Mr. Wattles sank into a convenient chair.
"Well," he said, with an air of stony resignation, "there's no use in fighting against fate. I give it up. We'll return the people their money and shut up the house."
"What's the matter?" asked Al.
"Why," replied Sparkley, "Miss Hollingsworth, who has been playing the part that Mrs. Anderson is billed for, has been here, and has had an interview with her successor, and got her so worked up that she absolutely refuses to appear."
"Why, I told the woman that she needn't come at all to-night!" cried Mr. Wattles.
"Well, she's here as large as life."
"Why did you let her in, Sparkley?"
"I couldn't very well refuse her admittance; she is a member of the company."
"That's so."
"Besides, I had no idea that she was going to raise a row. I think that Farley was at the bottom of the business; I saw him talking to her outside just before she came in."
"You did? That explains the whole thing. Well, I'm just going to let things take their course."
At this moment Mrs. Anderson came rushing towardthem, evidently greatly excited. She was closely followed by a young woman, quite as much agitated as herself.
Both women began talking at once, and it was two or three minutes before Mr. Wattles could make himself heard. When at last he succeeded in doing so, he said:
"Now, ladies, if you will speak one at a time, and talk slow, I will try to straighten things out. What is the trouble, Mrs. Anderson?"
"That woman," sobbed the society belle, indicating the actress, "has grossly insulted me. I cannot, I will not play."
"Have you forgotten your promise to me, Mrs. Anderson?" interposed Al.
"No, I have not, and I am very sorry that I cannot fulfill it. But it is impossible."
"I only told her," snapped Miss Hollingsworth, a fiery-looking, dark-haired, black-eyed woman, "that she was a rank amateur, and so she is. Why, it is an insult to give such a woman my part!"
"Yes, that's what she said," cried Mrs. Anderson, in a high-pitched voice. "I would never play the part unless she was discharged."
The manager's face lighted up.
"Will you play," he asked, "if I discharge her?"
"Yes."
"That settles it. Miss Hollingsworth, you are discharged."
"Wha-a-t?" screamed the actress.
"You heard what I said. You are given the usual two weeks' notice."
"I am discharged, I, Olga Hollingsworth, on account of this woman?"
"No, you are discharged because these exhibitions of bad temper on your part have tired me out. And now, madam," turning to Mrs. Anderson and speaking with the utmost politeness, "will you kindly return to your dressing room and complete your preparations for your appearance? You will have to go on in less than fifteen minutes."
"I will do so, sir."
And with a withering glance at the actress, the mayor's wife swept away.
"You shan't forget this evening's work in a hurry, Mr. Gus Wattles!" hissed the enraged Miss Hollingsworth. "You'll rue the day when you made Dick Farley and me your enemies!"
"So Farley is at the bottom of all this, is he?" said the manager. "I thought so."
"Never mind whether he is or not," was the actress' reply. "I wish you good-evening, Wattles. I don't want your two weeks' notice. I wouldn't play in your company again for ten times the miserable salary you paid me. Find some one else to play the part to-morrow night or shut up the house."
With these words and a vindictive glance, the woman left the theater, slamming the stage door violently behind her.
Mr. Wattles drew a long breath of relief.
"I'm glad to get rid of her," he said. "This isn't the first time she and I have had words. I'll have another woman here to play the part to-morrow night, or I'll cut it out altogether; it isn't of any importance, anyhow. And, I say, I believe that Mrs. Anderson has the making of an actress in her, after all. She's as good a kicker as if she had been in the business all her life. No danger of her suffering from stage fright; she has too good an opinion of herself. Well, I must go around to the front now. Come with me and see how things look."
The house was, as Al had predicted, packed to the doors; even standing room was at a premium. Such an audience had never been seen in the opera house before.
The souvenir spoons had proved a great success; everyone was extolling the liberality of the management.
"This is immense," chuckled Mr. Wattles, rubbing his hands. "Allston, you are a trump. I wish you could do this in every town we visit."
"Well, I'll do my best to repeat the success," smiled Al. "What can't be done in one way can in another."
"And you're the lad who can do it. But the curtain is going up. I hope Mrs. Anderson will be all right. She comes on in less than five minutes. Come up to the manager's box now; it's the only place in the house where we can get a seat."
The two elbowed their way through the crowd; and, not without some difficulty, reached the box in question. They had hardly taken their seats when Mrs. Andersonstepped upon the stage. Her appearance was the signal for a perfect whirlwind of applause.
"Well," said Mr. Wattles, as the lady stood bowing and smiling, "she is a good-looker, anyway. She's as well made up as if she'd been in the profesh for years; and, by Jove! she's as cool as a veteran! What a reception! Irving himself couldn't ask for a better one."
In fact, it was nearly or quite three minutes before the débutante could go on with her part. By this time the stage was half filled with "floral tributes," one huge piece being from the board of aldermen. When the mayor, who was seated in an opposite box, saw this, his face, which had until then worn a rather gloomy expression, lighted up, and he began to manifest some signs of interest in the performance.
As Mr. Wattles had said, the part that had been assigned to Mrs. Anderson was one of very little importance. It would have been difficult to make a failure of it. The lady recited her lines well, and when she left the stage she was furiously applauded.
"That shows what the public appreciation of the drama amounts to," remarked Mr. Wattles, sarcastically, although he had applauded Mrs. Anderson as loudly as anyone. "You can't hear yourself think for the noise they make about this society woman; yet, on the same stage there is a little girl who has real talent. But they ignore her."
"You mean the young lady who plays the part ofEthel Darlington?" questioned Al.
"Yes, of course I do. I see that you, at least, know good acting when you see it; but here comes Mrs. Anderson again. Ah! that old fellow in the box over there is going to make a speech."
