Each week he had gone to Bobo’s cage, and tried to talk to the wild man, telling him that he had better give up the business and settle down somewhere. But the wild man never paid any attention to him; and when one day Poole Brothers tried to take him out of his cage by force, one man was killed and Stetson himself seriously injured, so that had to be given up. All that winter the side show connected with Poole Brothers’ Royal Roman Hippodrome and Three Ring Circus played to packed houses; and probably no one paid any particular attention to a sad-faced Irish woman of middle age who spent most of the time standing in front of the cage of Bobo, the wild man, weeping silently. AT THE END OF THE ROAD. AT THE END OF THE ROAD. At first the road was smooth and level; there were no hills, and The Man had many companions. They laughed with him and made merry, and there was no thought of care. “’Tis a pleasant life,” murmured The Man; but even as he said the words he wondered half fearfully if it could last, if the country through which they passed would always be as pleasant. Gradually the way became harder. Quite often The Man was compelled to pause for breath, for there were difficult places to get over; and when he turned for assistance to the companions who had laughed and jested with him but a little while before, he found that they had passed just beyond calling distance. At least they seemed not to hear him, for they did not stop. But the way was not all hilly; and when he came to the smoother places The Man hurried on faster than before, and, catching up with his companions, was welcomed by them, and they all made merry once more. The smoother places became rarer, however, and The Man found himself alone many times, till one day he was joined by a new companion. “He will be like the others,” said The Man bitterly: “he will not stay with me.” But the other heard him. “Do not fear,” he answered, “I will stay with you to the journey’s end. I will never leave you.” Nevertheless, The Man did not like his new companion. He was not like the others. He never jested and made merry, and after that first time he did not speak again. He was gaunt and thin, and was clothed in rags; but he stayed with The Man when the others ran on ahead or lagged behind. One day when The Man was weary, for there was no longer any one to cheer him, and the way had become very hard, he plucked up courage to speak to his silent companion again. “’Tis true you do not leave me like the rest,” he said; “they all deserted me when we left the pleasant country; but I do not know you yet. If we must travel together we should get better acquainted.” “Mine is not a pleasant name, and few care to know me better than necessity compels,” answered the Silent One; “but had you waited a little longer you would not have needed to ask. I am known by many names, but those who know me best call me Poverty.”