"How many can we play if we come to an agreement?"
"About three of them, I think."
"That will fix it so we can stay three nights in one place, if we find any towns good enough for that."
"Yes."
"Who's out ahead?"
"Collins."
"Then you got him back?"
"After Haley jumped us, yes. King was satisfied as he had broken Haley up and driven us off his route, so Collins was able to go out ahead of us again. He's all right, and he has worked up business in worse towns than the ones we'll have to play."
"How about your paper?"
"We have the stuff Haley ordered, you know. We can get it shipped from the house in Chicago as fast as we need it, if we put up the dust for it. All we'll have to look out for is house programs, and we can get them printed as we go along."
"How are you making up your route?"
"Collins is finding out about the towns as he goes along, and is sending back information. We'll have to depend on him to a great extent, you see."
"Are you going to be satisfied to let me manage the company?"
"Well, I'm willing to let you try it, if the others are. I shall be mighty glad if you can do it, for that will take a load off of my shoulders. Just now I am business manager, stage manager and several other things. It's too much."
Merriwell and Havener came to an agreement without much trouble, but it was necessary to talk it over with some of the company for a long time before they were ready to accept the arrangement.
Lawrence fought against it. He tried to hold Dunton and Sargent with him. Sargent was the first to give in, and he influenced Dunton to follow his lead.
Then Lawrence was disgusted, and he showed it.
"All right," he cried. "Go ahead and do what you like, but count me out."
"You won't go with us?"
"No. Merriwell can get a new leading man. Perhaps he'll fill the place himself."
This was said in sarcasm, but Frank was not at all ruffled.
"We can get along without Mr. Lawrence, if forced to do so," he said, quietly; "but I trust he will change his mind."
"I'm afraid you've made a big mistake," Cassie whispered in Merry's ear; "but I guess we'll all pull for you as hard as we can. I'm sure Ross and I will."
"Thank you, little girl," smiled Merry. "I didn't go into it without counting the possible cost."
Then he told them to come to his room, which he wouldengage right away, one at a time, that night, and he would make contracts with them, so everyone would be ready to start out under the new management in the morning.
They came, and it was nearly three o'clock before all the business was settled and Frank rolled his weary body into bed.
A week later the reorganized company, under Frank Merriwell's management, was billed to play in a little town called Bransfield.
Frank was a great believer in paper, and he had wired Collins to see that it was stuck up "regardless," so, when the players arrived in Bransfield, they found every billboard and every dead wall pasted over with lurid advertising. The windows were full of posters, and one could not look in any direction without seeing something to remind him that there was to be a show in town at the public hall that night.
Merriwell was satisfied, but Havener shook his head.
"It's a waste of paper," declared the stage manager. "Half as much would have done as well."
"Don't think it," said Frank. "Not many shows come here, and it's doubtful if the people ever saw any of this paper before, even though it is stock stuff. If I am notmuch mistaken they were astonished by the display, and they will be inclined to judge the merit of the show by the amount of advertising done. If there is any money afloat, we ought to pull a house here."
"Well, you are paying, so I'm not going to kick," said Havener.
Frank had not been at the hotel thirty minutes before a small, ragged boy brought him a note. The boy started to hurry away, but Frank caught him by the collar, saying:
"Hold on. I may want to answer it."
"Feller that sent it said there warn't goin' to be an answer," explained the boy, seeming anxious to get away.
"That's odd. Wait till I read it."
"I'm in a big hurry, boss."
"You can wait a minute."
"No, can't."
"Ephraim."
The tall Vermonter came forward at Frank's call.
"Just keep your hands on this youngster till I read this note," invited Merry.
"All right," grinned Gallup, getting hold of the boy. "Naow don't ye try to play any of yer gol darn pranks onter me, yeou little sarpint, or I'll shack ye right aout of yer duds."
The boy submitted, seeing it was useless to attempt to get away, and Frank opened the note. This is what he read:
"The end is not yet. I am not done with you."Harris."
"The end is not yet. I am not done with you.
"Harris."
Merry whistled softly.
"Well, this is very interesting!" he commented. "Now, my boy, who gave this to you?"
"Don't you wish you could find out?" returned the youngster, saucily.
"See this?"
Frank poised a silver half-dollar on the tips of his fingers.
The boy's eyes sparkled, and he moistened his lips with the end of his tongue.
"Just tell me all about who gave you that note, and where he was when he gave it to you, and that half-dollar is yours."
"That's all right, boss," said the boy, with a sickly grin; "but t'other feller give me a dollar not to say a word."
"And you promised that you wouldn't say a word?"
"Yep."
"Let him go, Ephraim."
Gallup was surprised.
"Whut fer? Ain't ye goin' to make him tell who sent him with the note?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because he has promised not to tell."
"Whut of that?"
"I should be inducing him to lie."
"An' ye won't make him tell fer that reason?"
"That is the reason."
"Waal, darn my punkins!"
Ephraim was bewildered more than ever.
"That's whut I call too much conscience," he growled. "I jest guess I'll make the chap talk. I ain't got no conscience to stop me like that."
"You will let him go," came quietly from Frank.
"Arter I take him aout inter the barn an' have a little set-daown with him."
"Now."
Ephraim hesitated. He did not want to offend Frank, but he did long to squeeze the truth out of the boy.
"Come, naow, Frank," he urged, "don't yeou be foolish abaout this. Ef I make him talk, it won't be northing to yeou."