Al recognized in the "old fellow" referred to one of Boomville's prominent citizens—a certain Maj. Duncan.
The major, who enjoyed nothing in life more than hearing himself talk in public or in private, had risen in his seat and was signaling for silence.
In a few moments the house was so still that the fall of the traditional pin would have startled the more nervous portion of the audience.
The major, standing at the edge of the box, delivered, in a sonorous voice, a fulsome speech of praise, addressed to Mrs. Anderson, ending by presenting her with a wreath of laurels.
The lady, not in the least embarrassed, made a brief reply, and was about to resume her part, when Maj. Duncan, who had remained standing, said:
"But this is not all. There is here to-night a young fellow townsman of ours of whom Boomville should be proud. I refer to the gentleman seated in the proscenium box on the other side."
And the orator fixed his eyes on Al's face.
Everyone in the house stared at Al, and Mr. Wattles whispered in his ear:
"Why, he means you! What have you been up to? I tell you, this is a great night for Boomville."
Evidently Maj. Duncan expected some acknowledgment of his compliment from Al, for after a moment's silence he added:
"I repeat, I refer to the young gentleman yonder, Mr. Allen Allston."
"Get up and bow," whispered the manager, in our hero's ear.
Scarcely knowing what he was doing, Al obeyed.
The entire audience applauded, although there were not three persons among them who knew why they did it.
"Will the young gentleman kindly step upon the stage?" went on the major.
Without speaking, Mr. Wattles seized the boy by the arm, and fairly dragged him through a narrow door in the rear of the box.
"This is the easiest way of getting on the stage," he said. "I wonder what they have got on foot. They ought to have told us. In a case like this it is always the proper caper to have a witty impromptu speech ready, and they ought to have given you a chance to prepare one atyour leisure—they really ought. But this is not New York. Now, then, my boy, step out on the stage. Don't you hear them shouting for you?"
But Al held back.
"I don't understand all this," he said. "What do they want with me?"
"Go and find out."
"But——"
"Allston! Allston!" came from all parts of the theater.
"Go on!"
And Mr. Wattles fairly pushed his companion upon the stage.
It is not necessary to say that Al was greatly embarrassed as he confronted the sea of faces. His appearance was greeted with wild cheers, though the audience did not know what they were cheering about.
In a few moments silence was again restored through the efforts of Maj. Duncan, who then cleared his throat and began:
"It may not be known to many of you that we have a hero, a genuine hero, among us, but it is a fact. And that hero now stands blushingly upon the stage before us. Ladies and gentlemen, picture to yourselves this scene—a team of maddened horses rushing at a terrible rate of speed directly for a spot where a defenseless child has fallen on the highway. Apparently the little girl is doomed to a horrible death. The spectators stand spellbound—all save one, a youth. He rushes forward and, at the risk of his own life, saves the child from the fate thata moment before seemed inevitable. That youth, ladies and gentlemen, was Allen Allston; the little girl he rescued was the child of our mayor."
The major's rather theatrical speech was here interrupted by frantic applause, much to the orator's gratification and Al's embarrassment.
When silence once more reigned the major went on:
"It is not necessary that I enlarge upon the heroism displayed by this noble youth; it is evident to all of you, and the performance has already, perhaps, been delayed too long. I will close by requesting the acceptance by Mr. Allston of this token of esteem and appreciation from Mayor Anderson, who has delegated to me the most agreeable duty of making the presentation speech. Take it, my young friend; and always wear it in remembrance of those whom you have placed under so heavy a debt of gratitude."
As he spoke Maj. Duncan extended a diamond ring to the boy.
Al was obliged to cross the stage to receive it. By this time he had partially regained his usual self-possession. He took the ring with a graceful bow, and attempted to speak.
But the effort proved a total failure. The words stuck in his throat; he could only give utterance to an inaudible murmur.
"Speech, speech!" cried a dozen or more persons, but Al was unable to gratify their wishes. In great confusion he retired to the comparative seclusion of the stage, where Mr. Wattles met him and grasped his hand.
"I had no idea you were a hero," he said. "But why didn't you make a speech? Oh, I understand—stage fright. Well, never mind, you're the hero of the hour, anyway. Isn't that ring a sparkler! Just completes your outfit as advance agent; they always wear a diamond ring, you know. Well, this is a great night, and no mistake."
By this time the performance had been resumed. It was brought to a successful conclusion two hours later, Mrs. Anderson having been called before the curtain no less than ten times.
"I'm glad everything went off so well," said Mr. Wattles to Al, when the audience had dispersed. "I was a little afraid that fellow, Farley, would try to make some trouble for us. He's just about crazy enough from drink to do something desperate if the idea occurred to him. Look out for him, Allston."
"I'm not afraid of him," said Al.
"Nevertheless, be on your guard. Well, didn't everything go off in great shape? That presentation alone will be worth a good many dollars to the show. Accounts of it will be published all over the country."
"I wish they had given me the ring in private," said Al.
"You do? Well, I don't! You must get over some of that modesty of yours; you won't need it in your career as advance agent. Going now? Well, good-night. You'll be ready to start for the next town at noon to-morrow?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Look out for Farley on your way home."
"I'm not worrying about him," laughed Al. "I guess you're more afraid of him than I am, sir. Good-night."
Al lived a little way out of the town. To get home it was necessary for him to ride for half an hour in a horse car, and then to walk some distance along a lonely country road.
Singular to say, the subject that engrossed his thoughts during the ride was not the events of the day, not the new career that he was about to begin. One face was constantly before his mental vision, the face of the beautiful young girl—Miss Gladys March, the bills called her—who had played the part ofEthel Darlington.
