One could easily overlook Basil, this little being who scurried under people's feet. To the eyes of the circus visitors, he was just a fleeting shadow — glued to the ground, quick as lightning, Basil ran everywhere on the fairgrounds doing a thousand little tasks. Always in a hurry, always on the move. True to his size, he held a place at the very bottom of the circus hierarchy: he was merely the son of the ringmaster. (A glorified intern, if there is such a thing for a circus troupe.) He was barely noticed, so small in the immense shadow of his father. "Good for me," he thought. "Let them underestimate me... My rise to the top will be all the more dazzling." For Basil was determined to climb the ranks, no matter the obstacles. While picking up trash, he imagined himself already on a grand striped podium, addressing the crowd. When he manned the popcorn stand, he dreamed of wearing a top hat and wielding an ornate cane, orchestrating the grand show like a conductor leads his orchestra. Yes, Basil was a little runt, there was no doubt about it. But that didn’t discourage him. He knew his place in this world: right at the top. He would show them all — it was just a dream away.