The Young Acrobat of the Great North American Circus

CHAPTER VIII.
KIT'S RIDE TO OAKFORD.

"Were you ever in Oakford?" he asked.

"Yes," answered Kit. "I know the place very well."

"How do you think you'll like livin' there?"

"I don't think I shall like it."

Mr. Bickford looked surprised.

"I'll keep you at work so stiddy you won't mind where you are," he remarked dryly.

"Not if I know it," Kit said to himself.

He knew Mr. Bickford by reputation. He was a close-fisted, miserly man, who was not likely to be a very desirable employer, for he expected every one who worked for him to labor as hard as himself. Moreover, he and his wife lived in a very stingy manner, and few of the luxuries of the season appeared on their table. The fact that complaints upon this score had been made by some of Kit's predecessors in his employ, led Mr. Bickford to make inquiries with a view to ascertaining whether Kit was particular about his food.

"Are you partic'lar about your vittles?" he asked abruptly.

"I have been accustomed to good food," answered Kit.

"You can't expect to live as you have at your uncle's," continued the blacksmith. "Me and my wife have enough to eat, but we think it best to eat plain food. Some of my help have had stuck up notions, and expected first class hotel fare, but they didn't get it at my house."

"I believe you," said Kit.

Mr. Bickford eyed him sharply, not being sure but this might be a sarcastic observation, but Kit's face was straight, and betrayed nothing.

"You'll live as well as I do myself," he proceeded, after a pause. "I don't pamper my appetite by no means."

Kit was quite ready to believe this also, but did not say so.

"What time did you get up at your uncle's?" asked the blacksmith.

"We have breakfast a little before eight. I get up in time for breakfast."

"You do, hey?" ejaculated the blacksmith, scornfully. "Wa'al, I declare! You must be tuckered out gettin' up so airly."

"O no, I stand it very well, Mr. Bickford," said Kit, amused.

"Do you know what time I get up?" asked Mr. Bickford, with a touch of indignation in his tone.

"I would like to know," answered Kit meekly.

"Wa'al, I get up at five o'clock. What do you say to that, hey?"

"I think it is very early."

"I suppose you couldn't get up so early as that?"

"I might, if there was any need of it."

"I reckon there will be need of it if you're goin' to work for me."

Kit cleared his throat. He felt that the time had come for an explanation.

"Mr. Bickford," he said, "I owe you an apology."

"What?" said Bickford, regarding his young companion in surprise.

"I have deceived you."

"I don't know what you're talkin' about."

"I don't think I did right to come with you to day."

"I can't make out what you're talkin' about. Your uncle has engaged to let you work for me."

"But I haven't engaged to work for you, Mr. Bickford."

"Hey?" and the blacksmith eyed our hero in undisguised amazement.

"I may as well say that I don't intend to work for you."

"You don't mean to work for me?" repeated Bickford slowly.

"Just so. I have no intention of becoming a blacksmith."

"Is the boy crazy?" ejaculated Aaron Bickford.

"No, Mr. Bickford; I have full command of my senses. You will have to look out for another apprentice."

"Then why did you agree to come with me?"

"That is what I have to apologize for. I wanted to get away from my uncle's house quietly, and I thought it the best way to pretend to agree to his plan."

Aaron Bickford was not a sweet tempered man. He had a pretty strong will of his own, and was called, not without reason, obstinate. He began to feel angry.

"Well, boy, have you got through with what you had to say?" he asked.

"I believe so—for the present."

"Then I guess it's about time for me to say something."

"Very well, sir."

"You'll find me a tough customer to deal with, young man."

"Then perhaps it is just as well that I do not propose to work for you."

"But you are goin' to work for me!" said the blacksmith, nodding his head.

"Whether I want to or not?" interrogated Kit, placidly.

"Yes, whether you want to or not, willy nilly, as the lawyers say."

"I think, Mr. Bickford, you will find that it takes two to make a bargain."

"So it does, and there's two that's made this bargain, your uncle and me."

Mr. Bickford was not always strictly grammatical in his language, as the reader will observe.

"I don't admit my uncle's right to make arrangements for me without my consent."

"You know more'n he does, I reckon?"

"No, but this matter concerns me more than it does him."

"Maybe you expect to live without workin'!"

"No; if it is true, as my uncle says, that I have no money, I shall have to make my living, but I prefer to choose my own way of doing it."

"You're a queer boy. Bein' a blacksmith is too much work for you, I reckon."

"At any rate it isn't the kind of work I care to undertake."

"What's all this rigmarole comin' to? Here we are 'most at my house. If you ain't goin' to work for me, what are you goin' to do?"

"I should like to pass the night at your house, Mr. Bickford. After breakfast I will pay you for your accommodations, and go——"

"Where?"

"You must excuse my telling you that. I have formed some plans, but I do not care to have my uncle know them."

