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"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 sup port 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.

CHAPTER XIV.
Jed's Luck.

JED continued to act in the part assigned to him. He knew that he was liable to be superseded at any time by Ralph Clinton, but he did not care to borrow trouble.

As a matter of fact, however, he was allowed to play till the end of the season, but this was not very far off. Warm weather had set in, and audiences became small.

One day Harry Bertram called Jed aside.

"Well, Jed," he said, "I am afraid we must part."

"Why, Mr. Bertram?"

"The weather has become so warm that we are no longer paying expenses. Mr. Mordaunt has decided to close the season on Saturday night"

Jed looked blank. He didn't know what would come next.

"I thought we might hold out another week, and we might if the weather had remained comfortable, but people won't come to see 'The Gold King' or any other play when the thermometer stands at eighty degrees."

"What shall you do, Mr. Bertram?"

"Fall back on my trade, if possible."

"What is that?"

"I am a telegraph operator, and I may be able to fill in the summer in some Western Union office. I have to work at summer prices, but as long as I make my board and lodging I shall be content."

"I wish I had a trade," said Jed thought- fully.

"You don't feel like going back to your old home?"

"In the Scranton poorhouse? Not much!" answered Jed energetically. "I'll starve first. Have you got any place engaged?"

"No, but I have worked two summers at Sea Spray, an Atlantic coast summer resort I shall go there and see if there is an opening."