ned....

A hand fell heartily on the boy's shoulder. "Hello, there!" cried a
big voice. "Ain't you Millie Blade's kid?"

"Yes, sir," the boy gasped.

It was a big man--a broad-shouldered, lusty fellow, muscular and lithe:
good-humoured and dull of face, winning of voice and manner.
Countenance and voice were vaguely familiar to the boy. He felt no
alarm.

"What the devil you doing here?" the man demanded. "Looking for
Millie?"

"Oh, no!" the boy answered, horrified. "My mother isn't--_here_!"

"Well, what you doing?"

"I'm lost."

The man laughed. He clapped the boy on the back. "Don't you be
afraid," said he, sincerely hearty. "I'll take you home. You know me,
don't you?"

"Not your name."

"Anyhow, you remember me, don't you? You've seen me before?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, my name's Jim Millette. I'm an acrobat. And I know you. Why,
sure! I remember when you was born. Me and your mother is old
friends. Soon as I seen you I knew who you was. 'By gad!' says I, 'if
that ain't Millie Slade's kid!' How is she, anyhow?"

"She's very well."

"Working?"

"No," the boy answered, gravely; "my mother does not work."

The man whistled.

"I am living with Mr. Fithian, the curate," said the boy, with a sigh.
"So my mother is having--a very good--time."

"She must be lonely."

The boy shook his head. "Oh, no!" said he. "She is much
happier--without me."

"She's _what_?"

"Happier," the boy repeated, "without me. If she were not," he added,
"I would not live with the curate."

The man laughed. It was in pity--not in merriment. "Well, say," he
said, "when you see your mother, you tell her you met Jim Millette on
the street. Will you? You tell her Jim's been--married. She'll
understand. And I guess she'll be glad to know it. And, say, I guess
she'll wonder who it's to. You tell her it's the little blonde of the
Flying Tounsons. She'll know I ain't losing anything, anyhow, by
standing in with that troupe. Tell her it's all right. You just tell
her I said that everything was all right. Will you?"

"Yes, sir."

"You ain't never been to a show, have you?" the man continued. "I
thought not. Well, say, you come along with me. It ain't late. We'll
see the after-piece at the Burlesque. I'll take you in."

"I think," said the boy, "I had better not."

"Aw, come on!" the acrobat urged.

"I'm awful glad to see you, Dick," he added, putting his arm around the
boy, of kind