"Are you going to work for anybody?" asked the blacksmith, whose curiosity was aroused.

"Yes, I have a place secured."

"Is it on a farm?"

"No."

"You're mighty mysterious, it seems to me. Now you've had your say, I've got something to tell you."

"Very well, Mr. Bickford."

"You say you're not goin' to work for me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then I say you are goin' to work for me. I've got your uncle's authority to set you to work, and I'm goin' to do it."

Kit heard this calmly.

"Suppose we postpone the discussion of the matter," he said. "Is that your house?"

Aaron Bickford's answer was to drive into the yard of a cottage. On the side opposite was a blacksmith's forge.

"That's where you're goin' to work!" he said, grimly, pointing to the forge.

CHAPTER IX.
KIT MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

"Yes. Am I not well enough dressed for a blacksmith?" asked Kit, with a smile.

"You're a plaguy sight too well dressed," returned Bickford. "You want a good rough suit, for the forge is a dirty place."

"I thought I told you I did not intend to work for you, Mr. Bickford."

"That's what you said, but I don't take no stock in it. Your uncle has bound you out to me, and that settles it."

"If he has bound me out, where are the papers, Mr. Bickford?" asked Kit, keenly.

This question was a poser. The blacksmith supposed that Kit might be ignorant that papers were required, but he found himself mistaken.

"There ain't no papers, but that don't make no difference," he said. "He says you're to work for me, and I'm goin' to hold you to it."

Kit did not reply, for he saw no advantage in discussion.

"You'll get a dollar a week and your board, and you can't do better. I reckon dinner is about ready now."

Kit felt ready for the dinner, for the morning's ride had sharpened his appetite. So when, five minutes later, he was summoned to the table, he willingly accepted the invitation.

"This is my new 'prentice, Mrs. Bickford," said the blacksmith, by way of introduction, to a spare, red headed woman, who was bustling about the kitchen, where the table was spread.

Mrs. Bickford eyed Kit critically.

"He's one of the kid glove kind, by his looks," she said. "You don't expect to get much work out of him, do you?"

"I reckon I will, or know the reason why," responded Bickford, significantly.

"Set right down and I'll dish up the victuals," said Mrs. Bickford. "We don't stand on no ceremony here. What's your name, young man?"

"People call me Kit."

"Sounds like a young cat. It's rediculous to give a boy such a name. First thing you know I'll be calling you Kitty."

"I hope I don't look like a cat," said Kit laughing.

"You ain't got no fur on your cheeks yet," said the blacksmith, laughing heartily at his own witticism. "What have you got for dinner, mother?"

"It's a sort of picked-up dinner," answered Mrs. Bickford. "There's some pork and beans warmed up, some slapjacks from breakfast, and some fried sassidges."

"Why, that's a dinner for a king," said the blacksmith, rubbing his hands.

He took his seat, and put on a plate for Kit specimens of the delicacies mentioned above. In spite of his appetite Kit partook sparingly, supplementing his meal with bread, which, being from the baker's shop, was of good quality. He congratulated himself that he was not to board permanently at Mr. Bickford's table.

When dinner was over, the blacksmith in a genial mood said to Kit: "You needn't begin to work till to-morrow. You can tramp round the village if you want to."

Kit was glad of the delay, as early the next morning he expected to bid farewell to Oakford, and thus would avoid a conflict.

He had been in Oakford before, and knew his way about. He went out of the yard and walked about in a leisurely way. It was early in June, and the country was at its best. The birds were singing, the fields were green with verdure, and Kit's spirits rose. He felt that it would be delightful to travel about the country, as he would do if he joined Barlow's Circus.

He overtook a boy somewhat larger than himself, a stout, strong country boy, attired in a rough, coarse working suit. He was about to pass him, when the country boy called out, "Hallo, you!"

"Were you speaking to me?" asked Kit, turning and looking back.

"Yes. Didn't I see you riding into town with Aaron Bickford?"

"Yes."

"Are you going to work for him?"

"That is what he expects," answered Kit diplomatically. He hesitated about confiding his plans to a stranger.

"Then I pity you."

"Why?"

"I used to work for him."

"Did you?"

"Yes, I stood it as long as I could."

"Then you didn't like it?"

"I guess not."

"What was the trouble?"

"Everything. He's a stingy old hunks, to begin with. I went to work for a dollar a week and board. If the board had been decent, it would have been something, but I'd as soon board at the poorhouse."

"I have taken dinner there," said Kit, smiling.

"Did you like it?"

"I have dined better. In fact I have seldom dined worse."

"What did the old woman give you?"

Kit enumerated the articles composing the bill of fare.

"That's better than usual," said the new acquaintance.

"I suppose the dollar a week is all right," said Kit.

"Good enough if you can get it. It's about as easy to get blood out of a stone, as money out of old Bickford. Generally I had to wait ten days after the time before I could get the money."

"How is the work?"

