“Well, I should think you’d rather be your own man, and have a chance to see the world, than be cooped up in the woods here, two or three years,” added Alfred. “But come in, or you wont get a seat—performances begin in five minutes,” he added, drawing out a watch, to which was attached a flashy chain.
“No, I didn’t intend to go in—the folks wont know where I am,” replied Oscar.
“Yes, you are going in, too—it wont cost you anything—I’ll put you through,” said Alfred, pushing Oscar towards the door.
Oscar was unable to withstand the pressing invitation of his old comrade, and suffered himself to be led into the enclosure, where he remained through the entire performance, which did not close until nearly dark. His prolonged absence was noticed at home, and led to unpleasant suspicions; but as Otis remained silent, for fear of exposing himself, nothing definite was known of his whereabouts.
Oscar hurried home with many misgivings, after the exhibition had concluded, and was agreeably surprised to find the supper table still standing for him, and was yet more gratified that no questions were asked in relation to his absence. When he went up to bed, however, Marcus accompanied him to his chamber, and the following conversation took place:—
“Oscar, where have you been this afternoon?”
“Over to the circus.”
“Did you go in, or only remain outside?”
“I went in.”
“I am very sorry to hear it, and surprised too. You knew it was much against our wishes, did you not?”