Why did her face haunt him so persistently? he asked himself. She was a complete stranger to him, yet, somehow, he felt as if he had known her all his life.
His thoughts were still on her when he left the car and began his lonely walk.
So absorbed was he in meditation that he did not notice that from the moment he alighted from the car he was followed at a short distance by a man whose face was concealed by a high coat collar and a slouch hat.
The full moon was shining brightly, but Al's pursuer lurked in the shadows of the trees and shrubbery that lined the road on either side.
For half an hour this pursuit of the boy continued; then the man gave a shrill whistle.
As Al turned, three masked men sprang from a clumpof bushes on his left and seized him. Before he could cry out a gag was thrust into his mouth. A few moments later he was bound hand and foot.
Then one of his assailants lifted him in his arms and bore him up a side road, near which the assault had been committed. A covered wagon stood in waiting here. Al was placed in it; then his captors and the man who had followed him from the car, entered, and the vehicle was driven rapidly away.
At the expiration of, perhaps, half an hour the wagon was brought to a standstill, and Al was lifted out.
It was a strange sight that met his gaze.
Half a dozen masked men were assembled under a tree, over one of the boughs of which was flung a stout rope.
One of the strange party stepped forward and removed the gag from the boy's mouth, saying:
"If you have any last remarks to make, make 'em now, and be quick about it. We don't propose to fool away any time on this job."
"What does all this mean?" gasped Al. "What are you going to do?"
"We're going to string you up in just about two minutes at the outside," was the reply; "so if you have anything to say you'd better hurry."
"You are going to murder me?" the boy cried.
"Well, we don't put it just that way," was the cool reply of the man who had spoken before.
"How do you put it, then?"
"We are going to execute you. In cases like yours the law is a little too slow for us, so we have constituted ourselves judge, jury, executioners and all the rest of it. Young fellow, you've stolen your last horse."
The truth flashed upon Al.
For several weeks residents of the neighborhood of Boomville—principally farmers—had been the victims of a clever horse thief, who had, since he began operations, stolen a number of valuable animals. The authorities seemed to be powerless in the matter, although they professed to be using every possible means to bring the thief to justice. Only one clew had been gained; one of the stolen horses had been sold to a farmer in a village about fifty miles distant by a youth of about sixteen, who had given a plausible reason to the simple-minded purchaser for having the animal in his possession. The farmer had been able to give a quite minute description of the boy. Al had read that description, and now remembered, with a sinking of the heart, that it would apply tohim fully as well as to the thief for whom he was taken.
"See here," he exclaimed, impetuously, "you are making a terrible mistake! I am not the person you think me to be."
"That's all right," was the sarcastic response of the spokesman of the crowd. "I told you we were not going to waste any words on you, and we are not."
"String him up!" shouted another of the party. "Get the job done with! We're taking big chances in delaying the thing."
"That's right!"
"H'ist the derned hoss thief, then!"
"We've had enough chin music; let's get to work."
These were a few of the comments of the would-be executioners.
One man now stepped to the front. It was he who had followed Al from the town. He had now donned a mask like the rest of the party.
"I'll do the job," he said. "Will you leave it to me, gents?"
Al started. Where had he heard that voice? Before any reply could be made he said, in a loud, clear voice:
"Gentlemen, I am innocent of this crime. My name is Allen Allston. I live in Boomville. Hundreds of people there know me, and can tell you what my reputation is. Why, I should not have the slightest trouble in proving an alibi. If you murder me, you will all bitterly regret it some day. You do not want to commit a murder; you want to do what you think an act of justice. You are making an awful mistake; give me a chance, and I will prove it."
These words had a visible effect upon the desperate men. They began to converse together in a low tone—all but the man who had followed Al; he stood aloof from the rest.
"See here," he presently said, in a voice that Al noticed trembled slightly, "if you gents have any more time to fool away here I haven't. I don't propose to get into any trouble through this thing. I have tried to do you a service, but you don't seem to appreciate it."
"We don't want to make any mistake," said the spokesman.
"But you're not making any mistake. Don't I tell you I know the boy, that he is the same one that sold me the horse last week?"
Here Al interposed.
"Do you claim," he asked, "that you are the farmer to whom the horse thief sold one of the stolen animals last week?"
"I do; and I recognize you as the person. It's no use, my fine fellow, the jig's up. I've been shadowing you for some time, and I've got you down fine."
Al turned to the group of men, who had been listening in silence to the brief dialogue.
"Gentlemen," he said, "do any of you know the farmer who bought the horse from the thief? Could any one of you swear to his identity?"
The spokesman replied, this time using a gentler tone than before.
"No, my lad," he said, "not one of us ever saw the man until to-night."
"You don't see him now," said Al. "I do not believe that this is the man at all. He is some enemy of mine, who has imposed upon you for his own personal ends."
"Bah!" interrupted the subject of discussion, "are we to stand here all night listening to this sort of stuff? The young villain is only trying to gain time. Of course, if he will steal, he will lie."
"All I ask is a fair trial," said Al, "but I see I cannot get that here. However, gentlemen, if you must kill some one, don't kill the wrong man. It looks to me a good deal as if this fellow were the real thief, and that he was trying to throw dust in your eyes. None of you ever saw him before, you say. Now, perhaps I have seen him. Let me see his face; it may be that I can identify him."
"That's fair enough."
"That's all right."
"Off with your mask, stranger, and let the boy see your face."
It was evident that the sentiment of the crowd was turning in Al's favor.
"Why should I show him my face?" said the boy's accuser. "All the rest of you are masked."
"We'll take off our masks if you take off yours," said the spokesman. "Eh, boys?"
"Ay! ay!" came from the others.
Still the stranger hesitated.