"Hard, and plenty of it. It's work early and work late, and if there isn't work at the forge, you've got to help the old woman, by drawing water and doing chores. You don't live in Oakford, do you?"

"No; I came from Smyrna."

"I thought not. Bickford can't get a boy to work for him here. What made you come? Couldn't you get a place at home?"

"I didn't try."

"Well, you haven't done much in coming here."

"I begin to think so," Kit responded, with a smile.

"Hasn't the circus been in your town?"

"Yes."

"I wanted to go, but I guess I'll manage to see it in Grafton. It shows there to-morrow."

"Are you going?" asked Kit with interest.

"Yes; I shall walk. I'll start early and spend the day there."

"We may meet there."

"You don't expect to go, do you? Bickford won't let you off."

Kit smiled.

"I don't think Mr. Bickford will have much to say about it," he said.

"Are you going to hook jack?" asked his new acquaintance.

"I didn't mean to tell you, but I will. I have made up my mind not to work for Mr. Bickford at all."

"Then why did you come here?"

"Because my uncle saw fit to arrange with him."

"What are you going to do, then?"

"I am offered work with the circus."

"You are!" exclaimed the country boy, opening wide his eyes in astonishment. "What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to be an acrobat."

"What's that?"

Kit explained as well as he could.

"What are they going to pay you?"

"Ten dollars a week and my expenses," answered Kit, proudly.

"Jehu!" ejaculated the other boy. "Why, that's good wages for a man. Do you think they'd hire me, too?"

"If you think you can do what they require, you can ask them."

"Why can't I do it as well as you?"

"Because I have been practicing for a long time at a gymnasium. What is your name?"

"Bill Morris."

"Then, Bill, don't say a word to any one about my plans. Suppose we go to Grafton together?"

"All right!"

Before the boys parted they made an agreement to meet at five o'clock the next morning, to set out on their walk to Grafton.

CHAPTER X.
KIT'S FIRST NIGHT AT THE BLACKSMITH'S.

"You can wash in the tin basin in the kitchen," answered Mrs. Bickford. "There's a bar of soap down there and a roller towel, so I guess you won't have to go dirty."

Kit shuddered at the suggestion. He had seen bars of yellow soap in the grocery at home, and didn't think he should enjoy its use. Nor did he fancy using the same towel with the blacksmith and his wife. He had seen the roller towel hanging beside the sink, and judged from its appearance that it had already been used nearly a week.

"I have been accustomed to wash in my own room," he ventured to say.

"You've been used to a great many things that you won't find here," replied Mrs. Bickford, grimly.

Kit thought it extremely likely.

"If you can't do as the rest of us do, you can get along without washing," continued the lady.

"I will try and manage," answered Kit, bearing in mind that he expected to leave the Bickford mansion forever the next morning.

"That new boy of yours is kind of uppish," remarked Mrs. Bickford, when she returned to the sitting room.

"What's the matter now?"

"He wants to wash in his own room. He's too fine a gentleman to wash in the kitchen."

"What did you tell him?"

Mrs. Bickford repeated her remark.

"Good for you, mother! We'll take down his pride a little."

"Is he goin' to work in them fine clo'es he brought with him?"

"He didn't bring any others."

"He'll spile 'em, and not have anything to wear to meetin'."

"Haven't we got a pair of overalls in the house—one that the last boy used?"

"Yes; I'll get 'em right away."

"They'll be good for him to wear."

Before Kit got into bed, the door of his chamber was unceremoniously opened, and Mrs. Bickford walked in, carrying a faded pair of overalls.

"You can put these on in the mornin'," she said. "They'll keep your clo'es clean. They may be a mite long for you, but you can turn up the legs at the bottom."

She left the room without waiting for an answer.

Kit surveyed the overalls with amusement.

"I wonder how I should look in them," he said to himself.

He drew them over his trousers, and regarded his figure as well as he could in the little seven by nine glass that hung on the wall.

"There is Kit, the young blacksmith!" he said with a smile. "On the whole, I don't think it improves my appearance. I'll take them off, and leave them for the next boy."

"What did the boy say, mother?" asked Mr. Bickford, upon his wife's return.

"He just took 'em; he didn't say anything."

"I s'pose he's never worn overalls before," said the blacksmith. "What do you think he told me on the way over?"

"I don't know."

"He said he wasn't goin' to work for me at all. He didn't like the blacksmith's trade."

"Well, of all things!"

"I just told him he hadn't no choice in the matter, that me and his uncle had arranged matters, and that I should hold him to the contract."

"I'm afraid he'll be dainty about his vittles. He didn't eat much dinner."

"Wait till he gets to work, mother. I guess he'll have appetite enough. I mean he shall earn his board, at any rate."

"I hope we won't have no trouble with him, Aaron."

"You needn't be afraid, mother."

