Carden, the canvas man, though discharged from the circus, did not leave town. He hoped to be reinstated in his old position, and made a personal appeal to the manager. But the latter returned a decided negative.

"Don't I do my work well?" asked Carden.

"I have no fault to find with you on that score."

"Then why do you discharge me?"

"You know well enough."

"Is it because that boy Robert Rudd has lied about me?"

"Robert Rudd would not lie about anybody. I have perfect confidence in him. As for you, Carden, you may as well make up your mind to leave the town and seek employment elsewhere. As long as I am manager of this circus I will never again employ you in any capacity."

Carden's face grew dark and lowering. He saw that the manager was in earnest, and he said no more, but went away muttering something to himself in a low voice which the manager could not understand.

"That is a bad fellow!" thought Mr. Coleman. "We are well rid of him. He looks as if he could do something worse than steal."

Finding himself foiled in his attempt to regain his old place, Carden felt still more incensed against the boy, whom he considered to be the cause of his dismissal. He felt that it would be a satisfaction to injure him in some way, and so revenge himself. For this purpose he determined to remain in the town until the circus left. He secured board, therefore, in the family of a farmer not far away, and spent his days about the village and his evenings in some low drinking place.

One day as he was sauntering along the street, with a discontented scowl upon his face, he came face to face with a well-dressed man, who appeared to be a stranger in the place.

He would have passed him by without any other notice than a passing glance, had not the stranger accosted him.

"A pleasant day, my friend," he said, affably.

"Who said I was your friend?" returned Carden, with a growl.

"I assumed it, since you have no reason to be my enemy," said the other, not in the least put out by the roughness with which his greeting was received.

"I don't know you, and I don't want to," continued Carden.

"Really, you are very frank," laughed the new acquaintance. "A trifle rough, perhaps, but I like sincerity. You are no hypocrite, my friend."

"I should like to hear anybody call me so," said Carden, defiantly.

"I won't be the one at any rate. However, its dry talking in the street. Suppose we go in here (they were just passing a drinking saloon) and drink to our better acquaintance."

He could have said nothing better calculated to soften Carden's asperity.

"I believe you're a trump, after all," said the canvas man, in a changed tone.

"I hope you'll find me so. Well, come in."

Carden readily followed him into the saloon, and they sat down to a table with a bottle and two glasses before them.

"Now, what's your game?" asked Carden, abruptly.

"My game?"

"Yes. I s'pose you wouldn't have stood treat if you hadn't wanted something of me."

The stranger laughed.

"You are sharp," said he. "However, I don't mind confessing that I am a stranger in the place and wanted company and possibly a little information. Do you know anything about the circus—Coleman's circus—which I see is showing here?"

"I ought to. I belong to it."

"Oh, you are connected with it."

"No. I'm not now. I was."

"So, you left them."

"Left them," repeated Carden with an oath. "I was kicked out."

"Indeed, my friend, I sympathize with you. May I ask in what capacity you were employed?"

"I was a canvas man."

"Really, I don't want to meddle with what is none of my business, but on what pretext were you discharged?"

Carden hardly liked to admit that he was suspected of theft, but his wrongs were recent and he took a bitter satisfaction in dwelling upon them. So he overcame his reluctance by degrees.

"It was all on account of that young rascal Robert Rudd," he said.

"Robert Rudd!" repeated the stranger, his face indicating strong interest. "Who is he?"

"A bareback rider—a mere boy, whom I could twist round my finger."

"But I don't see how he could get you discharged."

"Then I'll tell you. He went to Coleman and told him that he found me trying to unlock his closet and get at his property."

"Of course that was false?"

"Of course it was!" growled Carden. "But the manager believed him, and bounced me."

"What could make the boy get up such a story?"

"He hated me; he treated me like a dog, and put on airs, just as if we wasn't in the same business. He wouldn't drink with me when I asked him."

"Then he is proud, is he?"

"Yes, but he hasn't anything to be proud of. He thinks himself a gentleman, just because he can ride, and looks down on me as a poor canvas man."

"He must be very disagreeable!"

"Of course he is, but the manager don't think so. He treats him as if he was a prince."

"Do you know anything about this Robert Rudd?" asked the stranger, thoughtfully. "Has he got parents living?"

"Not as I know of."

"How long has he been with the circus?"

"He has been riding ever since he was a small kid."

"Does he ride well?"

"Oh yes, he'll do," said Carden, with faint praise.

"I should think he would have been afraid to provoke you—a strong, stout man like you," said the stranger meditatively, surveying the strong frame and muscular arms of the ex-canvas man.

"He'll repent it yet," flamed up Carden, his resentment fired by these artful words. "I don't mean to have any whipper-snapper like him get the better of me."

"I can't say you are wrong, my friend, though I know nothing of the matter further than you have told me. What are your plans? When were you discharged?"

"Day before yesterday. Coleman told me to leave town, but I shan't. I shall hang round here till I see some way of gettin' even with that young rascal."

"It does seem hard that you should have had your means of living taken away from you through the spite of a boy. He must have a very bad disposition, this Robert Rudd."

"Yes," said Carden, in a voice which was becoming thick through his frequent potations, for he was drinking two glasses or more to the stranger's one. "I'm a poor man, and it's hard to be thrown out of work."

"I suppose you haven't saved up much money, then?"

"Saved! What could I save out of fifteen dollars a month?"

"That is poor pay, certainly. Is this boy, Robert Rudd, well paid?"

"Well paid? He's got two hundred dollars saved up."

"You don't tell me so! That is a good deal for a boy. Where does he keep it?"

"In his locker," answered Carden, an expression of cupidity sweeping over his face.

This was not unnoticed by the stranger, who said to himself: "Unless I am greatly mistaken, the boy was right in charging you with trying to get at his hoard. I can read it in your face."

"You say he is a fine rider?" he said, changing the subject.

"Oh, yes; he's well enough."

"But if anything should startle the horse or frighten him, anything unexpectedly, I mean, he would be in some danger of being thrown off, wouldn't he?"

"That's so!" said Carden, as if a sudden idea had dawned upon his mind.

"It seems a dangerous business, this," said the stranger, carelessly. "If, now, some malicious person should throw something at the horse when he was in the ring, it might prove dangerous to the boy."

"So it would!" said Carden, eagerly.

"Well, my friend," said the stranger, rising, "I see we've drained the bottle. Suppose we go out again."

When they emerged into the street, Fitzgerald, for it was he, shook hands with the canvas man, and said: "Well, I must go back to the hotel. I hope to meet you again, my friend."

"I think I've set things in train," thought Fitzgerald. "I will attend the circus this evening."