"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.