A SCHEMING NEPHEW.
When Robert left the ring, the old man sank back into his seat, and his
interest in the performance ceased. For some reason his nephew also was
anxious to leave the tent.
"Uncle," he said, "hadn't we better go back to the hotel? It will be
too fatiguing for you to remain here all the evening."
"Will that boy ride again?" asked Mr. Richmond, eagerly.
"No, he is not to appear again."
"Then I think I will go. As you say, I may feel fatigued."
There was a hack in waiting to convey them back to the hotel, for the
distance was too great for a feeble old man to walk.
When they reached the hotel, Mr. Richmond went at once to his chamber,
attended by his nephew.
"You had better go to bed at once, uncle," said Hugo, and he prepared
to leave the room.
"Stay a moment, Hugo. I want to speak to you," said the old man.
"Very well, uncle," and Hugo seated himself.
"The sight of that boy has affected me strangely, Hugo," said Mr.
Richmond. "He seems just what Julian was at his age."
"You said so before, uncle," said Hugo, in a tone of annoyance; "but I
assure you there is nothing in it. My eyes are better than yours, and I
could see no likeness."
"Suppose Julian's child were living," proceeded Mr. Richmond, not
heeding his nephew's last speech, "he would be about the age of that
boy."
"There are tens of thousands of boys about the same age, uncle," said
Hugo, flippantly.
"Yes, but they haven't his look," returned the old man, shrewdly.
"Really, uncle, you are troubling yourself to no purpose. The son of
Julian died when he was four years old, as Fitzgerald reported to us."
"He might be mistaken. If he only were!" exclaimed the old man, with
deep emotion. "How bright my few remaining years would be if I had
Julian's son with me!"
"No doubt. But he is dead, and we may as well give up all thoughts of
such a possibility. Besides, uncle, you have me, and I try to do all
I can for you. If I have failed, I deeply regret it," continued Hugo,
assuming a tone of sorrow.
"No, no; I have no fault to find with you, Hugo," said his uncle,
hastily. "You are devoted to me, as I am well aware; but you cannot be
to me what a son or a grandson might be."
"No, I suppose not," said Hugo, with a sneer which his uncle did not
detect. "But I am afraid, uncle, you will have to be content with my
humble services, however unacceptable they may be."
"Nay, Hugo, I do not mean to mortify you. I am truly grateful for your
devotion, and you will find it to be so when I am gone."
"You are a long time going!" thought Hugo, as his cold glance rested on
the trembling form of his uncle. "It is exasperating that you should
linger so, cutting me off perhaps for half a dozen years longer from
the enjoyment of the estate which is one day to be mine."
It was well that the old man could not read the thoughts of the man in
whom he placed so much confidence. He little knew the cold, crafty,
scheming character of the man who supplied to him the place of son and
grandson.
"If you have no more to say, uncle, I will leave you," said Hugo,
rising.
"I came near forgetting. I want you to find out all about that boy and
let me know. The manager boards at this hotel."
"Still harping on the boy!" muttered Hugo. "Very well, uncle, I will do
as you say."
"Thank you, Hugo. I shall feel more easy in mind when I have learned."
As Hugo left the room, he said to himself, "I will do as my uncle
requests, but for my own benefit, not his. Though I would not confess
it to him, the resemblance to my cousin is startling. I don't wonder
Uncle Cornelius noticed it. Can it be possible that Fitzgerald deceived
me, and that the boy is really alive, and is a bareback circus-rider?
He is capable of playing me false. If he has done so, I must at all
hazards prevent my uncle finding it out. The estate of Chestnutwood,
for which I have schemed so long, must be mine. The life of a frail
old man alone separates me from it now, but if this boy were found, then
I should sink back to my life of humble dependence. It shall never be!"
It was not yet 10 o'clock, and Hugo was in no mood for bed. He went
down-stairs and remained in the bar room till the return of the hotel
guests who were connected with the circus.