"I shall allow it, and so, indirectly, I'll be responsible for making the boy lie. Let him go, Ephraim."
There was no mistaking Merriwell's resolve, and Ephraim said to the lad:
"All right, yeou kin go; but I'd tanned yer hide fer ye but I'd make ye talk, if I'd had the doin' of it. Skip."
Being released, the lad did skip in a hurry, quickly disappearing from view.
"Harris is in town," said Merry, speaking to the Vermonter.
"Whut? Not the feller that bruck up your stuff?"
"He helped the man that did the breaking. He is my old Yale enemy."
"Waal, let's go right aout and find him."
"That may be easier to say than to do, but we'll look for him. Keep your eyes open, Ephraim. He threatens to do me further injury."
It proved useless to search for Harris in that place. Nothing of the fellow could be found in the limited time given them to look for him.
It was necessary for the entire company to assemble at the hall to rehearse that afternoon.
Frank was playing the leading part in the society play, which was billed for that evening. He had been able to procure a dress suit in one of the towns through which they passed, so he was able to dress properly for the reception scene in the play. The other actors had managed to retain possession of their clothes, and all were fairly well supplied.
Lawrence really had left the company, refusing to go on with them under the new arrangement, so it was necessary for Merriwell to fill his place in playing leads, and, thus far, he had done so most successfully.
There was some hard work done at the rehearsal, as Havener was determined the play should go off smoothly, and the players were not at all well up in the business of the piece.
Frank's best scene was with Lillian Bird, the leading lady, in the third act of the play. It was a love scene, at the end of which, through a revelation by the villain, the lovers learn that they are brother and sister. Of course, at the end of the play, it is revealed that theyare not related in such a manner, and everything finished happily.
Havener was determined that the scene should be made effective, and he worked over it till he got every pose, every situation, every minor piece of business, to suit him.
He was greatly pleased by the readiness with which Frank took hold of the part and grasped the details of the business. Merry had a beautiful voice, and he governed it naturally so that it was most effective in his speeches.
There is no music sweeter than that of the human voice, and Frank Merriwell had been endowed by nature with a magnificent voice.
"Lawrence ought to see him play that scene," said Cassie, as she watched Frank in silent admiration. "Anybody could tell he is a gentleman, for never once does he make a move or a gesture that does not plainly speak of the gentleman. There's a heap of difference between his manners and the acquired gentlemanly air of Lawrence."
"That's right," agreed Collie Cates. "Merriwell's blue blood sticks out all over him, and yet he never seems to feel himself so much better than the rest of us."
"That's the very thing that marks him most as a perfect gentleman. It's only the cad that tries to show you all the time that he's a topnotcher and you ain't in his class."
Frank became so absorbed in his work that he completely forgot about Harris. Nor did a thought of thefellow enter his head till just as he was ready to make his first entrance on the stage that evening. Then he remembered Harris, and wondered if the fellow was in the hall.
The rough benches and chairs were well filled by a decidedly rough-looking audience. The advertising had turned out a far better house than Havener had expected to see, and the stage manager confessed to Frank that there might be something in making a lavish display of paper in the right towns.
The stage was a poor affair, with just two sets of scenery, one of which could be used for a center door fancy by supposing that the audience would permit a broad stretch of imagination.
The footlights were plain kerosene lamps, as were the other lights in the hall.
The curtain rolled on a big heavy roller, and Havener had warned all the company not to get under it and permit it to come down on them at the finish of an act.
"There will be some sudden deaths if you do," he said. "It is heavy enough to finish a man if it struck him on the head."
When Frank came onto the stage there was a profound silence in the hall.
That silence was broken by a sound to stir the blood.
A hiss!
Where it came from no one could tell, but all heard it distinctly.
Frank was not rattled. He did not even glancetoward the audience to see if he could tell from what quarter the odious hiss came. It is possible there was a slight tightening of his nerves, and it is certain that a certain thought flashed through his head:
"That was Harris!"
It is possible that Frank did not appear at his best at the outset, but he quickly got into the work.
He expected to hear that odious hiss again, but to his surprise, it was not repeated. The curtain fell on the first act, and the applause of the audience showed that the spectators were satisfied thus far.
Between the acts, Cassie came to Frank.
"Who was it hissed?" she asked, fiercely. "That was a measly trick, for you hadn't opened your mouth. If Lawrence was here——"
"I think it must have been one of the fellows who ruined my magician's apparatus," answered Frank. "He is in this town."
"How do you know?"
Merry explained.
"Well, he ought to be lynched!" declared the little actress. "Don't let him rattle you, if he tries it again,Frank. He may be holding back to break you in one of your good scenes."
"I am on my guard now," assured Merriwell.
"I want to tell you something, Frank," said Cassie, glancing around to make sure no one was near enough to hear.
"I am listening."
"I'm playing to-night without using the needle."
"No?"
"Yes. First time I've ever been able to quit it entirely, though I have been tapering down on it. How am I doing?"
"First rate, Cassie. Never could tell any difference from your usual work."
"Well, it's hard, hard! I have to brace up fearfully to keep keyed to the right pitch, and I'll be all broke up when the show is over. But I am winning out."
"Brave little girl!"
"I ain't doing it all alone, Frank. Some one is helping me."
"Who?"
Without a word the little soubrette pointed upward.
Frank bowed his head.