"It's risky for all of us," he said. "Have done with this nonsense. If you are going to do away with the thief, get to work; if you're not, why, let him go. We can't stand here all night chinning."
"Off with your mask!" said the leader of the crowd, sternly.
"All right," said the fellow, desperately; "I agree. Off with yours, then, all of you."
Several of the crowd removed their masks. The stranger raised his hand, as if to take his off, but instead of doing so, he turned suddenly and made a rush for a thick growth of wood near which the scene we have just described had been enacted. In a few moments—before his companions could recover from their astonishment—he had disappeared.
"After him, Hammond and Thompson, and you, Porter!" shouted the leader. "Don't let him get away from you."
Then turning to Al, he added:
"Boy, I believe we have made a mistake. That fellow is the real thief."
"I don't know about that," said our hero, "but I do know I'm not."
"If he isn't the thief, what motive could he have had in accusing an innocent person?"
"Perhaps it is some one who has a grudge against me."
"It must be an awful grudge to induce him to lay such a plot as that against you. Do you suspect anyone?"
"I'd rather not mention any names," said Al.
Here an old farmer, one of the three or four who had removed their masks, stepped forward.
"Don't let this here boy fule yer," he said. "I b'lieve he's one o' the gang. Mark my word, it'll turn aout so."
"You think so, do you, Mr. Chadwick?" said Al, quietly, looking the old man full in the face.
"Yeou know me, dew yeou?"
"Yes, and you ought to know me. Have you forgotten Allen Allston?"
The farmer gasped for breath.
"I'll be derned ef it ain't Jack Allston's boy!" he exclaimed. "Why, o' course I know yeou."
"I told you my name before."
"I wuz so 'xcited that I didn't take notice. I wuz so sure, yeou see, thet we hed the right one. Boys"—turning to the others—"I'll swear thet this here lad don't know no more 'baout who stole them hosses than we do. I know all his folks, an' there ain't a dishonest hair in the heads o' enny o' them. I'd ha' know'd him at fust, but I ain't seen him fer a year or more, an' he's grow'd. An' besides, my eyesight ain't what it used ter be. Boys, we've hed a narrer escape from committin' a murder." The men now crowded round Al and shook his hands, and apologized for their rough treatment of him.
While they were thus engaged the three who had gone in pursuit of Al's accuser returned.
"Ain't you got him?" cried Farmer Chadwick.
"No, he gave us the slip. The moon has gone under a cloud, and in the darkness he got away. But we'll catch him yet."
Then the man turned to Al.
"Boy," he queried, "have you any suspicion as to who the fellow is?"
Our hero hesitated, then he replied:
"Yes, I have."
"Who do you think he is?" cried two or three of the men together.
"I would rather not say," replied the boy.
"Why?"
"Because I might be wronging an innocent man."
"But we want to find the thief."
"I cannot help you do that. If the man is the one I think he may be, he did not steal the horses."
"Why did he accuse you, then?" demanded one of the party.
"Merely to satisfy a private grudge."
"Then he ought to be found and punished; so why do you try to shield him?"
"Because it is my private affair," replied Al, quietly. "And because I do not like your way of administering what you call justice. See how near you came to making a mistake to-night. But how did you run across the fellow who said I was the thief?"
"I'll tell you," replied the spokesman, rather sheepishly. "A few of us were in a saloon in Boomville theearly part of the evening. We had indulged in a few drinks, and we must have talked a little louder than we realized, for this fellow overheard us telling how we were going to start a search for the horse thief to-night and string him up if we found him. He came and told us that he could lead us to him. Well, he talked as if he knew what he was saying, and—— Well, you know the rest."
"So," said Al, "you took the word of a barroom loafer, or worse, on a matter of so much importance as that."
"We were excited and had drunk a little too much."
"Well, it seems to me that you had better leave the future management of the business to the proper authorities," suggested Al.
"Maybe you're right," admitted the man he addressed. "Well, you won't say anything about this night's affair to anyone?"
"I shall say nothing that can harm you. The thing shall not be made public through me."
"We'll take your word for that. And now, get into the wagon, and you shall be driven home."
Al's ride home after his queer adventure was an uneventful one. He was glad enough to reach the solitude of his own room. Although his body was tired, his mind seemed abnormally active, and for at least two hours he lay tossing sleeplessly on his bed, reviewing not only the exciting events of the day, but much of his past life.
We have thus far said nothing of our hero's past, nor shall we now; we will let him tell the story himself, as he did the next morning when he visited the mayor's office.
Ten o'clock was the time Mr. Anderson had appointed for their interview, but Al was off hand a little before that hour. Mr. Wattles had told him that he must leave Boomville for the next town at noon, and he knew he had no time to waste.
The mayor received him cordially.
"I'm delighted to see you, my dear young friend," was his greeting, as he grasped the boy's hand. "We had a grand success last night, did we not? And it was all due to your efforts. If it had not been for your persistency Mrs. Anderson would not have appeared."
"Then you are not sorry that she played, sir?" questioned Al, somewhat surprised at the mayor's enthusiasm.
"Sorry? Not a bit of it! Why, it was one of the grandest triumphs in the history of the American stage."
Al had his own opinion on that point, but he did not express it; he only said:
"The audience seemed to be very much pleased with Mrs. Anderson's work."
"Pleased! Of course they were pleased. How could they help it? As for myself, I was as much delighted as I was surprised. I have given my consent to Mrs. Anderson's second appearance to-night."
"Indeed, sir?"
"Yes. Mr. Wattles came to me and, in the most respectful manner, asked the favor. You see, the woman who has been playing the part was so angered by my wife's success that she refused to appear. I could do nothing but yield, especially as Mr. Wattles assures me that there was a widespread feeling of disappointment on the part of those who were unable to gain admission last night. Mr. Wattles, my lad, considers Mrs. Anderson one of the greatest geniuses on the American stage; he told me so this morning."
