Horatio Alger - The Young Acrobat of the Great North American Circus

"Did you pay the professor extra to instruct you?" asked Dan.

"He charged nothing. He was only too glad to teach us all he knew. It seems he was at one time connected with Barnum's circus, and prepared performers for the arena. He told us it made him think of his old circus days to teach us. At the close of last term we gave him five dollars apiece as an acknowledgment of his services. He assured us then that we were competent to perform in any circus."

"Could you really do what the Vincenti brothers are doing?"

"Yes; and more."

"I wish I could see you do it."

The boys were seated near the sawdust arena, and the last part of their conversation had been heard by the acrobats. It was taken as an illustration of boyish braggadocio, and as circus men are always ready for practical jokes, particularly at the expense of greenhorns, they resolved that there was a good chance for a little fun.

One tipped the wink to the other, and turning to Kit, said: "What's that you're saying, kid?"

"How does he know your name?" said Dan, mistaking kid, the circus name for boy, for his friend's nickname.

"He said kid, not Kit," answered our hero.

"Do you think you can do our act?" continued the acrobat.

"I think I can," replied Kit.

This elicited a broad grin from the acrobat.

"Look here, kid," he said, "do you know how long it took me to learn the business?"

"I don't know, but I should like to know."

"Three years."

"No doubt you can do a great deal more than I."

"Oh, no, certainly not!" said the acrobat, ironically.

"I see you don't believe me," said Kit.

"I'll tell you what you remind me of, kid. There was a fellow came to our circus last summer, and wanted to get an engagement as rider. He said he'd been a cowboy out in New Mexico, and had been employed to break horses. So we gave the fellow a trial. We brought out a wild mustang, and told him to show what he could do. The mustang let him get on, as was his custom, but after he was fairly on, he gave a jump, and Mr. Cowboy measured his length on the sawdust."

Kit and Dan both smiled at this story.

"I am not a cowboy, and don't profess to ride bucking mustangs," he said, "though my friend Dan may."

"I'd rather be excused," put in Dan.

"I'll tell you what, kid, if you'll go through the performance you've just seen I'll give you five dollars."

The fellow expected Kit would make some hasty excuse, but he was mistaken. Our hero rose from his seat, removed his coat and vest, and bounded into the arena.

"I am ready," he said, "but I am not strong enough to be the under man. I'll do the other."

"All right! Go ahead!"

The speaker put himself in position. Kit gave a spring, and in an instant was upon his shoulders.

There was an exclamation of surprise from the second acrobat.

"Christopher!" he exclaimed. "The boy's got something in him, after all."

"Now what shall I do?" asked Kit, as with folded arms he stood on the acrobat's shoulders.

"Keep your place while I walk round the arena."

Kit maintained his position while the acrobat ran round the circle, increasing his pace on purpose to dislodge his young associate. But Kit was too well used to this act to be embarrassed. He held himself erect, and never swerved for an instant.

"Pretty good, kid!" said the acrobat. "Now reverse yourself and stand on my hands with your feet in the air."

Kit made the change skillfully, and to the equal surprise of Dan and the other acrobat, both of whom applauded without stint.

"Can you do anything else?" asked Alonzo Vincenti.

"Yes."

Kit went through a variety of other feats, and then descending from his elevated perch, was about to resume his coat and vest, when the circus performer asked him, "Can you tumble?"

Kit's answer was to roll over the arena in a succession of somersaults and hand springs.

"Well, I'm beat!" said the acrobat. "You're the smartest kid I ever met in my travels. Are you sure you're not a professional?"

"Quite sure," answered Kit, smiling.

"You never traveled with a show, then?"

Kit shook his head.

"Where on earth did you pick up all these acts?"

"I took lessons of Professor Donaldson."

"You did! Well, that explains it. I say, kid, you ought to join a circus. You'd command a fine salary."

"Would I? How much could I get?" asked Kit, with interest.

"Ten or twelve dollars a week and all expenses paid. That's pretty good pay for a kid, isn't it?"

"It's more than I ever earned yet," answered Kit, with a smile.

"I shouldn't wonder if Mr. Barlow would give you that now. If you ever make up your mind to join a show, come round and see him."

"Thank you," said Kit.

Soon after the boys left the circus lot and went home.

"Would you really join a circus, Kit?" asked Dan.

"It isn't the life I would choose," answered Kit, seriously, "but I may have to find some way of earning a living, and that very soon."

"I thought your father left you a fortune."

"So did I; but I hear that I am to be taken from boarding school, and possibly set to work. Ralph has given me a hint of it. I shall soon know, as my uncle intimates that he has a communication to make me."

"I hope it isn't as bad as you think, Kit."

"I hope so too, but I can tell you better to-morrow. We will meet to-night at the show."

Just before supper Kit was asked to an interview with his uncle.

"You wish to speak to me, Uncle Stephen?" he said.

"Yes; I have decided not to postpone the explanation for which you asked yesterday."

"I shall be glad to hear it, sir."

"Ever since your father's death I have supported you, not because I was morally or legally bound to do so, but because you were my nephew."

"But didn't my father leave any property?" asked Kit in amazement.

"He was supposed to have done so."

"This house and grounds are surely worth a good deal of money!"

"So they are," answered Stephen Watson, dryly, "but unfortunately they did not belong to your father."

"This is certainly a mistake," exclaimed Kit, indignantly.

"Wait till I have finished. These stood in your father's name, but there was a mortgage of two thousand dollars held by the Smyrna Savings Bank."

"Surely the place is worth far more than two thousand dollars!"

"Curb your impatience, and you will soon understand me. The place is worth far more than two thousand dollars. I consider it worth ten thousand."

"Then I don't see–"

"Your father left large debts, which of course had to be paid. I was therefore obliged to sell the estate, in order to realize the necessary funds."

"For how much did you sell the place?"

"For nine thousand dollars. I regarded that as a good price, considering that it was paid in cash or the equivalent."

"To whom did you sell?"

"I bought it in myself; I was not willing that the place which my brother had loved so well, should pass into the hands of strangers."

"May I ask who was my father's principal creditor?" asked Kit.

"Ahem! I was," answered Stephen Watson, in a tone of slight embarrassment.

"You!" exclaimed Kit, in fresh surprise.

"Yes; your father owed me twelve thousand dollars borrowed at various times."

"How could he have been obliged to borrow so much?" asked Kit. "He always seemed comfortably situated. I never once heard him complain of being pressed for money."

"Very likely; he was very reticent about his affairs. I would explain, but the matter is rather a delicate one."

"I think I am entitled to know all about it, Uncle Stephen," said Kit, firmly.

"Be it so! Perhaps you are right. Let me tell you in the briefest terms, then, that in his later years your father speculated in Wall Street—not heavily, for he had not the means, but heavily for one of his property. Of course he lost. Almost every one does, who ventures into the 'street.' His first losses, instead of deterring him from further speculation, led him on to rasher ventures. It was then that he came to me for money."