Towards 10.30, Mr. Coleman, proprietor of the circus, entered the
office of the hotel. He was in good spirits, for there had been a large
attendance at the first performance, and the prospects of a successful
season were flattering.
"Good evening, Mr. Coleman," said Hugo, approaching the manager, to
whom he had been introduced; "did your first performance pass off well?"
"It was immense, sir, immense! I am proud of Crampton! It has received
me royally," returned the manager, enthusiastically.
"I am glad to hear it. May I offer you a cigar?"
"Thank you, sir."
"You will find mine choicer than any you can procure here. I spent a
part of the evening at the tent."
"I hope you didn't get tired."
"Oh, no; that was not the cause of my coming away. The fact is, my
uncle, who was with me, became fatigued (he is a very old man), and I
felt obliged to come home with him. I should have been glad to stay
till the close."
"It's a pity you did. Coleman's circus, though I do say it myself, has
no superior on the road this season."
"I can easily believe it, sir. By the way, I was rather interested in
the bareback riding."
"It takes everywhere. I have two of the smartest boy riders in the
country."
"Where did you pick them up?" asked Hugo, with assumed carelessness.
"The younger one, Charlie Davis, comes from Canada."
"My attention was particularly attracted to the other."
"Robert Rudd?"
"Yes, if that is his name. How long has he been with you?"
"Two seasons. Before that he was with another smaller circus."
"How long has he been riding?"
"Ever since he was eight or nine years old. That boy is perfectly
fearless with horses. Not many grown men can ride as well. And that
isn't all! I could easily make a lion tamer of him if he were willing.
He has a wonderful power over the wild beasts. I believe he would go
into their cages and they wouldn't offer to harm him."
"My cousin Julian had a passion for horses," thought Hugo. "If this boy
were his son he would come honestly by his taste."
"You don't know how he came to adopt such a life, do you?" he asked.
"No; I believe the boy was alone in the world. I have heard him say he
was under the care of a man who called himself his uncle, but for whom
he does not seem to entertain any affection. Whether this man deserted
him, or he ran away from the man, I don't know. At any rate he fell
in with some men in our business, and a well-known rider, seeing that
the boy was quick and daring, offered to instruct him in his special
line. The boy accepted, and that is the way he drifted into the show
business."
"You say he has no relatives?"
"None that he knows of."
"Has he any education?"
"He can read and write, and I believe he knows something of arithmetic.
He is smart enough, if he ever got an opportunity, to learn. I am
selfish, however, and should not like to lose him, though I might
consent if he could better himself. You see, sir, although I am in the
show business myself, I don't consider it a very desirable career for
a boy to follow. I've got a boy of my own, but I have placed him at
boarding-school, and he shall never, with my permission, join a circus.
You'll think it strange, Mr. Richmond, but so far as I know, Henry has
never yet witnessed a circus performance."
"I quite agree with you, Mr. Coleman," said Hugo. "Then I offer you
another cigar."
"Thanks, but I never smoke but one just before going to bed. If you are
here to-morrow evening I shall be glad to offer you a ticket to the
show."
"Thank you, but I must get away to-morrow with my uncle."
As Hugo went up-stairs to his room he said to himself, "It is high time
we left the place, for the manager's story leads me to think this boy
may be my cousin's son after all. My uncle must never know or suspect
it, or my hopes of an inheritance are blasted."
The next morning when Hugo entered his uncle's apartment, according to
custom, the old man asked eagerly, "Did you learn anything about the
boy, Hugo?"
"Yes, uncle, I learned all about him. He was born in Montreal, and
his father and mother live there now. He sends them half his earnings
regularly. His name—that is, his real name—is Oliver Brown."
Mr. Richmond never thought of doubting the truth of this smoothly-told
fiction, but he was greatly disappointed. He sighed deeply, and when
Hugo proposed to continue their journey that day he made no objection.