Two: The Circus

Ever since he got back to the city, all Philip heard about was Barnum's Circus. No one had ever heard of this man before and initially dismissed him as an eccentric when he bought a building to turn it into a "museum of curiosities". But once he started advertising his acts, everyone took notice. He made it impossible not to notice.

What was more, Barnum seemed to take delight in shocking people. His acts ranged from a giant to a wild dog man to a bearded woman, and he displayed them all as if they were as magnificent as prima ballerinas. When given a negative review, he used it as a way to sell tickets. He twisted a word meant to scorn and turned it into a celebration.

Philip was completely baffled. What must living like that feel like? His most shocking act was getting drunk in the reception room following a show of his play, and he'd only done that because everyone around him was being so suffocating.

He couldn't deny it- he was intrigued by the circus. But even being among the crowd would risk his inheritance. Still, there was no harm in passing by. So Philip made sure his carriage rolled by the building just as the show was ending.

The people were talking and laughing, gesticulating energetically. Even from his carriage he could see the happiness on their faces. A few of the children were play-acting as the dog man or the little general. So much enthusiasm for low-brow humbug. Watching them gave Philip an almost painful ache in his chest. In all his years, he never saw anyone so much as crack a smile upon exiting a ballet or one of his plays. Those crowds were hushed and dignified, subdued and proper.

His eyes were glued to the circus and he twisted in his seat to keep watching until the carriage turned a corner and it was out of sight. He knew it wasn't for the likes of him, so why did it feel like his heart was being pulled there?

Philip needed to concentrate on his play. He dutifully endured every show and stood through every reception. One particular night, though, he was feeling especially stifled. He stepped out into the cool air and withdrew a flask from his pocket. Usually a few glasses of champagne would be enough to get him through but for special occasions, he needed the strength of whiskey. And being out here made it less likely he would feel judging eyes.

Of all the places for Barnum to approach him, of course it would be there.

That energy and brazenness was clearly not part of his act. He exuded larger-than-life confidence and never for a moment seemed to doubt whether Philip would buy what he was selling. With good reason: Philip was enchanted. He kept thinking longingly of those happy people exiting the show. Certainly his play sold out, but did any of those attending like it with that kind of passion?

"You understand," he sighed, "that just associating with you would cost me my inheritance?"

"Oh, it would cost you a lot more than that," Barnum replied. "You'd be risking everything. But then again, maybe you'd find yourself a free man. I can see it in your eyes, Mister Carlyle: you're trapped, unhappy. You said it yourself that the high-brows are suffocating, and friend, I'm offering you somewhere to breathe. Break out of the sensible conventions that wall you in and really live."

Somehow Barnum managed to hit the nail perfectly on the head. Philip stared at his shot glass, feeling the ache start to grow inside him. The older man made it sound so easy. Yes, the world of the circus would be thrilling and exciting, but Barnum said it himself: Philip would be risking everything. Not just his inheritance but his good standing in society. They would forgive his drinking but never working in the circus.

"I think I'm good where I am, Mister Barnum. I happen to enjoy my life." He pushed away, grabbing his things to leave. "I admire you and your show, but I can't have any part of it. I'm okay with the part I play; I have everything I need. I'm not in some cage." Philip wasn't sure which of them he was trying to convince with those words, but it clearly wasn't working on Barnum.

"So you're really okay with a life of misery? Drinking your way from one party to the next?"

"Better than being disgraced and disowned," Philip retorted.

"Is it?" Barnum challenged him. "Philip, do you even hear what you're saying? Settling for an 'okay' life when you could be a part of something so much more colorful, a place where you're allowed to dream big? I'm offering you a chance to break down those walls. To me, that seems like a risk worth taking. But..." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's up to you."

Philip stood absorbing every word. He wanted it; from the moment his eyes first saw the circus building he wanted to be a part of it. How ironic that the Prince of Humbug would force him to see the truth of his heart. Philip took in a slow breath. He could almost visualize the tie binding him to the life he knew.

And he pulled away from it, smiling. "So how much would be my cut?"