"Yes," answered Stephen, heaving a sigh proper to the occasion, which was intended to signify his grief at the loss. "He was cut down like the grass of the field. It is the common lot." "His wife died earlier, did she not?" "Yes." "But there was a son?" "Yes." "How old is the boy?" "Just turned sixteen." "May I see him? I should like to see the son of my old deskmate." "Ah!" sighed Stephen. "I wish he were here to meet you." "But surely he is not dead?" "No; he is not dead, but he is a source of anxiety to me." "And why?" asked the visitor, with concern. "Has he turned out badly?" "Why, I don't know that I can exactly say that he has turned out badly." "What is the matter with him, then?" "He is wayward, and instead of being willing to devote himself to his school studies like my son Ralph, he has formed an extraordinary taste for the circus." "Indeed! but where is he?" "He is traveling with Barlow's circus." "In what capacity?" "As an acrobat." Henry Miller laughed. "I remember," he said, "that his father was fond of athletic sports. You never were." "No, I was a quiet boy." "That you were, and uncommonly sly!" thought Miller, but he did not consider it polite to say so. "Is the boy--by the way, what is his name?" "Christopher. He is generally called Kit." "Well, is Kit a good gymnast?" "I believe he is." "When did he join the circus?" "Only yesterday. In fact it is painful for me to say so, he ran away from a good home to associate with mountebanks." "And what are you going to do about it?" "He is so headstrong that I have thought it best to give him his own way, and let him see for himself how foolish he has been. Of course he has a home to return to whenever he sees fit." "That may be the best way. I should like to see the young rascal. I would follow up the circus and do so, only I am unfortunately called to California on business. I am part owner of a gold mine out there." "I trust you have been prospered in your worldly affairs." "Yes, I have every reason to be thankful. I suppose I am worth two hundred thousand dollars." Stephen Watson, whose god was money, almost turned green with jealousy. At the same time he asked himself how he could take advantage of his old schoolmate's good luck. "I wish he would take a fancy to my Ralph," he thought. So he called in Ralph, and introduced him to the rich stranger. "He's a good boy, my Ralph," he said; "sober and correct in all his habits, and fond of study." Ralph was rather surprised to hear this panegyric, but presently his father explained to him in private the object he had in view. Then Ralph made himself as agreeable as he could, but he failed to please Mr. Miller. "He is too much like his father," he said to himself. When he terminated his call, he received a very cordial invitation to come again on his return from California. "If Kit has returned I certainly will come," he replied, an answer which pleased neither Ralph nor his father.