The Circus Boys On The Flying Rings | Page 7

to be impudent to me? You--"
"No, sir, I am not impudent. I have never been that and I never shall be;
but you are accusing me wrongfully."
"Enough. You have done with school--"
"You--you mean that I am not to go to school any more--that I have got
to go through life with the little I have learned? Is that what you mean,
Uncle?" asked the boy, with a sinking heart.
"You heard me."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Work!"
"I am working and I shall be working," Phil replied.
"You're right you will, or you'll starve. I have been thinking this thing
over a lot lately. A boy never amounts to anything if he's mollycoddled
and allowed to spend his days depending on someone else. Throw him
out and let him fight his own way. That's what my father used to tell me,
and that's what I'm going to say to you."
"What do you mean, Uncle?"
"Mean? Can't you understand the English language? Have I got to draw
a picture to make you understand? Get to work!"
"I am going to as soon as school is out."
"You'll do it now. Get yourself out of my house, bag and baggage!"

"Uncle, Uncle!" protested the lad in amazement. "Would you turn me
out?"
"Would I? I have, only you are too stupid to know it. You'll thank me
for it when you get old enough to have some sense."
Phil's heart sank within him, and it required all his self-control to keep
the bitter tears from his eyes.
"When do you wish me to go?" he asked without a quaver in his voice.
"Now."
"Very well, I'll go. But what do you think my mother would say, could
she know this?"
"That will do, young man. Do your chores, and then--"
"I am not working for you now, Uncle, you know, so I shall have to
refuse to do the chores. There is fifty cents due me from Mr. Churchill
for fixing his chicken coop. You may get that, I don't want it."
Phil turned away once more, and with head erect entered the house,
going straight to his room, leaving Abner Adams fuming and stamping
about in the front yard. The old man's rage knew no bounds. He was so
beside himself with anger over the fancied impudence of his nephew
that, had the boy been present, he might have so far forgotten himself
as to have used his cane on Phil.
But Phil by this time had entered his own room, locking the door
behind him. The lad threw his books down on the bed, dropped into a
chair and sat palefaced, tearless and silent. Slowly his eyes rose to the
old-fashioned bureau, where his comb and brush lay. The eyes halted
when at length they rested on the picture of his mother.
The lad rose as if drawn by invisible hands, reached out and clasped the
photograph to him. Then the pent-up tears welled up in a flood. With
the picture pressed to his burning cheek Phil Forrest threw himself on

his bed and sobbed out his bitter grief. He did not hear the thump of
Abner Adams' cane on the bedroom door, nor the angry demands that
he open it.
"Mother, Mother!" breathed the unhappy boy, as his sobs gradually
merged into long-drawn, trembling sighs.
Perhaps his appeal was not unheard. At least Phil Forrest sprang from
his bed, holding the picture away from him with both hands and gazing
into the eyes of his mother.
Slowly his shoulders drew back and his head came up, while an
expression of strong determination flashed into his own eyes.
"I'll do it--I'll be a man, Mother!" he exclaimed in a voice in which
there was not the slightest tremor now. "I'll fight the battle and I'll win."
Phil Forest had come to the parting of the ways, which he faced with a
courage unusual in one of his years. There was little to be done. He
packed his few belongings in a bag that had been his mother's. The lad
possessed one suit besides the one he wore, and this he stowed away as
best he could, determining to press it out when he had located himself.
Finally his task was finished. He stood in the middle of the floor
glancing around the little room that had been his home for so long. But
he felt no regrets. He was only making sure that he had not left
anything behind. Having satisfied himself on this point, Phil gathered
up his bundle of books, placed the picture of his mother in his inside
coat pocket, then threw open the door.
The lad's uncle had stamped to the floor below, where he was awaiting
Phil's coming.
"Good-bye, Uncle,"