Al could not help thinking that the "foxy" manager was overdoing the thing a little; but he did not express any opinion. In fact, Mr. Anderson did not give him a chance to do so, for he went on as soon as he had caught his breath:
"But never mind about all that now. Some day you will doubtless remember with pride that you assisted atthe début of Mrs. Anderson; but let us now talk of yourself."
"We might find a more interesting subject, sir," suggested Al.
"It is like your modesty to say so, but I cannot agree with you. Now, my lad, I have taken a great interest in you, and I am going to do what I can to help you along in the world. What do you most need now, Mr. Allston?"
"Good health, sir," laughed Al; "or, rather, a continuance of it. I have about everything else I want."
"Well, I am about to offer you something that you haven't got."
"What is that, sir?"
"A position under the city government, a position with very little work and a good salary. It has never been held by anyone as young as you before, but I haven't the slightest doubt that you will be able to discharge its duties satisfactorily. In fact, it is almost a sinecure."
"You are very kind, sir," said Al, as the mayor paused, "but I cannot accept the position."
"Eh? You cannot? Why not?"
"For two reasons, sir."
"What are they?"
"One is that the position you are kind enough to offer to me is not the kind I am looking for. I am not looking for an easy berth. I want a place where there will be plenty to do."
The mayor stared at the boy incredulously.
"Well," he said, "you are an original. And what is your other reason for refusing?"
"It is that I have a good place now, sir."
"Ah, indeed? What is it?"
"Mr. Wattles has engaged me as advance agent for his company."
Mr. Anderson's face clouded.
"And you would rather travel with a show than have an easy, respectable position here at home?"
"I would, sir."
"Well, that is a matter of taste. I should prefer the berth I have just offered you."
"I hope you are not offended, Mr. Anderson?" said Al, a little diffidently.
"Offended! No, no, my boy; but I think you are making a mistake."
"The end will show, sir."
"Yes, yes, the end will show. Well, I can't help feeling an interest in you, not only because you rescued my child, but because you seem to me to be a rather unusual lad. Do you mind answering me a few questions? Believe me, I shall not ask them out of mere idle curiosity."
"Ask as many as you like, sir."
"Do you live in Boomville?"
"A little way out of the town, sir."
"Are your parents living?"
"Only my mother."
"And your father—has he been dead long?"
"He died before I was born, sir."
"Can it be that your father was John Allston?"
"That was his name, sir."
"Why, good gracious!" exclaimed the mayor, with a new interest, "I knew him. It was years ago, and we were never intimate, but I had a speaking acquaintance with him. Let me see, was there not something peculiar about the manner of his death? I remember hearing something said about it at the time, but it was so long ago that I cannot remember just what it was."
"People said, sir," replied Al, "and I guess they were right, that my father died of a broken heart."
"I remember now!" interrupted Mr. Anderson. "His child, your sister, was stolen. Her loss was such a blow to him that he only survived the shock a few months."
"Yes, sir; that is true."
"It is a sad story. Was your sister never found?"
"No, sir."
"Nor any clew to the mystery gained?"
"Nothing of any importance, sir. It was suspected that her nurse had something to do with the affair, and she was shadowed for a long time. But nothing was ever learned."
"I can sympathize with your poor father and mother, my boy," said the mayor, with more emotion than Al had seen him manifest before. "I can understand his feelings. But the depth of a mother's love is something we of the grosser sex cannot ever quite comprehend. Isuppose your mother has never entirely recovered from the blow."
"She never has, Mr. Anderson; and it is in the hope that I may help her to do so that I have taken this engagement with Mr. Wattles' company."
The mayor stared at Al.
"You have taken this engagement for your mother's sake?" he said. "I don't understand."
"I didn't say that," the boy replied. "I took it because I believed the work was just the sort I could do well. At any rate, it was just the sort I wanted to do. But I also thought that it might give me a good chance to look for my sister. What can I ever do if I stay here in Boomville? Nothing. I will go out into the world; and who knows——"
He paused, perhaps a little offended, for the mayor was smiling.
"I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, my boy," Mr. Anderson said, straightening out his features, "but your hopefulness reminds me of my own when I started out in life. Alas! those dreams!"
"But you succeeded, sir."
"Yes, I succeeded, but in a far different line from that I marked out for myself. But"—in a changed tone—"it is later than I thought, and I must reluctantly say good-by. I am sorry you will not take the position I have offered you; but I cannot say that I respect you less for having refused it. When do you leave town?"
"At noon."
"And it is nearly eleven now. Well, my boy, let me hear from you once in a while; and be sure that you will always have a friend in John Anderson."
"Thank you, sir. Good-morning."
And Al backed toward the door.
"Wait a moment," the mayor cried, suddenly producing a sealed envelope from his pocket. "I want you to take this. Open it at your leisure. I trust the contents will prove acceptable to you. And now, good-day, good-day."
Al could not help thinking that the manner in which his companion almost shoved him out of the room was due to a fear that he would open the envelope before he got out. But he put it in his pocket, saying:
"I am very much obliged to you for your kindness to me, sir."
"The obligation is on the other side, Mr. Allston," was the reply. "But good-day—and good luck to you."
It was after eleven when Al reached Mr. Wattles' hotel.
"I was beginning to be a little nervous about you," said the manager. "But I said to myself: 'I don't believe he is one of the kind that go back on an agreement.'"
"And you were right, Mr. Wattles."
"You know you must leave by the noon train."
"I am all ready, sir."
"Our next stand, as you are aware, is Rockton. It has the reputation of being a bad show town, and if you can create afurorethere you will do well."
"I'll try, sir."