"I am glad you feel that way, Cassie," he said, earnestly and softly.
"I have found in the Bible that He is just as ready to help the lowly as anybody," murmured the girl. "That's what makes me so sure He is helping me. Ofcourse I must do my best, but, if I haven't the strength, He will give me strength."
Frank looked at her, feeling his heart swelling in his bosom with a new, strange sensation. Had he by his advice led this girl to a rock to which she could cling and thus escape being swept down by the flood to the whirlpool of destruction?
"Don't give up, Cassie," he urged. "You can see that you are winning the fight. Stick to it to the end."
"I will, Frank."
She pressed his hand, and at that moment Havener came upon them. The man halted and turned about, his face flushing and his jaws hardening.
He had found them whispering together. Cassie had been looking up into Frank's face with an expression of admiration that was little short of adoration, and their hands had been clasped.
It might be all right, but there was something strange about it—something Havener could not understand. Once more he felt the demon of jealousy stirring uneasily in his heart. He tried to quiet the beast, but it refused to be soothed thus easily.
What was this secret between the two? Why had they refused to tell it to him?
He walked away.
"I'll keep my eyes open," he said. "Perhaps I am being made a fool of, after all!"
A man does not like to think that. Nothing galls him so much as to think that he is being fooled by someone who is chuckling over the easy manner in which he is deceived.
The time came for the curtain to rise on the second act. It rolled up, and the play went on.
In this act Cassie seemed sprightlier than usual. Never before had the little soubrette seemed so buoyant and full of animal spirits. She had some good lines and a catchy song and dance. She was encored, and gave another song, ending with an eccentric dance that fairly set the audience in an uproar.
Havener was watching her, his brows lowering.
"Never saw her feeling better," he thought. "Is it because of something Merriwell said to her?"
Then he thought how she had defended Frank, and how eager she had been to get him back with the company.
The savage animal was gnawing at his heart. He could feel the pain of its sharp teeth.
"I am being fooled!" he told himself. "Well, if I am, they had better look out for themselves! If I catch them I'm liable to kill them both!"
Frank, also, played his part with a finish that was surprising, as he was nothing more than an amateur. The scowling stage manager confessed to himself that Lawrence could not have done it a whit better, if he could have done as well.
The third act came on, and everyone seemed getting into their parts splendidly.
Then there came an interruption.
Down in the middle of the hall sat a big, rough, bewhiskered man, who had gone out after the first and second acts. His flushed face and bloodshot eyes told that he had been drinking heavily, and now he began commenting on the actors and the play.
"A lot of doods in them swaller-tail coats," he said, loudly enough to be heard in his immediate vicinity. "They strut around, but they'd be scared to death at the pop of a gun."
Some of the spectators told him to keep still, but that aroused him all the more.
"Let somebody try to keep me still!" he invited. "I'm Bill Dyer, an' I've jest come in from Colerader. I don't reckon ther folks around here have fergot me."
No, they had not forgotten Bill Dyer. He was a bad man before he went out West to work on a ranch, and no person had cared to get him angry. Now, from his appearance, it seemed that his residence in the West had not improved him or his disposition.
So the play went on, interrupted now and then by the muttered words of Dyer.
At last came the act in which Frank made love to the leading lady. They were alone on the stage, and Merriwell was doing his best to win her consent to an immediate marriage. Just as he clasped her waist, Bill Dyer rose to his feet with a whoop, yelling:
"That's hot stuff, young feller; but you hadn't oughter do it in the light. Alwus make love in the dark. I'll jest give ye a little help by puttin' out the lights."
From some place about his person he produced a pair of revolvers, and, a second later, he began shooting at the footlights in a most reckless manner.
With every shot the ruffian smashed a lamp.
Men shouted, women screamed and there were symptoms of a panic.
Regardless of the danger from flying bullets, Frank Merriwell leaped to the front of the stage.
"Keep your seats, ladies and gentlemen!" he cried, clearly and distinctly. "That ruffian shall be taken care of at once."
"Whoop!" roared Bill Dyer, as he blazed away. "Who'll take care of me?"
"I will!"
Over the footlights Frank vaulted, striking in the aisle. Straight toward the desperado he bounded.
"Hold up!" shouted Dyer—"hold up, or by mighty, I'll perforate yer hide!"
But Frank did not hold up. He rushed upon the ruffian, clutched him, whirled him about, rushed him down the aisle.
Dyer tried to squirm round.
"I'll shoot ye full of holes!" he howled.
As Frank reached the rear of the hall, he found the man's clothes were beginning to give way. Dyer might twist about in a moment.
At one side was a window. Frank hustled the fellow toward it, lifted him off his feet, gave him a swing into the air, cast him headlong at it.
Crash—jangle!
Through the window the fellow plunged, uttering a howl of dismay and fear, and disappeared from view. The broken glass came rattling down, but Dyer was gone.
Frank hurried back to the stage.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he cried, his voice ringing out clear and calm, "if you will resume your seats, I think the play will go on without further interruption. The party who made the disturbance has just gone out, and I do not think there is anyone else present who will try to fill his place and follow his example."
A moment of silence, and then a terrific burst of applause. Men shouted their admiration, stamping and clapping their hands. Women, also, showed in all possible ways their appreciation of this courageous act.
In a few moments all were seated again. Other lamps were brought to restore the broken ones, and the play continued.
And it seemed that Frank Merriwell played his part even better than before the interruption.