"Somehow, Aaron, you never did manage to keep boys very long," said Mrs. Bickford, dubiously.

"Because their folks were weak, and allowed 'em to have their own way. It'll be different with this boy."

"What makes you think so?"

"Because his uncle is anxious to get rid of him. He told me the boy, till lately, had imagined he was goin' to have property. He's supported him out of charity, dressin' him like a gentleman, sendin' him to school, and spendin' a pile of money on him. Now he thinks it about time to quit, and have the boy learn a trade. Of course the boy'll complain, and try to beg off, but it won't be no use. Stephen Watson won't make no account of what he says. He keeps a horse himself, and has promised to have him shod at my shop."

"Well, it may be for the best; I hope so."

Aaron Bickford felt a good deal of confidence in himself. He understood very well that Kit was averse to working in his shop, but he meant to make him do it.

"I'd like to see the boy I can't master," he said to himself, complacently. "Years hence, when the boy has a forge of his own, he'll thank me for perseverin' with him. There's money to be made in the business. Why, when I began I wasn't worth a hundred dollars, and I owed for my anvil. Now I own this house and shop, and I've got a tidy sum in the bank."

This was true. But it must be added that the result was largely due to the pinching economy which both he and his wife had practiced.

When Mr. Bickford woke up the next morning it was half-past five o'clock.

"Strange how I came to oversleep," he said. "I guess I must have been more tuckered out than I supposed. Well, the boy's had a longer nap than I meant he should. However, it's only for one mornin'."

Mr. Bickford did not linger over his toilet. Five minutes was rather an overstatement of the time.

He went to Kit's chamber, and, opening the door, went in as unceremoniously as his wife had done the night before.

A surprise awaited him.

There was no one in the bed.

"What! has the boy got up a'ready?" he asked himself, in a bewildered way. "He's better at gettin' up than I expected."

Looking about him, he discovered on a chair by the bedside the overalls, and upon them a note and a silver dollar.

"What's all that mean?" he asked himself.

Looking closer he saw that the note was directed to him. Beginning to suspect that something was wrong, he opened it.

This was what the note contained:

"I'll have him back!" exclaimed Aaron Bickford, an angry look appearing on his face. "He ain't goin' to get the best of me."

Mr. Bickford harnessed up his horse, and started after the fugitive. But in what direction should he drive? He was not long at fault. He met a milkman who had seen two boys starting out on the Grafton road, and so informed him.

"I guess they're bound for the circus," he said.

"Like as not," returned the blacksmith.

But he had a long chase of it. It was not until he was within half a mile of the circus tents that he descried the two boys, trudging along, Kit with his valise in his hand. Hearing the sound of wheels, the boys looked back, and in some dismay recognized their pursuer.

The blacksmith stood up in his wagon, and pointing his long whip at Kit, cried out, "Stop where you are, Kit Watson, or I'll give you the worst thrashing you ever had!"

CHAPTER XI.
KIT FALLS INTO THE HANDS OF THE ENEMY.

"Then you know that I don't care to work for you."

"What's that got to do with it? Your uncle and me have settled that you shall."

"Then you'll have to unsettle it. I have a right to choose my own occupation, and I don't intend to become a blacksmith. Even if I did, I should choose some one else as my teacher."

"None of your impudence, young man! You'll have a long account to settle with me, I warn you of that."

"I had but one account to settle—for my board and lodging—and I've attended to that. Good morning, Mr. Bickford."

Kit turned and began to continue his journey.

"Hallo! Stop, I tell you!" shouted the blacksmith.

"Have you got any more to say? If so, I'll listen."

"What more I have to say, I shall say with a horsewhip!" retorted Bickford, grimly, preparing to descend from his wagon.

"Come, William, we must run for it," said Kit. "Are you good at running?"

"Try me!" was the laconic reply.

By the time Aaron Bickford was out of his wagon, the boys had increased the distance between them by several rods.

"Oho, so that's your game, is it?" said the blacksmith. "If I don't overhaul them, my name isn't Aaron Bickford."

Kit was a good runner—quite as good as his pursuer—but he had one serious disadvantage. His valise was heavy, and materially affected his speed. He had carried it several miles, and though he had shifted it from one hand to the other, both arms were now tired.

"Let me take it, Kit," said his companion, who was now on intimate terms with him.

"It'll be just as heavy for you as for me."

"Never mind! He isn't after me."

"Well, if you don't mind carrying it a little while."

The advantage of the change was soon apparent. Kit increased his speed, and William, whose arms were not tired, was not materially retarded by his burden.

"If I had no valise I would climb a tree," said Kit, while running. "I don't believe Mr. Bickford is good at climbing."

"We haven't got far to go to reach the circus tents," returned William.

But though the boys held out well, Aaron Bickford gradually gained upon them. Many years at the anvil had given him plenty of wind and endurance. Besides, he was entirely fresh, not having taken a long walk already, as the boys had done.