"There is one morning paper there; do what you can with it."
"I will. If you could only persuade Mrs. Anderson to go there! She was born in Rockton, and the whole population would turn out to see her."
"I thought of that, and tried it. But the mayor wouldn't hear of it. But he is going to let his wife appear here again to-night, all the same."
"So I have heard."
"Eh? Are the bills out already?"
"I guess not. I have just come from the mayor's office."
"Ah! indeed? Well, that's right; it's policy to keep in with such people."
Al's face flushed.
"I didn't go there as a matter of policy," he said, "but only because I promised the mayor yesterday that I would."
"Well, he ought to do something handsome for you in return for the great service you did him."
"I think he did quite enough in giving me that ring last night. My mother says it must be worth at least five hundred dollars, and she knows something about such things."
"It is worth more than that. But Anderson ought to do more for you. Why doesn't he get you a job under the city with a fat salary and nothing to do?"
"That's just what he offered me this morning," laughed Al.
The manager's jaw fell.
"Then I shall lose you before long, of course?"
"Not on account of that political job."
"Eh?"
"I refused it."
"You did?"
"Of course. I want a job where there is something to do."
"Well, you've got it with me," said Mr. Wattles, evidently gratified. "But he might have given you a check."
"Maybe he did," said Al, reminded of the envelope that the mayor had handed him just before he left the office.
He took it from his pocket, tore it open and drew from it a long, narrow strip of paper.
The manager, who was looking over the boy's shoulder, exclaimed:
"Well, he has done the handsome thing, and no mistake."
The check was for five thousand dollars.
"I won't take it!" cried Al.
"Yes, you will take it!" said Mr. Wattles, very emphatically. "To return it would be to offend him very deeply."
"But——"
"But you must be starting for the train. Come, I'll walk to the depot with you. I have a number of points to give you."
When they parted, the manager was better pleased than ever with Al. His "points" did not seem to be needed bythe boy; a knowledge of and adaptability to the business seemed to have been born in him.
"You're all right," said Mr. Wattles, slapping his new advance agent on the shoulder just before they parted. "I consider a big house in Rockton a dead-sure thing."
Al was not quite so confident, however. In Boomville circumstances had favored him, but he could not hope for the same luck in Rockton; there he would have to prove his fitness to be the advance agent of the New York Comedy Company by tact and hard work.
In conversation with a gentleman on the train, he learned a fact of which Mr. Wattles had not informed him—that Barnum's circus was at Rockton.
"There won't be a corporal's guard at your show," said his informant, unsympathetically. "Everybody for miles around has been saving up to go to the circus. Other shows will be simply not in it."
As if to add to Al's annoyance, the circus parade was going on when he reached Rockton; at any other time he would have stopped and looked at it, but he was not in the mood now.
The sidewalks near the depot were crowded with eager sightseers. Al forced his way through their ranks, and attempted to cross the street, heedless of the warning cries of those who saw him.
He had reached the middle of the street when he attracted the attention of one of the elephants, an animal with a national reputation for viciousness. The beastquickened its pace, reached the boy, seized him in its trunk and raised him high in the air, with the evident intention of dashing him to the pavement.
A cry of horror rose from the crowd. Apparently Al was doomed to a frightful death.
The elephant that had seized Al was, as we have said, well known for his viciousness. He had killed two keepers and injured half a score of persons. One of his escapades had occurred quite recently, and was fresh in the minds of most of the witnesses of his attack on the boy.
There was an almost simultaneous cry from the onlookers, followed by a dead silence. The animal's small eyes twinkled viciously. It was evident enough that in crossing his path Al had excited his ire, and that it was his intention to revenge himself in a characteristic manner.
Suddenly a sharp cry broke the silence. It was the voice of the elephant's keeper, who had been lagging a little behind, but who now came rushing up, shouting a command to his charge in a language unintelligible to most of his hearers. To all of them, perhaps, except the animal; it was plain enough that he understood it.
His manner changed. He held his captive poised in the air a moment, then dropped him.
Al fell heavily to the pavement directly under the feet of the beast. A new plan of revenge evidently suggested itself to the elephant. He was about to plant one of his huge feet on the boy's chest when the keeper again gave utterance to the same cry of command.
The warning had its effect; the animal stepped over his intended victim, not touching him.
In another moment Al had sprung out of harm's way.
It was an exciting scene. Men were shouting, children crying and women sobbing.
One nervous, hysterical lady, whom the boy had never seen before in his life, clasped him tightly in her arms, and wept convulsively on his shoulder.
Al was, perhaps, the coolest person in the crowd. Disengaging himself from the embrace of his new-found friend, he said:
"There's nothing to cry about, madam; I'm all right."
"You're sure you're not hurt?" sobbed the lady, scarcely knowing what she was saying.
"Not in the least; not so much as scratched."
"You've had a mighty narrow escape, all the same, young man," said the elephant's keeper—the procession had come to a standstill, and many of the employees had crowded around the boy. "This ought to be a lesson to you not to try to cross a circus parade again."
"It will be," said Al, with a smile. "At any rate, I shall be careful not to get too near the elephants."
Just then a nervous, bustling little man with a notebook in his hand forced his way through the crowd to where Al was standing.
"I represent the RocktonDaily Banner," he announced. "Please give me your name, sir."
"Certainly," replied the boy, with an eye to business. "I am the advance agent of Wattles' New York ComedyCompany, which plays here to-morrow night, appearing in——"
"That's all right," the reporter interrupted. "I know what it appears in. But your name, please."
"It is Allen Allston."
"What! not the youth who so heroically saved the life of the child of Mayor Anderson, of Boomville? Not the same who was presented with the ring at the opera house last night?"
