"Because my uncle was with me, and he, too, noticed the extraordinary resemblance of the boy-rider to his son. Ever since he has been restless, and now he insists upon my seeking out the boy, and bringing him here to live with him."
Fitzgerald whistled.
"That would make a dark lookout for you, Mr. Hugo," he said.
"Of course it would. Besides, if the boy knew anything of his past history, my uncle would be readily convinced that it was really his grandson, and I would be set aside as the heir to Chestnutwood."
"I see."
"Now tell me, Fitzgerald, how does it happen that the boy has been trained up to such a career?"
"I can't tell positively. I gave a tramp a sum of money to take charge of him and carry him about, passing him off as his own son. I suppose the man died and the boy fell in with some circus people, who saw that they could make use of him."
"That seems plausible enough," said Hugo, thoughtfully. "At any rate our concern is not with the past, but with the future. I suppose you are not exactly prosperous?"
Fitzgerald drew a purse from his pocket, and extracted a twenty-five cent coin.