"You'd better give up!" he cried out, in the tone of one who was sure of victory. "It takes more than a boy like you to get the best of Aaron Bickford."

It did indeed seem as if the boys must surrender. Within a few rods Bickford would be even with them.

Kit came to a sudden determination.

"Jump over the fence!" he cried.

There was a rail fence skirting one side of the road.

No sooner said than done. Both boys clambered over the fence, and with that barrier between them faced the angry blacksmith.

"Well, I've got you!" he cried, panting.

"Have you? I don't see it," answered Kit.

"You might as well give up fust as last."

"Suppose we discuss matters a little, Mr. Bickford," said Kit, calmly. "What right have you to pursue me?"

"What right? Your uncle's given me the charge of you."

"That is something he had no right to do."

"Why not? Ain't he your guardian?"

"No."

"Who is, then?"

"I have no guardian but myself."

"That's a likely story. I can't listen to no such foolish talk."

Aaron Bickford felt that it was time to move upon the enemy's entrenchments, and, putting one leg on the lower rail, he proceeded to climb over the fence.

But the boys had anticipated this move, and were prepared for it. By the time the blacksmith was inside the field, the boys, who were considerably lighter and more active, had crossed to the reverse side.

"Here we are again, Mr. Bickford," said William Morris.

The blacksmith frowned.

"Don't you be impudent, Bill Morris," he said. "I haven't anything to do with you, but I sha'n't let you sass me."

"What have I said that's out of the way?" asked William.

"Oh, you're mighty innocent, you are! You're aidin' and abettin' Kit Watson to escape from me, his lawful master."

"I have no master, Mr. Bickford," said Kit, proudly.

"Well, that's what they used to call 'em when I was a boy. Boys weren't so pert and impudent in them days."

Meanwhile the blacksmith was recrossing the fence.

Kit and William took the opportunity to run, and by the time Mr. Bickford was again on the roadside they were several rods away.

This naturally exasperated the blacksmith, who felt mortified at his failure to overtake the youngsters. A new idea occurred to him.

"You, Bill, do you want to earn a dime?" he asked.

"How?" inquired William.

"Just help me catch that boy Kit, and I'll give you ten cents."

"I don't care to earn money that way, Mr. Bickford," responded William, scornfully.

"Good for you, William!" exclaimed Kit.

"You won't earn ten cents any easier," persisted Bickford.

"I wouldn't do such a mean thing for a dollar, nor five dollars," replied William. "Kit's a friend of mine, and I'm going to stand by him."

The blacksmith was made angry by this persistent refusal. Then again he was faint and uncomfortable from having missed his breakfast, which seemed likely to be indefinitely postponed.

"I'll lick you, Bill Morris, as well as Kit, when I catch you," he said.

"Probably you will—when you catch me!" retorted William, in an aggravating tone. "Run faster, Kit."

The boys ran, but again they were impeded by the heavy valise, and slowly but surely the blacksmith was gaining upon them.

Kit, who was again carrying the burden, began to show signs of distress, and dropped behind his companion.

"I can't hold out much longer, Bill," he said, puffing laboriously.

Aaron Bickford heard these words, and they impelled him to extra exertion. At last he caught up and grasped Kit by the collar.

"I've got ye at last!" he cried, triumphantly.

CHAPTER XII.
MR. BICKFORD'S DEFEAT.

It certainly seemed as if Kit's plans were destined, if not for defeat, to postponement. Unconditional surrender was his only choice against the superior strength of Aaron Bickford. It was certainly very vexatious.

But help was nearer than he anticipated.

They were now within sight of the circus tents, and Kit, to his joy, descried the giant, Achilles Henderson, taking a morning walk, and already within hearing distance.

"Mr. Henderson!" he called out, eagerly.

"Who is that you're calling?" asked the blacksmith sharply.

Achilles heard, and instantly recognized the boy who had talked with him at Smyrna.

It took but a few strides to bring him to the spot where Kit was held in captivity.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"This man is dragging me away without authority," answered Kit.

"Who is he?" asked the giant.

"He is a blacksmith, and claims me as an apprentice, but I never agreed to work for him."

"That's a lie," said the blacksmith, "he's my runaway apprentice."

"I would believe the boy sooner than you," said Achilles, not favorably impressed by the blacksmith's bull dog look.

"It doesn't make any difference what you believe," said Bickford, rudely; and he began to pull Kit in the direction of the wagon.

"Let go that boy's collar," cried Achilles, sternly.

"I won't!" retorted the blacksmith. "I advise you to mind your own business."

Achilles Henderson, like most big men, was good natured, but he was roused by the other's insolence. He carried war into the enemy's camp by seizing the blacksmith and shaking him till he was compelled to release his grasp.

"What do you mean by this outrage?" demanded Bickford, furiously.