It is needless to say that he received an ovation and a curtain call at the end of the act. He came out with the leading lady, and they were cheered wildly.
But not a complimentary word did he receive from the lips of Roscoe Havener when it was all over.
That night, after the show, Frank had reached the office of the hotel when a man appeared and said:
"I want to see the feller that threw me out of the hall to-night.
"Won't somebody jest p'int him out to me?"
"Skip, Merriwell," advised Sargent. "He's come loaded for you, and there will be a hot time if he sees you."
But Frank did not skip.
"I am the one who threw you out of the hall, sir," he said, stepping forward.
Bill Dyer looked him over from his head to his feet.
"Waal," he said, slowly, "I'll be hanged ef I kin tell how ye done it so easy! You done it, all the same, an' done it well! I thought you was a dood, but I reckon there's some purty good stuff in ye. I'd like to shake hands with ye."
He extended his hand, which Frank accepted. The man attempted to give Merry a squeeze that would make him cringe, but Frank squeezed back in earnest, looking him straight in the eyes and smiling sweetly.
"Yes, you're all right," nodded Dyer. "I shan't monkey with you any more, an' the feller who paid me ten dollars to break up the show when you was on the stageis out that much money. That's about the way I figger it."
Frank was interested now.
"Did somebody hire you to break up the show?" he asked.
"Sure thing."
"What sort of a fellow—how did he look?"
Dyer gave a rather incoherent description, but Frank immediately decided it must have been Harris.
"Do you know where that fellow can be found?"
"I reckon."
"I'll give you ten dollars to take me to him."
"Done!"
"All I want you to do is wait till I can swear out a warrant for his arrest and find a man to serve it."
Frank hustled. In a short time he had a warrant for Sport Harris, and he obtained the services of a deputy sheriff to serve it. Then Dyer took them straight to the house where Harris was stopping. The fellow was there, and he was taken into custody by the officer, who gave him no chance to escape and lodged him in the "cooler."
Of course Harris was furious.
"I was a fool to get a drunken lout to do my work!" he snarled. "I should have pasted you with good ripe eggs. But I'll get at you yet!"
"You'll rest in jail a while."
"Oh, I don't know! You can't afford the time to prosecute me."
"I don't have to afford it. Dyer is ready to swear youhired him to do what he did, and there are a dozen citizens who will push you."
It was not difficult to find citizens of the place who were willing to take the case up, so Merriwell was not detained, for when Harris was released he was promptly rearrested on another warrant.
The new company went on its way, and it did seem that success was smiling on the organization now that Frank Merriwell had become manager of it. Although they were barnstorming and playing in out-of-the-way places, they seemed to have struck a good streak of business.
But there was a shadow hanging over the company. Havener was changed. He had grown sullen and touchy, and he treated Cassie with a mingling of cold contempt and burning love that was bewildering to the girl. He scarcely ever spoke to Merriwell, unless absolutely forced to do so.
Then the story got out that Havener had purchased a revolver. One night he sat in the office of a wretched little hotel and talked queerly. He said life had been an utter failure with him, and he was sick of it. He said that the world was full of deception and all women were liars. He had been fooled once by a woman, and he didn't mean to be fooled again.
"Havener is ill," declared those who heard his queer talk. "He's in need of a tonic."
The next morning Frank Merriwell rose early and went out to take a walk. He was surprised when hecame downstairs to find Cassie Lee dressed and prepared to go out also.
"Why, what does this mean?" he asked. "I thought you always stayed in bed as late as possible?"
"Used to," she laughed. "Don't now. Had to have something for a stimulant when I knocked off the other thing, so I've been going in for fresh air, morning walks, exercise and all that. I find it's doing me good, too."
"Of course it is! Nine actresses out of ten get too little good open-air exercise. If you're for a walk, come with me."
"All right. That will be jolly."
Away they went together.
And they were not the only ones who had risen early that morning. Roscoe Havener, unable to sleep, was up ahead of them and out of the hotel. He tramped fiercely out of the town to a little valley through which ran a brook. There was some timber about, and he sat down beside a brook. After a time he took out his revolver and looked it over. It was loaded.
"I can get out of the whole business here and now," he muttered. "A single shot planted in the right place will do it. If I hold on, I shall kill Cassie and Merriwell sure as fate!"
He heard voices and drew back a little, still remaining seated on the ground.
Two persons came down the road past him and stopped by the little bridge. They were Cassie and Frank. Hiseyes blazed, and the revolver trembled in his hands. He half lifted it, thinking:
"I can get them both before I empty every chamber!"
Cassie was speaking.
"I owe it all to you, Frank," she was saying, and Havener heard her plainly. "I am sure I am getting rid of the awful habit now. You know I can play without using morphine at all, and it all comes because you encouraged me to pray. I didn't think it would do any good for a girl like me to pray, but it has."
"If I have helped you, Cassie, I am thankful. I discovered your secret by accident, and I have kept it faithfully, though I fear Havener suspects all is not right because there is a secret between us."
"I will tell him all at once. He is changed lately, but I love him just the same. He will be all right when he knows the truth. You know I told you I would never, never marry him till I got rid of the habit. It is you, Frank, who have made it possible for me to become his wife."
Havener rose to his feet as quietly as he could, drawing back and hiding himself by the bushes. He stole away from the spot, quivering in every limb.
