"What do you mean, Percy?" asked Squire Dixon, referring to his son's exclamation at the close of the preceding chapter. "Do you know anything of Jed?"

"Yes; I saw him last evening at Duncan."

"But what took him there? What was he doing?"

"He was on the stage. He was playing in 'The Gold King.'"

"What do you mean by this absurd statement?" demanded his father angrily.

"It is true. Ask mother if it isn't."

"I think Percy is right," said Mrs. Dixon. "The young actor bears a wonderful resemblance to the boy Jed."

"But Jed doesn't know anything about acting."

"That is why I thought I was mistaken. But if Jed has run away it must be he."

"Why didn't you manage to speak to him after the play?"

"I did, and he denied that he was Jed. He calls himself Ralph Clinton."

"Really, this is a most surprising circumstance," said the squire. "The boy is a hardened young villain. His running away from those who are lawfully set over him in authority is a most audacious and highhanded outrage."

"That's what I think," chimed in Percy. "What shall you do about it? Shan't you go after him?"

"I think it my duty to do so. As soon as breakfast is over, ask Mr. Fogson to come round here. Tell him I have news of the fugitive."

Three-quarters of an hour later Simeon Fogson was admitted into the august presence of the Overseer of the Poor.

"I hear you have news of Jed Gilman," he said. "That is what your son Percy tells me."

"It is true, Mr. Fogson. The young scapegrace has joined a company of actors. What is he coming to?"

"To the gallows, I think," answered Fogson. "But how did you learn this?"

"Percy saw him on the stage last evening."

"And he actually played a part?"

"Yes."

"In his ragged suit?"

"No," answered Percy. "He had a telegraph boy's suit first, and afterwards a nice brown suit—as nice as mine."

"Where did he get 'em?" asked Fogson.

"That's the question!" returned the squire solemnly. "There is a strange mystery about the boy's goings on. Have you observed anything queer in his conduct of late?"

"I have noticed that he has been unusually impudent. Ha, I have it!" said Fogson, suddenly, slapping his thigh.

"What have you?" asked Percy.

"There was an actor stayed at the poorhouse night before last—an actor named Bertram. It is he that has lured Jed astray."

"There was an actor by that name in the play last evening."

"Then that settles it. Squire Dixon, what shall I do?"

"I think, Mr. Fogson, you had better go at once to Duncan—I will lend you my buggy—and secure the boy, tying him hand and foot, if necessary, and take him back to the poorhouse."

Simeon Fogson smiled grimly. It was an errand that suited him.

"I will do so," he said, "and I will lose no time."

"Don't ask for Jed Gilman," suggested Percy. "Ask for Ralph Clinton. That's the name he goes by now."

Mr. Fogson drew out a stub of a lead-pencil and put down this name. In twenty minutes he was on his way, and an hour later he drew up in front of the hotel in Duncan.

He left the buggy and entered the public room of the inn.

"Is there such a boy as Ralph Clinton here?" he asked the clerk.

"Yes; do you want to see him?"

"I should like very much to see him," answered Fogson grimly.

"He is in No. 12. Jim, show the gentleman up. He is sick."

Fogson nodded.

"I dare say," he added significantly. "I guess his acting made him sick."

"Yes, that's what I heard. Is he your son?"

"No, but I am his guardian."

Fogson was quite elated at so easily getting on the track of the fugitive.

"Sick!" he repeated to himself, as he ascended the staircase. "I guess he'll be sick before he gets through with me."

The servant knocked at No. 12, and a boy's voice was heard to say "Come in!"

The door was opened, and Fogson, rushing in, grasped the arm of a boy sitting in a rocking-chair.

"I've got you, you young rascal!" he exclaimed.

"What do you mean, you lunatic?" demanded the boy in a clear voice, higher pitched than was Jed's.

Then for the first time Fogson, who was shortsighted, found out that the boy was not Jed, but a youth of lighter complexion and slighter physique.

He fell back in confusion.

"I was told you were Ralph Clinton," he explained, looking rather foolish.

"I am Ralph Clinton."

"But I want Jed Gilman."

"Then why don't you look for Jed Gilman? What have I got to do with him?"

"Do you act with the Gold King Company?"

"Yes, when I am well."

"Did you act last evening?"

"No; there was another boy that took my place."

"That's the one I want. He ran away from me."

"Are you his father?"

"No, I'm his guardian."

"I don't like your looks," said Ralph, who was a very free-spoken young man. "I don't blame him for running away from you."

Fogson scowled.

"I believe you're as bad as he," he growled. "There's one thing sure—I'm going to get the boy back. Where is he?"

"On the road, I expect. He will take my place till I get well."

"Not much, he won't. Have the rest of the actors left Duncan?"

"You'd better ask down stairs. I'm not going to help you get the boy back."

Fogson had nothing to do but to go down again to the public room. The clerk told him that the company were to play that evening at Bolton, twelve miles away, and were probably there now, having taken the morning train.

"Twelve miles away!" thought Fogson in dismay. "I can't drive so far as that. Squire Dixon wouldn't like to have me drive his horse so many miles. What shall I do?"

This was a question easier asked than answered. If he had not been burdened with the horse and buggy he would have taken the next train for Bolton. As it was, he didn't feel at liberty to do this.

He wished Squire Dixon were at hand, so that he might ask his advice, for he felt quite unable to decide for himself what was best to be done. As he stood beside his team in a state of indecision he heard the sound of approaching wheels, and looking up, recognized Dr. Redmond's carriage.

"What brings you to Duncan, Mr. Fogson?" asked the doctor with a peculiar smile.

"I've come after that rascal Jed."

"Is he here?" asked the doctor innocently.

"He has run away from the poorhouse and joined some strolling players. He played in the theatre last evening."

"Did he, indeed?" asked the doctor, really surprised. "He must be a smart boy to take up acting so suddenly."

"He is a very impudent boy."

"Is he? Then I should think you would be glad to get rid of him."

"I don't mean to let him off so easily. I'm going to bring him back to the poorhouse, and when I get hold of him I'll——"

Mr. Fogson nodded his head significantly. It was clear that he intended that the way of the transgressor should be hard.

"It strikes me, Mr. Fogson, that you are acting in a very foolish manner," said the doctor.

"Why am I?"

"I will tell you. Jed has got tired of being supported by the town, and he has taken the matter into his own hands. In other words, he proposes to relieve the town of the expense of his maintenance. The town will doubtless be glad to have one dependent less on its hands. You appear to want to get him back, and make the town once more responsible for his support. Is it not so?"

Fogson looked blank. The matter had never presented itself to him in that light before.

"You certainly won't make yourself very popular by this action," proceeded Dr. Redmond. "As a good citizen you ought to be glad that the town's expenses are lessened."

"Would you have me let the boy go?" Fogson ejaculated.

"Certainly, I would. Jed is able to support himself, and there is no earthly reason for keeping him in the poorhouse. I advise you to represent the matter to Squire Dixon, and see what he thinks about it."

Mr. Fogson drove home slowly. He found it hard to have Jed escape from his clutches, but Squire Dixon, upon consultation, reluctantly decided that perhaps it was best to drop the matter then and there. No one was more disappointed over this decision than Percy Dixon.