By this time the circus parade had been resumed; but, in the immediate vicinity of the scene of the adventure we have recorded, it excited less interest than the interview between Al and the reporter.
The boy colored and hesitated.
"Yes," went on theBannerman, "you must be the same. Why, there were two columns about you in the paper this morning. You seem born for adventure. You being the hero of the hour, your escape of this morning will excite great interest. I can make at least a column of it. Here, Mr. Allston, come with me. We must get out of this crowd; then we can have a talk."
Al resigned himself to the inevitable, and forced his way through the crowd, arm in arm with the reporter.
While he shrank from having his personal affairs made public, he also had the interests of his employer at heart; he saw that the exciting incident of the morning might be used as an advertisement for the show, and he decided to sacrifice his feelings and let the ambitious and energetic reporter have his own way.
"We'll step in here," said theBannerman, leading the way into the lobby of a hotel. "Really, it is lucky for you that this thing happened; it can't fail to boom your show. And it needs booming, too, let me tell you, for the circus will be here to-morrow night, and is pretty sure to gather in about all the surplus cash that will be left in the neighborhood after to-day's performances."
"Still," said Al, "my company is a strong attraction."
"Under ordinary circumstances, yes; but not when the circus is in town. Still, we'll see what can be done. I've heard a good deal about you during the last twenty-four hours, and, honestly, I'd like to help you. You give me all the most startling facts in your career, and I'll write 'em up in good style."
"But," smiled Al, "there has never been anything startling in my career."
"Eh?" gasped the reporter. "What did you say?"
Al repeated the statement.
"An advance agent without a startling career!" said theBannerman. "Why, such a thing was never heard of before. As a rule we have to cut out nine-tenths of the blood-curdling incidents in advance agents' careers, and even then what is left sounds like an Arabian Nights story."
Al laughed.
"Well," he said, "then I am a remarkable exception. Isn't that a startling fact?"
"That may help things out a little."
"Besides, it is not myself that I want to boom, but the New York Comedy Company."
"Well, you are arara avis! But by booming yourself you may at the same time boom the show. Now, tell me all about yourself first. You see, the public is more interested about you personally than about Mr. Wattles' company. But I'll work in a good notice for the show, too. Now, then, please tell me where you were born, when—and all the rest of it."
Within ten minutes the reporter was in possession of most of the facts of Al's "career"; and, as the boy had said, there was nothing very startling in the story. But when theBannerman had wormed the fact out of the lad that his sister had been lost or stolen in infancy, he exclaimed:
"Why, that's just what I want. A romance in your life! Nothing could be better. A long-lost sister! That will show up in great shape in the heading."
"But," interrupted Al, coloring, "I don't want anything said about it. Please omit any reference to my family."
"Well," said the reporter, "just as you say; but it is easy to see that you have not been an advance agent very long. Why, my dear boy, the article which I am going to write will be copied all over the country, and might be the means of restoring your sister to you. But there, there"—as Al was about to speak—"I'll consider your wishes in the matter, and if I say anything about your sister it will only be a passing reference, couched in the most delicate terms. And now, then, what about thecompany? How many thousand dollars' worth of diamonds has the leading lady lost during the last week? Which of the men of the company is engaged to be married to one of Gould's daughters? Don't be bashful; tell me all you have to tell, and I'll use all of the stuff I can. You've given me an A1 interview, and I'm glad to have a chance to do you a good turn."
Al had a few alleged facts about certain members of the New York Comedy Company, and he proceeded to retail them to his companion, who made notes of them.
"They're rather chestnutty," he said, as he returned his notebook to his pocket, "but I'll fix them up in as good shape as I can, and they may help you out a little. However, you mustn't expect a big house to-morrow night, for you won't have it."
With this cheering assurance theBannerscribe took his leave.
It had occurred to Al, too, that the notices which had been furnished him by Mr. Wattles were somewhat "chestnutty."
"Never mind," he said to himself, "somehow or other I'll fix things so that we'll have a big house. But, judging from the way I have begun, my first engagement as advance agent is not going to be much of a 'snap.'"
Al was busy during the entire day seeing that the paper—that is, the posters, window hangers, etc.—of the company was displayed to the best advantage.
This work had been done after a fashion some days before by the local manager, but the way in which theduty had been performed did not suit the young advance agent, and he kept men "hustling" all day.
"What's the use?" said the manager of the theater, with a weary smile. "It's sure to be a losing engagement, anyhow."
"Maybe not," returned Al. "You'd better get the 'standing-room-only' sign dusted off, in case we need it."
"Rats!" was the response. "Young man, when you know this business and this town as well as I do, you'll sing a different tune. We shall have about two hundred people in the house to-morrow night—maybe not quite so many."
And he exhibited the advance sheet, which Al examined with a sinking heart. Only half a dozen seats had been sold for the performance.
"Something has got to be done," said the young advance agent.
"Everything possible has been done," returned the manager, pettishly. "The amount of the thing is that we have struck an unlucky night, and there's no help for it."
"Maybe there is," said Al, quietly. "I mean to have a big house to-morrow night somehow or other."
The manager laughed sarcastically.
"I've heard beginners like you talk before," he said. "You think you are going to set the river on fire, but the river is not inflammable. I admire your nerve. I've heard how you drummed up business in Boomville, and you did well. But you can't do that sort of thing all the time. My friend, Wattles, wrote and told me that you would work things so that the house would be full when his company played, but he made a mistake that time."
"Did Mr. Wattles say that?" cried Al.
"He did; and I was surprised at it, for Wattles is not usually a very sanguine man."
"If he said it, I'll do it," announced the boy.
Again his companion laughed.
"There's nothing like youthful enthusiasm," he said, "and I acknowledge that it cuts lots of ice at times—but not every time. You might as well try to square the circleas to get a crowd here to-morrow evening. It can't be done."