"And I thought of committing suicide!" he whispered, as he hastened away. "I thought of committing murder! What a fool I have been! Thank God the discovery of my folly came in time! Thank God! thank God!"
Then he threw the loaded revolver as far from him as possible.
Havener's mind was now freed from all doubts and he threw himself into his business with a new zeal that ought to have made the fortunes of the company.
But fate has strange ways of rewarding industry, and instead of adding success to success Frank and his brother Thespians struck a number of dismal failures, and a heavy cloud was resting over the organization.
Matters came to a head at the Grand Theater, in the little town of Groton.
The Grand Theater was grand in name only. Its interior was more like a barn and its lack of scenery and stage accommodations were something disheartening.
The company billed to appear that evening in the society play called "Haunted Hearts" had dressed and made up to go on.
With one exception.
Arthur Sargent, who was to play the part of a country cousin on his first visit to the city, was still in his street clothes, and had refused to appear unless two weeks' salary due him was paid before the curtain rose on the first act.
Frank was trying to persuade him to change his mind.
"You are breaking your agreement with me, Sargent," said Merry, remonstratingly.
"Hang the agreement!" exclaimed the actor, snapping his fingers. "What do I care for that! I want my money!"
"But you made the agreement."
"I signed nothing but my contract with you."
"The agreement was verbal."
"And therefore doesn't amount to that!" snapping his fingers.
"But doesn't your word—your promise amount to more than that?"
Sargent flushed a bit, and then he grew angry.
"That's an insult, Mr. Merriwell!" he almost hissed. "I do not like it."
"It was not intended as an insult, Sargent; but you know you promised to stick by the company and take a share of the profits, in case business should become so poor that I could not pay salaries in full."
"Well, I have received nothing during the past two weeks—absolutely nothing. That's not a share."
"There have been no profits."
"Then I think that frees me from my agreement."
"I can't see it in that light. Wait a moment! You know very well that I can't pay you all that is due you, the same as the others know I can't pay them. They are not raising any kick, for they all know everyone will be used fair——"
Again the rebellious actor snapped his fingers.
"Oh, I don't know!" he said, in a manner that waspositively insolent. "I am not so sure that everyone will be used square."
Frank looked at him straight and hard for a few seconds, and then slowly asked:
"Do you mean to infer, Sargent, that I will deal crookedly with those who give me their loyal support?"
"Well, some of them get favors."
"No! You are mistaken, sir. In business I have no favorites."
"How about Cassie?"
"What about her?"
"Well, I know you have paid her money within a week."
"I have not paid her any money, Sargent."
"But Cates saw you give it to her in Hartland."
"Cassie has been ill."
"What of that?"
"She needed a little money to buy medicine."
"Ha! So you acknowledge it?"
"I loaned her a small sum of money."
"Loaned it?"
"Exactly. She understood very well that it was not paid as a portion of her salary."
Sargent laughed derisively.
"What a bluff!" he cried. "That wouldn't go with anybody! Managers do not loan money to actors when salaries are due."
"There was nothing due under the agreement, as you know."
"Oh, you'll twist it to suit yourself. But I've made up my mind, and you pay to-night, or I quit in advance of the show."
"Besides," pursued Merriwell, calmly, "you know as well as I that Cassie was threatened with a serious illness, and it would have broken us up had she been taken ill. All that averted the catastrophe was the prompt manner in which she obtained medicine to help her. That kept the show from going to pieces."
"That's nothing to me. She's had money, and I want mine."
"After the show——"
"Now!"
"Don't be unreasonable, man! We have a fair house here, and ought to make something clear. After the show I'll pay you something, so that you——"
"You'll pay me before the curtain goes up, or I'll not step on the stage to-night! That is business! I know all about promises to pay after the show. I've been fooled before with that kind of a bluff. It won't go."
Frank flushed.
"I wish you would not judge me by the dishonest parties with whom you have had dealings in the past," he said, just a bit sharply. "I have not been in this business long, and I may be a fool, but I keep my word."
"Perhaps so; but I take no chances."
"What do you wish to do—break us up?"
"I want money."
"If we stick together, we may pull out by a lucky streak. You know we are going to strike better towns next week. If the company goes up here, what will you do? You'll be stranded away out in this region, hundreds of miles from anywhere, and that'll not be a pleasant situation."
"If this company goes up, we'll reorganize and go ahead as we were before you took hold of it. You are not capable of managing anyhow, and so——"
"You are talking through your hat, Sargent!" broke in a sharp voice, as Roscoe Havener came up. "Merriwell has done as well as any living man could have done under the circumstances."
"What's the matter with you?" demanded the rebel, insolently. "You were the one who said before he took hold of the company that we'd quit him when his money was gone—throw him over."
Havener grew red and glared at Sargent.
"Never—never said that!" he gurgled. "Lawrence was the man who made that talk, and Lawrence——"
"You can't shift it onto Lawrence simply because he is not here. The very fact that he refused to go with Merriwell at all proves what you claim is not true. We've been up against hard luck long enough. Merriwell is a Jonah. I don't know how it happens that the whole gang seems ready now to let Merriwell do just as he likes and stick by him. They've changed wonderfully since the time they all said we'd use him while he had money and then drop him."
"They have found that Merriwell is a man. He uses us square, and we should do the same with him."
"Oh, I know—I know all about your reasons for sticking by him. Can't fool me! But I'm done!"
"You don't seem to have any reason about it."
"I'm not to be jollied along by a game of talk."
