Joe flung up his arms and gazed at the silent, blinking stars which sprinkled the sky overhead.
“It sure does feel good to be your own boss! I can go when I please, and come when I please, and I don’t have to stand the shame of a beating just because I burned a suit in saving a man’s life! It sure is good to be free!”
Joe was to learn that it is not all joy and happiness to be “free,” and to be one’s “own boss,” but, just at present, he felt only a sense of exultation.
“First I’ve got to leave this bundle at Tom’s house,” thought Joe, as he picked up the suit which had been loaned him. “I’ll leave it there with a note that will explain. I wish I could see some of the boys to bid ’em good-bye, but maybe it’s just as well not to. They might laugh at me, and I wouldn’t want that. Some day, when I’m a well-known magician, I’ll come back and give ’em a show that will open their eyes!”
Joe next picked up his valise. It was rather heavy, for he had stuffed in it belongings that had accumulated for years—little mementos and keepsakes of younger days. He also had in it what clothes he felt he would need. But Joe did not feel the weight of his satchel now. It was as light as a feather to him.
And to prove it Joe tossed it up in the air, also the bundle of Tom’s clothes, and there in the darkness of midnight, standing in the middle of one of Bedford’s principal streets, he juggled the objects in the most approved style, using a small stone he had picked up for the third piece to make a symmetrical act.
“I’ll be able to do some juggling if I have to, when I want to fill in between tricks,” thought Joe. “I do hope I can get work in some sort of a show. Professor Rosello ought to be able to give me a letter, introducing me to some of his friends in the business.
“Well, standing here juggling and thinking about it won’t get me anywhere,” said Joe, in a sort of stage whisper. “I’d better be moving if I’m to get a berth in my side-door Pullman,” and he laughed in a silent fashion at the idea.
Joe had made up his mind to go to the town of Lorilard, distant about fifty miles from Bedford, where Professor Rosello was to give a performance the next day, and for two or three days following. This much the magician had told Joe in the interview at the hotel, when he gave him a list of his stopping places.
“Yes, I’ll go to see the professor at Lorilard,” decided Joe. “He can’t any more than turn me down. But he promised to help me, and he was grateful to me. I believe he’ll be able to do something.” Now for Tom’s house, and then my ‘berth!’”