"It's only a gentle hint," said Achilles, smiling. "Now, my friend, I've got a piece of advice to give you. If that is your wagon back there you'd better get into it as soon as convenient—the sooner the better—and get out of my way or I'll give you a stronger hint."

The blacksmith was too indignant to be prudent. What! Confess himself vanquished, and go home without the boy! The idea was intolerable to him.

"I'm goin' to take the boy," he said, angrily, and darting forward he essayed to seize Kit by the collar again.

"Oho! You need a stronger hint," said Achilles. With this he grasped the blacksmith about the middle, and tossed him over the fence into the adjoining field as easily as if he were a cat.

Aaron Bickford did not know what had happened to him. He lay motionless for a few seconds, and then picked himself up with some difficulty, and confronted the giant with mingled fear and anger.

"I'll have the law of ye for this," he shouted.

Achilles laughed.

"It's as you like," he said. "I've got my witnesses here," pointing to the two boys.

Mr. Bickford got over the fence, and sullenly turned in the direction of his deserted wagon.

"You'll hear from me again, all of you!" he shouted, shaking his fist.

"Don't trouble yourself to write," said the giant, jocosely. "We can worry along without a letter."

The blacksmith was too full of wrath for utterance. He kept on his way, muttering to himself, and shaking his fist at intervals.

"Now what's all this about?" asked Achilles. "What's the matter with our amiable friend?"

Kit explained.

"So you don't want to be a blacksmith? Where are you going, if I may inquire?"

"I'm going to join the circus," answered Kit.

"In what capacity—as a lion tamer?"

"No; I shouldn't fancy that business. I am to be an acrobat."

"An acrobat! But are you qualified?" asked Achilles, somewhat surprised.

He had not heard of Kit's practice with the Vincenti brothers on the day of his first visit to the circus.

"I am pretty well qualified already," answered Kit, "I saw Mr. Barlow yesterday morning, and he promised me an engagement at ten dollars a week."

"Good!" said Achilles, heartily. "I am pleased to hear it. I took a liking to you the other day, and I'm glad you're going to join us. But do you think it wise to choose such a life?"

"You have chosen it," said Kit.

"Yes; but what could I do—a man of my size? I must earn more than a common man. My board and clothes both cost more. What do you think I paid for this suit I have on?"

"I couldn't tell, sir."

"Sixty dollars. The tailor only charges thirty dollars to a man of ordinary size, but I am so absurdly large that I have to pay double price."

"Why don't you buy your suits ready made?" asked Kit, smiling.

Achilles laughed heartily at the idea.

"Show me a place where I can get ready made clothes to fit me," he answered, "and I will gladly accept your suggestion."

"That may be a little difficult, I admit."

"Why, you have no idea how inconvenient I find it to be so large. I can't find a bed to suit me in any hotel. If I go to the theater I can't crowd myself into an ordinary seat. I have to have all kinds of clothing, inside and outside, made to order. My hats and shoes must also be made expressly for me."

"I suppose you get very well paid," suggested Kit.

"Seventy-five dollars a week sounds pretty large, and would be if my expenses were not so great. You wouldn't be a giant for that money, would you?"

"I am not so ambitious," replied Kit, smiling. "But there was a moment when I wished myself of your size."

"When was that?"

"When the blacksmith grasped me by the collar."

"You don't have to work very hard," said William Morris.

"My boy, it is pretty hard work to be stared at by a crowd of people. I get tired of it often, but I see no other way of making a living."

"You would make a pretty good blacksmith."

"I couldn't earn more than a man of average strength, and that wouldn't be enough, as I have explained."

"Were your parents very tall?" asked Kit.

"My father was six feet in height, but my mother was a small woman. I don't know what put it into me to grow so big. But here we are at the lot. Will you come in?"

"When can I see Mr. Barlow?" asked Kit, anxiously.

"He is at the hotel. He won't be round till half-past nine. Have you two boys had breakfast?"

"No," answered Kit; "I'm nearly famished."

"Come round to the circus tent. You are to be one of us, and will board there. I guess we can provide for your friend, too."

Never was invitation more gladly accepted. Both Kit and William felt as if they had not broken their fast for a week.

CHAPTER XIII.
BREAKFAST IN THE CIRCUS TENT.

The giant took his seat and placed the boys one on each side of him. Just opposite sat a woman of twenty-five or thereabouts, who was already eating breakfast.

"Good morning, Mlle. Louise," said the giant.

"Good morning, Mr. Henderson," responded the lady. "Who are your young companions?"

"I don't know their names, but this one," placing his hand on Kit's shoulder, "has been engaged by Mr. Barlow as an acrobat."

"Indeed! He looks young."

"I am sixteen," volunteered Kit.

"What circus have you traveled with before this season?" asked Mlle. Louise.

"I have never traveled with any, madam."

"But you are an acrobat?"

"I have had my practice in a gymnasium."