Sargent turned as if to walk away, but Havener caught hold of him and yanked him round.
"Wait!" he grated. "I've got something to say to you! I'm stage manager of this show. You know that."
"Yes."
"Well, you are under my orders now."
Sargent was silent.
"Go into that dressing room," commanded Havener, pointing, "and make up for your part."
"What if I refuse?"
"Then I'm blamed if I don't give you the thrashing you deserve!"
Havener was thoroughly aroused, as his scowling face and threatening manner showed. He was a large man, and Sargent was afraid of him.
"Go!" thundered the stage manager.
And, without another word, Sargent entered the dressing room.
"Thank you, Mr. Havener," said Frank. "You took hold of the fellow at exactly the right time."
"He didn't get what he merited," growled the stage manager.
"I was surprised that he should kick. He has been quiet enough all along. Why, when I had that trouble with Dunton, Sargent refused to stand by Dunton, although they were chums."
"Simply because Sargent was afraid Dunton would do something to get them both jailed. He knew Dunton had a terrible temper. To-day I would trust Dunton further than Sargent."
"Perhaps you are right."
"Know it. Dunton isn't a sneak. If he hates anybody, he lets them know it. Sargent is two-faced, treacherous. He has a way of making people think he's decent, but he has shown his true character to-night."
"Is it true, Havener, that the company agreed to go out with me and stand by me till my money was gone, after which they intended to throw me over?"
Havener hesitated.
"Tell me the truth," urged Frank.
"Well, I believe some of them made that kind of talk," confessed the stage manager. "We were in desperateneed of a backer, you know, when you turned up with a roll. But, possibly with the single exception of Sargent, they are ready to stand by you now. They know you have done everything possible, and it is not your fault that we are in this hole. Money is scarce out here in this country, and so people can't afford to go to shows. Crops have been poor, and people are feeling blue. We've been unlucky in striking this section of the country."
"Anyhow, I am getting some experience for my money," smiled Frank. "If I ever take out another company, I shall know how to avoid some of the pitfalls we have run into this time. What's the prospect of a house to-night?"
"Pretty good, though the advance sale was light. Look out."
They went to the peep-hole in the curtain where they could look out and see the house.
In the meantime, Sargent had gone into the dressing room, where he found Douglas Dunton putting on the finishing touches of his make-up. Sargent sat down on a box and expressed himself in some very lurid language.
Dunton put in some lines to represent a heavy scowl on his forehead, then turned and surveyed Sargent.
"Why aren't you made up, Art?" he asked.
"Because I don't want to be!" grated Sargent. "I've quit."
"What?"
"Won't play to-night."
"Are you crazy?"
"No."
"You must be."
"You're a fool, Dug! The whole company are fools! What's the use to go on this way? Things are getting worse and worse. No money for two weeks; no prospect of any to come. Wash up, Dug, and we'll jump out of here."
"And leave Merriwell in the lurch?"
"Hang Merriwell!"
"He's not to blame for our hard luck."
"He's not fit to manage a company, and you know it. You have every reason for hating Merriwell; why are you sticking by him? You even tried to kill him once."
"When I was daffy. I was so mad I didn't know what I was doing."
"It would have been a good thing had you done it."
"Well, that beats!" gasped Dunton. "Why, you are the fellow who gave me all kinds of fits because I thought of such a thing! You threatened to quit me cold."
"Because of the danger, and not from any love of Merriwell."
"The danger?"
"Yes."
"What do you mean by that?"
"Well, you might have been arrested and hanged. I didn't want my neck stretched as an accomplice."
"Was that it?" said Dunton, slowly, looking hard at his companion, the scowl on his forehead making him seem very fierce. "It was not out of friendship for me that you urged me to desist! It was because you were scared—your heart failed you."
"Oh, put it that way, if you like!"
"I thought better of you, Sargent. Never mind. I suppose it is natural for any man to be selfish. Now I know you for just what you are."
"Don't be insulting, Dunton. We've been friends a long time. This case is different from yours. I am not doing anything that will get either of us into trouble. I simply refuse to be dragged along this way any further. Merriwell may fool the others, but he can't fool me."
"Fool you—how?"
"He's been letting a certain member of the company have money."
"What member?"
"Cassie Lee."
"How do you know?"
"Cates saw him do it!"
"When?"
"Before we left Hartland."
"Cassie was sick."
"Sick! Rot! She'd been using the needle again."
"The needle?"
"Sure thing."
"What needle?"
"The syringe."
"What are you driving at?"
"Don't you know?"
"I'm blessed if I do!"
"She is a morphine fiend."
"What?"
"Dead right. Injects it into her arm with a syringe. You know well enough there's something the matter with her. Her pale face, the dark rings round her eyes, her queer actions—all indicate something ails her. She had to have the stuff, and Merriwell forked over to her, that's all."
Dunton leaned against the little shelf.
"I'm blessed if I ever knew anything about this before, but I have known there was something the matter with Cassie. I wonder if Havener knows any——"
Sargent jumped up and paced the floor.
"Curse Havener!" he hissed. "Don't talk to me about him! If it hadn't been for him——"
"What?"
"Well, I wouldn't be in here now. Just told Merriwell I was done unless he forked some stuff. Havener came along and bullied me. But Havener doesn't know what I know. He doesn't know how thick Merriwell and Cassie are, though he must be blind not to see there is something between them. I'd open his eyes—I'd tell him, if I dared."
