“That’s a safe conclusion,” remarked Agnes. To her sister and herself Neale’s circus experiences were an old story. He had often told them how, when a small boy, he had performed in the sawdust ring.
“Yes, father was a rover,” went on Neale. “At least that’s the conclusion I’ve come to of late. I really didn’t know him very well. He left the circus when I was still small and told Uncle Bill to look after me. Well, Uncle Bill did, I’ll say that for him. He was as kind as any boy’s uncle could be.”
“Anyhow, as you know, father left the circus, gave me in charge of Uncle Bill, and went off to seek his fortune. I suppose he realized that I would be better off out of a circus, but he knew he had to live, and money is needed for that. So that’s why he quit the ring, I imagine. He’s been seeking his fortune for quite a while now, and—”
“Neale, do you mean to say he has come back?” cried Agnes.
“Not exactly,” was the answer. “At least if he has come back I haven’t seen him. But I just met a man—a sort of tramp he is, to tell you the truth—and he says he knew a man who saw my father in the Alaskan Klondike, where father had a mine. And this man—this tramp—says my father started back to the States some time ago.”
“With a lot of gold?” asked Ruth, her eyes gleaming with hope for Neale.
“This the man didn’t know. All he knew was that there was a rumor that my father had struck it fairly rich and had started back toward civilization. But even that news makes me feel good. I’m going to see if I can find him. I always had an idea, and so did Uncle Bill, that it was to Alaska father had gone, and this proves it.”
“But who is this man who gave you the news, and why doesn’t he know where your father can be found?” asked Ruth. “Also is there anything we can do to help you, Neale?”
“What a lot of questions!” exclaimed Agnes.
“I think I can answer them,” Neale said. He was calmer now, but his face still shone and his eyes sparkled under the stress of the happy excitement. “The man, as I said, is a tramp. He asked me for some money. He was driving a team of mules on the canal towpath, and I happened to look at one of the animals. It reminded me of one we had in the circus—a trick mule—but it took only a look to show me it wasn’t the same sort of kicker. I got to talking to the man, and he said he was broke—only had just taken the job and the boss wouldn’t advance him a cent until the end of the week. I gave him a quarter, and we got to talking. Then he told me he knew men who had been in the Klondike, and, naturally, I asked him if he had ever heard of a man named O’Neil. He said he had, and then the story came out.”