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Updated: May 9, 2025
He would have to prove himself strong and brave, a good hunter and a good warrior, or his tribe would choose some more able leader. Pontiac, like most small boys, took his father for his pattern. His ambition was to be like him. But he was told early, "Be a good Indian. Be a good Ottawan. Be true to your tribe. Be a strong man and help your people. But don't think about being chief.
"No, sir." "Mother living?" Bubbles hesitated. "She's in an asylum. She's crazy." "What was your father's name?" Bubbles shook his head. The surgeon considered for a moment. "Well," he said, at length, and once more smiling, "put your clothes on, and then go to Miss Ferris and promise her that you won't smoke any more. What asylum did you say your mother was in?" "Ottawan." "Do you ever see her?"
"No, sir. She don't like to see me." "What is her name, Bubbles?" "Jenny Ward." Dr. Ferris ordered a car, and in less than two hours he was talking with the superintendent of Ottawan about the patient, Jenny Ward. "The boy," he was saying, "is a protégé of my daughter's. She means to educate him, and we are naturally interested in his antecedents.
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