"I wouldn't do it, Sargent, if I were you."
"Oh, I won't—I know better! Havener's got an awful temper. He might kill me. Let him go on beinga fool. He'll find it all out sometime. When he does—well, I pity Merriwell."
"You will do well to keep yourself out of the muss. Merriwell isn't so soft. I believe he is dangerous, and I know he can fight. He's not afraid of anything. Go ahead and make up, Sargent. You'll have to go on to-night."
Muttering fiercely, Sargent began to change his clothes and get ready to play his part. He took off his coat and hung it up.
After watching him some seconds, Dunton looked at his watch and said:
"You'll have to hurry. Not much time."
Then he went out, leaving Sargent alone in the dressing room.
Outside the door Havener was standing.
"Is Sargent making up?" asked the stage manager.
Dunton assured him that he was, but Havener continued to stand before the door.
Left alone, Sargent paused and looked around. There was a door in the dressing room that opened into the next room. Sargent walked over and tried it. It opened beneath his hand. He looked into the adjoining room and saw it was empty.
Then Sargent walked back and hastily donned his street clothes. In a hurry he threw his costumes and other property into his trunk, which he closed and locked.
"We'll see!" he muttered—"we'll see if they can force me to play to-night!"
He slipped into the adjoining dressing room and made his way out by a side door. No one saw him leave the room, but on the stairs he encountered Collie Cates, the comedian.
Cates was minus his make-up.
"Where are you going?" asked Sargent.
"'Sh!" warned Cates. "I'm going to do the trick."
"What trick?"
"Attach the box office."
Sargent caught his breath.
"No?" he softly cried. "Is it worth while?"
"Sure thing! They've got a pretty good house up there. I heard your growl with Merriwell, and I made up my mind to jump."
"See here, Cates, let me in on this. We may be able to raise enough dust to get out of here and strike some place where there's a show for us. Perhaps we can make a team and do turns at the variety houses. What do you say? You can dance, and I can sing. Is it a go?"
"It's a go," grinned Cates. "If we can get enough dust from the box to get to St. Louis, we're all right. Come on."
"Ha! ha!" laughed Sargent. "We'll see who gets the best of this, Mr. Frank Merriwell!"
Then they hastily descended the stairs and left the building.
Cassie Lee found Frank looking through the peep-hole at the gathering audience.
"There," she said, "now I guess you'll believe Ross is your friend."
"Yes," Merry nodded; "he certainly did me a good turn in handling Sargent. I never expected that fellow would be the first to raise a kick."
"Knew it would be just like him," said the soubrette, leaning wearily against one of the wings and heaving a sigh.
Frank heard that sigh and faced about quickly.
"Cassie," he said, with anxiety, "you are not feeling well to-night. Your medicine has not cured you?"
She did not look him straight in the face, as she slowly answered:
"No, Frank, my medicine did not cure me, but it helped me go on and play. I was afraid I'd not be able to do that much."
"What is the matter, Cassie?"
"Oh, the same old trouble, Frank—just a lack of nerve and life. I'm discouraged, too."
"About what?"
She hesitated, and then of a sudden she answered:
"I may as well tell you. It's about pop."
"Your father?"
"That's right."
"What's the matter about him?"
"Haven't you noticed?"
"Well, I—that is—I have seen that—that, he——"
"That's he taken to drinking again—that's it."
Now, although old Dan Lee had been drinking for several days, Merry had fancied Cassie was not aware of the fact, and had done everything possible to keep the knowledge from her. Frank had hoped the old actor would stop without getting on one of the "howling sprees" for which he had made a record.
When he was not drinking, old Dan was one of the kindest and most loving of parents. He literally adored his daughter, guarding her with a jealousy that, at times, was rather troublesome to Cassie herself.
For her sake old Dan had done his best to leave off drinking. He had fought the demon with all his power, but it had fastened its iron grip upon him in such a manner that he was not able to fling it off entirely.
And now he was drinking again. He was trying to do it on the sly, promising himself that he would soon straighten up and would not get on one of the old-time sprees.
"Yes, Cassie," admitted Frank, "I know he has been drinking, but I don't think it will amount to anything this time."
She shook her head mournfully.
"You don't know him, Frank."
"How did you discover he was drinking?"
"How? Why, I can tell as soon as he takes the first glass. I can always tell. There is that in his manner, his voice, his eyes, that tells me."
"But he thinks you do not know."
"Yes, yes, he thinks so."
"You have kept it from him."
"Poor pop! I let him think he is fooling me."
"It is better. Perhaps he will straighten up without—without——"
"I know what you mean, but I'm afraid not. I can see that he is getting worse and worse, although he is doing his best to remain the master. When the stuff becomes his master, then—oh, Frank!"
She put her thin hands over her face and shuddered. He felt like taking the poor little soubrette, whose life had been so devoid of sunshine, in his arms and trying to soothe her.
Cassie was restless beneath Frank's gaze.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, almost petulantly. "You look so queer, Frank! You almost seem to be accusing me with your eyes."
"Don't misunderstand me, Cassie," he quickly implored. "I would not accuse you. Don't think that—don't!"
"But——"
"What should I accuse you of, Cassie?"
"Oh, you might think—that I—you might think something," she answered, evasively.
Those words aroused a suspicion within him. He started, and the thought that flashed through his brain gave him a shock.
