
at the portly form of the well-known showman.
"You wouldn't advise me to try jumping over elephants, I infer," said
Mr. Barlow, with an amused smile.
"No, sir."
"I will take your advice, my boy. Though your share of worldly
experience isn't great, you are certainly correct in that. I shall
relieve the fears of Mrs. Barlow at once by telling her that I have
decided not to enter the ring."
Kit also received the congratulations of the mayor and Evelyn, but the
former added: "Though your act was a daring one, I was almost sorry to
see it."
"Why, sir?"
"I feared it would confirm you in your love of your present business."
"No, sir, there is no danger," replied Kit. "I have a fair education
already, and prefer to qualify myself for something different."
"I am glad to hear you say so. You are undoubtedly right."
"I must say good-by now," said Kit; "for we get off at midnight."
"Shall you not return this way?"
"No, sir; we are to go West, I hear."
"I hope when the season is over, you will make us a visit. Come and stay
a week," said the mayor, hospitably.
"Do come," said Evelyn, earnestly.
"How can I thank you for your kindness to a stranger?" said Kit,
gratefully. "I shall certainly avail myself of your hospitality. There
are not many who would take such notice of a circus boy."
"You are something more than a circus boy," said the mayor, "or I might
not have been so drawn to you. Good-by, then, and if you ever need a
friend, don't forget that you are at liberty to call upon me."
It was a source of regret to Kit that he was obliged to part with
friends whom in so short a time he had come to value so highly. He
resolved that he would accept the mayor's offer at the close of the
season. He would need a friend and adviser, and he felt confident that
Mayor Grant's counsel would be wise and judicious.
Kit was already asleep in his bunk when the circus train started for the
next place on the route. When he woke up he was in the town of
Colebrook. Here a surprise was in store for him in the shape of a letter
from his uncle. When he saw the familiar handwriting and the postmark
"Smyrna," he broke the seal with a feeling of curiosity. He did not
expect to derive either pleasure or satisfaction from the perusal.
We will look over his shoulder while he is reading the letter.
NEPHEW CHRISTOPHER,--I cannot express to you my surprise and
disappointment when I rode over to Oakford to see you, and learned
from Mr. Bickford that you had run away from his house and joined
the circus. There must be something low and depraved in your
tastes, that you should thus abandon the prospect of earning a
respectable livelihood, and go tramping through the country with a
circus. What do you think your father would say if he could come to
life, and become aware of the course you have so rashly taken?
I should be justified in forcibly removing you from your present
associations, and returning you to your worthy employer, Mr. Aaron
Bickford, and perhaps it is my duty to do so. But I think it wiser
for you to realize for yourself the folly of your course. You have
deliberately deserted a good home and a kind guardian and become a
tramp, if I may so express myself. I cannot imagine my son Ralph
doing such a thing. He is, I hope, too dutiful and too sensible to
throw away the advantages which fortune has secured him, to become
a mountebank.
It is very embarrassing to me to answer questions about you. There
are some who will be unjust enough, I doubt not, to blame me for
your wild course, but I shall be sustained by the consciousness of
my entire innocence in the matter. At great expense I have
maintained you and paid the cost of your education, giving you
privileges and advantages equal to those I have given my own boy. I
have done so cheerfully, because you were my nephew, and I am sorry
you have made me so poor a return. But I shall look for my reward
to my own conscience, and hope you may yet see the folly and
wickedness of your course.
I have only to add that when that time comes you are welcome to
return to my roof and protection, and I will intercede with your
excellent employer, Mr. Bickford, to take you back and teach you
his trade, whereby you may be enabled to earn a more respectable
living than you are doing at present. Ralph joins with me in this
wish.
Your uncle,
STEPHEN WATSON.
Kit's lip curled when he read this hypocritical letter, and was tempted
to despise his uncle more now than ever. He lost no time in sending this
reply:
UNCLE STEPHEN,--I have received your letter, and can only express
my surprise at the view you take of your treatment of me. Whether
my father really left me as destitute as you claim, I am not in a
position to say. If you have really gone to personal expense in
maintaining and educating me up to this point, I shall, when I am
able, reimburse you to the last cent. But I cannot forgive you for
your trying to force a boy, reared and educated as I have been, to
learn the trade of a blacksmith. You say that I have enjoyed
advantages similar to those of your son Ralph. I wish to ask
whether you would dream of apprenticing him to any such business.
You speak of my low associations, and call me a mountebank. In the
town I have just left I was the guest of the mayor, and have
promised to spend a week at his house on a visit when the circus
season is over. Though you have done your best to lower me
socially, I am confident that I shall be able to win a good place
by my own unaided exertions.
I have no intention in continuing as a circus performer, though I
am very liberally paid. It is too soon for me to decide upon my
future course, but you may tell Mr. Bickford he need not wait for
me to resume my place in his shop.
I do not know when I shall see you or Ralph again, but you need
have no fear that I shall appeal to your generosity.
Your nephew,
CHRISTOPHER WATSON.
Stephen Watson read this letter with surprise and chagrin. He was sorry
to hear that Kit was doing so well, and alarmed at his implied doubt
whether he had really been left destitute by his father.
"That boy is going to give me trouble," he muttered.