"How came Mr. Barlow to engage you?"

"At Smyrna I practiced a little with the Vincenti brothers."

"At Smyrna? Why, that's where the lion dashed into the arena!"

"Yes."

"Do you know the boy who had the courage to face him?"

Kit blushed.

"I am the boy," he said.

"You don't mean it!" exclaimed the lady, vivaciously. "Why, you're a hero. I must shake hands with you," and she reached across the table and gave Kit a hearty grasp of the hand.

"Is that so?" interposed Achilles. "Why, I didn't know you were the boy. I was not present at the time, and only heard of it afterwards. Mlle. Louise is right. You are a brave fellow."

"I am much obliged to you both for your favorable opinion," said Kit modestly, "but I didn't realize my danger till afterwards."

"Oh, heavens! I can see him now—that wicked beast!" exclaimed the lady. "I was nearly scared out of my senses. As for poor Dupont, he was nearer death than I ever want to be till my time comes."

"Was Dupont the clown?" asked Kit.

"Yes. The lion held him down, with his foot upon the poor clown's back, and but for your brave act he would have torn the poor fellow to pieces. Mr. Henderson, you missed the most thrilling act of the evening."

"So I begin to think. By the way, boys, I ought to have introduced this lady. She is the famous aerial artist, whom you saw the other evening in her wonderful feats upon the trapeze."

"Yes," said Mlle. Louise, complacently, "I think I have a pretty good act. I get plenty of applause, eh, Mr. Henderson?"

"That's true. I think I should leave the circus if I had to appear in your act. I never could summon up courage."

The lady laughed.

"Monsieur Achilles," she said, "I wouldn't advise you to emulate me. I don't believe you could find a rope strong enough to support you, and if you should fall, I pity the audience."

"You have convinced me. I shall give up all thoughts of it," said the giant, with mock gravity. "It would suit better our young friend here, who is an acrobat."

"Did you ever practice on a trapeze?" asked Mlle. Louise, turning to Kit.

"Yes, often," answered Kit, "but never at a great height."

"Would it frighten you to find yourself so high up in the air?"

"I don't think so; I have a cool head."

"You must practice. I will give you a few hints myself. If you are cool and courageous, as I judge you will soon learn. By the way, what is your name?"

"Kit Watson."

"It'll be something else when you begin work."

"Do all performers have assumed names?"

"Generally. Here I am Mademoiselle Louise Lefroy, but it isn't a bit like my real name."

Before this the boys had been served with breakfast. The steak was rather tough, and the coffee not of the best quality, but Kit and William thoroughly enjoyed it, and thought it about the best breakfast they had ever eaten. Mlle. Louise continued to converse with them, and was very gracious.

"Are you too an acrobat?" she asked William.

William became so confused that he swallowed some coffee the wrong way, and came near choking.

"No, ma'am," he answered bashfully, "but I'd like to go round with the show."

"You'll be better off at home if you've got one," said the giant. "You are not a performer; you are too small for a property man, and not strong enough for a razorback."

"What's a razorback?" asked William, in amazement.

Achilles smiled.

"It's a boy or man who helps load and unload the circus cars," he answered. "It is heavy work, and you would be thrown among a low lot of people—canvasmen, and such. Our young friend here, on the other hand, will have a good sleeping berth, eat at the first table, and be well provided for generally."

William looked disappointed. He had never thought particularly about traveling with a circus till now, but his meeting with Kit had given him a circus fever.

At ten o'clock Mr. Barlow came to the grounds, and Achilles volunteered to go with Kit to speak with him about his engagement.

CHAPTER XIV.
SOME CIRCUS PEOPLE.

Mr. Barlow smiled, and, waving his hand, passed on.

He was very popular with all who were in his employ, and had a high reputation for kindness and strict integrity.

"I'd like to work for him," said William Morris, who had listened to the conversation between Kit and the circus proprietor.

"I should like to have you along with me," replied Kit, "but from what Mr. Henderson says there is no good opening."

It was not till eleven o'clock that Kit met his future partners, the Vincenti brothers.

"Good!" said Alonzo, in a tone of satisfaction. "We must get up a joint act. I suppose you haven't got a suit of tights?"

"No. I never expected to need one."

"I have an extra one which I think will fit you. Though I am ten years older than you we are about the same size."

Kit had occasion to remark that circus performers are short as a rule. Many of them do not exceed five feet four inches in height, but generally they are compactly built, with well developed muscles, and possess unusual strength and agility.

The circus suit was brought out. It proved to be an excellent fit.

William Morris eyed Kit with admiration.

"You look like a regular circus chap, Kit!" he exclaimed. "I wish I was in your shoes."

"Wait till you see whether I am a success, William," replied Kit.

"Now, if you are ready, we will have a little practice," said Alonzo Vincenti.

"May I look on?" asked William.

"Oh, yes; we don't generally admit spectators, but you are a friend of the boy."