"We'll see," responded Al, with the most confident air he could assume.
The task before him was a hard one, apparently an impossible one, but he resolved that he would try to accomplish it.
"Sail ahead, and do it if you can," said the manager, with something very much like a sneer. "I shall watch your methods with interest."
"It's a pity," said Al, "that you have only one morning paper here. Now if——"
"Oh," interrupted his companion, yawning, "we'll have another to-morrow morning."
"How is that?"
"A young dude named Marcus, with more money than brains—and not very much of either, by the way—is to issue the first number of a new daily to-morrow morning. He is going to call it theBugle, I believe."
"It being the first issue," suggested Al, "it is likely to have a good sale. Wouldn't it be a good scheme to spend a little extra in advertising in it?"
"My lad," said the manager, wearily, "your ideas are primitive in the extreme. I have given them my usual size ad., and even if I wanted any more space—which I don't—I couldn't get it, for the paper is about all made up now. Oh, we can't do anything against the circus, and that settles that matter."
It did not settle the matter with Al, however. He returned to his hotel, and spent what was left of the afternoon in trying to devise some plan to arouse public interest in the performance of the New York Comedy Company.
He worked at the problem until his head ached, but the harder he thought the farther he seemed to be from a solution.
In the evening he went down to the restaurant connected with the hotel, quite discouraged.
There was no one in the room when he entered; but a few minutes later two men, both of them evidently very much excited, came in and seated themselves near him.
After a glance at the boy and a hurried order to the waiter, they resumed a conversation in which they had been engaged when they entered.
Al could not help overhearing nearly every word they said, for in their excitement they spoke louder than they thought.
"I tell you, Marcus," he heard one of the men say, "it's a bad knockout."
Marcus! Al remembered that this was the name of the proprietor of the new paper. He was, as the manager had said, a rather dudish-looking young fellow, but his face was by no means indicative of a lack of brains.
"The worst of it is," added Mr. Marcus, "that theBannerpeople will have the grand laugh on us. They have been poking fun at the 'amateur daily,' as they call it, ever since theBuglewas announced; now they will go for us."
Al was now interested; for the time he forgot his own worries. What could the trouble be in the office of the new paper?
"They'll have a good chance," said Mr. Marcus' friend. "Really, my dear sir, I can't see how you could have made such a break. The idea of accepting a full-page ad. for 'Dr. Gurgles' Metallic Liver Pads,' only to find that there is no such thing on the market, and that you have been made the victim of a practical joker! I wish I had had charge of the business end of the thing, this would not have happened."
"I dare say not, but don't reproach me, for I'm too much broken up to stand it. The question is, how are we going to fill up that page? I've been boasting, right and left, about the phenomenal amount of bona-fide ads. the first number of theBuglewould contain, and now we are a full page short. And I've told a number of people that we were to have a page ad. from a well-known concern—something theBannernever had."
"Have you told anyone what the concern was?"
"No."
"Then perhaps you could get some firm in town to take the page."
"I'd let 'em have it at any price. But, no, it wouldn't do; I should have to own up how I had been victimized. Besides, it's too late now, anyhow. Why, nearly the whole paper is in type, and one side is printed."
"Well, what are you going to do with that page?"
"I give it up."
Al rose from his seat and approached the table where the two gentlemen were seated.
"Perhaps I can help out, sir," he said.
Mr. Marcus started from his chair, his face flushed with anger.
"You've been listening, boy!" he exclaimed.
"I have; I couldn't very well help it, for you spoke in a loud tone."
"That's so, Marcus," added the other gentleman. "A public restaurant is not just the place to talk over such a matter."
"Well," said Marcus, glaring at Al, "I suppose you mean to go and tell everyone in town what you have heard?"
"I don't know anyone in town, and if I did I shouldn't repeat a word. As I just said, I think I can help you out."
"You! How?"
"You said you'd let that page go at any price?"
"I did."
"Perhaps I will take it. I couldn't afford to do anything like regular rates, but perhaps by helping you out I can get a lot of advertising almost free. I tell you frankly that is my object, and I give you my word that no one shall know anything about the transaction."
Mr. Marcus and his companion stared at Al in amazement.
"Well," said the former, "you are a queer youngster. Who the mischief are you—another practical joker?"
"No. I am Allen Allston, advance agent of Wattles'New York Comedy Company, which plays here to-morrow night."
"A lad like you occupying a position like that?" exclaimed Mr. Marcus.
"Just so, sir. Now, what will you let us have that page for?"
"Perhaps your employer would repudiate the bill."
"I'll pay it myself, right here and now."
"I'll take you up. You can have the page for one hundred dollars. When can I have the copy?"
"Not at all at that price," replied Al, coolly. "The page wouldn't be worth that much to us. I'll give you fifty dollars, cash now, and the copy in an hour or less."
After a moment's hesitation, the proprietor of theBuglesaid:
"Done! Give me the fifty dollars, and I'll give you a receipt for four hundred. But mind, mum's the word about this deal."
"You may depend upon me, sir."
"But," asked Mr. Marcus, "how are you going to have a full page of copy ready in an hour?"
"I'll get it ready," replied Al. "Your foreman will have it on time."
He handed the publisher the fifty dollars, and received a receipt for four hundred.
"Well," said Mr. Marcus, "you have a head for business, and no mistake."
"I hope so," said Al, modestly; "but this transaction does not prove it."
"I think it does."
"My overhearing your conversation was only blind luck."
"Yes; but many a man would not have been smart and quick enough to take advantage of it. The successful business man is he who seizes upon the lucky accidents that others pass by, and turns them to his own advantage. You'll get along, my boy."