“How came you here—do you belong to the circus?” inquired Oscar.
“Yes,” replied the other; “but how came you here? I thought you were in the house of correction, or some such place. How did you get out of that last scrape, say? O, I remember, they sent you to the Reform School, didn’t they?”
Oscar, confused and distressed by this unexpected exposure, made signs to the other to desist, and attempted to turn off the affair as a joke. The strange remark of the strange boy, however, attracted the attention of Otis and several others of Oscar’s acquaintances who were standing by, and set them to wondering.
The real name of Oscar’s new-found acquaintance was Alfred Walton, but he figured on the circus bills as “Master Paulding.” For years the two boys lived near each other, in Boston, and had been very intimate, their tastes and habits being much alike. The hotel and stables kept by Alfred’s step-father had been one of Oscar’s favorite resorts, and there he learned many of the bad lessons which he was now trying to forget. He had heard nothing from Alfred for a long time, but now learned from him that he quarrelled with his step-father and ran away from home five or six months previous, and being familiar with horses, had since followed the career of a circus rider.
“And look here,” added Alfred, taking Oscar aside, “if you want a chance, I’ll speak a good word for you to the old man. I shouldn’t wonder if he would take you on trial—I bet I can put him up to it. We’ve got a good company—they are a high old set of fellows, I tell you.”
“O no, I can’t join you—I’ve engaged to stay here two or three years,” replied Oscar.
“Pooh, never mind that—you can slip off easily enough, just as I did,” said Alfred, who seemed to have no idea that any thing but force could hold a person to an engagement with which he was dissatisfied.
“But I don’t want to slip off—I like here, well enough,” added Oscar.
“Then you must have altered amazingly, if you can content yourself in such a horribly dull hole as this,” rejoined Alfred. “Why, I’d hang myself before I’d stay here three weeks. Come, you like to see the world as well as the rest of us do. Say you’ll go, and I’ll speak to the old man. He’ll give you twelve or fifteen dollars a month, as soon as you get broke in a little. That’s better than you can do here, I know. What do you get now, any how?”
“I don’t have wages—father pays my board, and I’m going to school this winter,” replied Oscar.