They all entered the tent, and for an hour Kit was kept hard at work.

In the act devised by the Vincenti brothers, he stood on the shoulders of the second, who in his turn stood on the shoulders of the first. Various changes were gone through, in all of which Kit proved himself an adept, and won high compliments from his new associates.

"Can you tumble?" asked Antonio.

Kit smiled.

"I was afraid I should when I first got on your shoulders," he answered.

"That was what I meant,—something like this," and he whirled across the arena, rolling over and over on hands and feet in the manner of a cart wheel.

Kit imitated Antonio rather slowly and awkwardly at first, but rapidly showed improvement.

"You'll soon learn," said Antonio. "Now let me show you something else."

This something else was a succession of somersaults, made in the most rapid manner.

Kit tried this also, slowly at first, as before, but proving a rapid learner.

"In the course of three or four days you will be able to do it in public," said Alonzo.

"When do you advise me to make my first appearance?" asked Kit.

"To-night, in our first act."

"But shall I be ready?"

"You'll do. We may as well make a beginning."

"I wish I could see you, Kit," said William.

"Can't you?"

"I was going to the afternoon performance. It would make me too late home if I stayed in the evening."

"Won't there be some people over from Oakford that you can ride back with?"

"I didn't think of that. Yes, John Woods told me that his father was coming, and would bring him along. I could ride home with them."

"Good! then you'd better stay."

"Perhaps I'd better go over and buy a ticket."

But to William's satisfaction he was given free admission as a friend of Kit. Not only that, but he was invited to take dinner and supper at the circus table. In fact, he was treated with distinguished consideration.

"Kit," he said, "I was in luck to meet you."

"And it was lucky for me that I met you. I shouldn't like to have met Aaron Bickford single handed."

"I wish old Bickford would come to the circus to-night. Wouldn't he be surprised to see you performing in tights?"

"I think it would rather take him by surprise," said Kit, smiling.

Kit and William occupied seats at the afternoon performance as spectators, it having been arranged that Kit's début should be made in the evening. Our hero regarded the different acts with unusual interest, and his heart beat a little quicker when he heard the applause elicited by the performances of the Vincenti brothers, for he had already begun to consider himself one of them.

When the performance was over, and the audience was dispersing, Kit felt a hand laid upon his shoulder.

He turned and his glance rested upon a man of about forty, with a grave, serious expression. He was puzzled, for it was not a face that he remembered to have ever seen before.

"You don't know me?" said the stranger.

"No, sir."

"And yet you have done me a very great service."

"I didn't know it, sir."

"The greatest service that any one person can do to another—you have saved my life."

Then a light dawned upon Kit's mind, and he remembered what Achilles Henderson had said to him in the morning.

"Is your name Dupont?" he asked.

"Yes; I am Joe Dupont, the clown, whom you saved from a horrible death. I tell you, when Nero stood there in the ring with his paw on my breast I gave myself up for lost. I expected to be torn to pieces. It was an awful moment!" and the clown shuddered at the picture which his imagination conjured up. "Yes, sir; I wouldn't see such another moment for all the money Barlow is worth. I wonder my hair didn't turn white."

"Excuse me, Mr. Dupont, but I find it hard to think you are Joe Dupont, the clown," said Kit.

"Why?"

"Because you look so grave and sedate."

Joe Dupont smiled.

"I only make a fool of myself in the ring," he said. "Outside you might take me for a merchant or minister. Indeed, I am a minister's son."

"You a minister's son!" ejaculated Kit.

"Yes; you wouldn't think it, would you? I was rather a wild lad, as minister's sons often are. My poor father tried hard to give me an education, but my mind wasn't on books or school exercises, and at sixteen I cut and run."

"Did you join a circus then?"

"Not at once. I tried hard to earn my living in different ways. Finally I struck a circus, and got an engagement as a razorback. When I got older I began to notice and imitate the clowns, and finally I made up my mind to become one myself."

"Do you like the business?"

"I have to like it. No; I am disgusted with myself often and often. You can judge from one thing. I have a little daughter, Katy, now eight years of age. She has never seen me in the ring and never will. I could never hold up my head in her presence if she had once seen me playing the fool before an audience."

All this surprised Kit. He had been disposed to think that what clowns were before the public they were in private life also. Now he saw his mistake.

"You contribute to the public amusement, Mr. Dupont," said Kit.

"True; but what sort of a life record is it? Suppose in after years Katy is asked, 'Who was your father?' and is obliged to answer, 'Joe Dupont, the clown.' But I ought not to grumble. But for you I should have died a terrible death, and Katy would be fatherless, so I have much to be thankful for after all."

Kit listened to the clown not without surprise. He could hardly realize that this was the comical man whose grotesque actions and sayings had convulsed the spectators only an hour before. When he came to think of it, he felt that he would rather be an acrobat than a clown.