She noticed that start, and she turned away. He reached out quickly, gently grasping her arm.
"Wait a moment more, Cassie," he urged. "I want to talk with you a little longer."
She looked back at him with those sad eyes.
"Don't, Frank!" she entreated. "I'm afraid I know what you are going to say. I—I couldn't help it, Frank—indeed, I couldn't! It was for you that I did it!"
"For me!"
He actually staggered. Now his suspicion was swiftly becoming an assurance.
"Yes," she whispered, "for you. It was my duty to go on—my duty to play, no matter how I felt. I had to do it somehow. If I didn't feel like it, then I had to make myself feel like it, and so——"
"And so you—you——"
"I had to do it, I tell you!" she exclaimed, with something like real spirit. "I didn't think you—would—reproach me!"
"Oh, Cassie, Cassie! I am not reproaching you, my dear girl! But I thought you had gained strength through prayer—such strength that you no longer needed the dreadful drug, for I am led to believe you are using it again."
"Yes, I'm using it," she confessed, almost sullenly.
"Since when?"
"Since you gave me the money in Hartland."
Frank fell back.
"Was that it?" he gasped. "Was that why you wanted the money? You wanted it not to enable you to buy medicine, but——"
"Morphine's medicine for me now. I tell you I had to have it. I couldn't go on that night without it. I knew I'd ruin the play if I did. Don't look at me like that! Why, you look as if I'd committed a crime! I'm not hurting anyone but myself. What if I do hurt myself! I'm no good anyway! I'm only the daughter of a drunken actor, and I might as well be dead as alive! I wish I were dead—I do! I do!"
Then she buried her face in her hands and fell to sobbing, her small body quivering with emotion.
Every sob cut Frank Merriwell through and through.
"Don't, Cassie—please don't!" he entreated. "You hurt me! The others will see you, little girl!"
"I don't care!"
"Oh, yes, you do! What'll they think? They will get an idea that——"
"I tell you I don't care!"
"——there is something wrong between us," continued Frank, on the broken sentence. "They will think queer of me, and——"
Cassie braced up wonderfully.
"I didn't think of that," she said, trying to wipe her tears away without wiping off her make-up. "I don't want them to get a wrong idea of you, Frank."
For herself she did not care; but for him it was different.
"I am awfully sorry about it, Cassie," said Merriwell, soothingly; "but perhaps it is not so bad. You must try again to get rid of the habit."
"No use!"
"Why do you say that?"
"I can't do it a second time."
"I believe you can. Remember what prayer did for you. What it did once, it can do again."
"I shall never pray again!"
"What's that? Why, Cassie! you don't mean that——"
"That I am the wickedest girl in the world!" came passionately from her lips.
"What nonsense! How did you come to get such an idea into your silly little head?"
"It's not nonsense, Frank. I have done something that makes me a bad, bad girl—something that will prevent all my prayers from being heard and answered. Oh, it is dreadful!"
What in the world did the girl mean? What had she done? Frank was appalled by her words and manner. All sorts of conjectures ran riot through his head.
"What is this dreadful thing you have done?" he finally asked. "Tell me, Cassie. You know I am your friend, and you can trust me. Tell me. If it is a secret, you may be sure I'll never breathe it to a living being."
"Oh, I know that, Frank. I would trust you with anysecret. But it is so terrible that I—I'm ashamed to tell you."
She turned her head away, and the curly hair of her blond wig fell across her cheek and hid her painted face.
"Tell me!" he urged.
"Frank," she said, "I prayed for pop—prayed that he might stop drinking."
"Yes, Cassie, that was a good prayer."
"But he did not stop."
"He hasn't yet. He may."
"He will not till he has had his spree. When I found my prayer was not answered I did a dreadful thing."
A shiver ran over her.
"Tell me," urged Frank's gentle voice.
"Oh, how can I! You—you'll despise me!"
"Never, Cassie."
"I'll tell you, Frank! I wonder if I can ever, ever be forgiven! It is horrible! I lost my temper—I lost my head—Frank—oh, Frank! I—I swore at God!"
Those words were spoken in a manner that told the tale of the horror that possessed her when she fully realized what she had done. She wrung her thin hands, and her distress was pitiful to witness.
For a moment Frank Merriwell was dumb and speechless. She did not look at him, but she panted:
"Now you see—now you know—now you understand! You don't speak! I know you despise me now! I can feel your eyes on me! I can feel that you areshrinking from me! I am a thing accursed! Oh, do you wonder I was forced to take the fiendish drug after doing that? All the strength God has given me left me in a moment! I felt as if His curse was on me! I have felt so ever since! I am lost—lost! Now you will turn from me!"
Frank caught her hand again and held it fast with a warm pressure.
"My poor little girl!" he whispered; "I understand your feelings now. It is terrible, but you must not give up hope."
"What have I to hope for now? It's no use, Frank—no use!"
"Do you read your Bible?"
"I did till—till then. I haven't since. I have not dared to look at it. I have hidden it in the bottom of my trunk. If I were to open it, I am sure I would read something that would curse me."
"Instead of that, I truly believe you would read something that would comfort you. Try it, Cassie—try it."
"What's the use! God will never forgive me for cursing Him after all He has done to help me!"
"You cannot limit His power of forgiveness. You are making a mistake, little girl."
She caught her breath, looking up eagerly.
"Then do you think it possible for Him to forgive me after—after that?"
"I do."
"Oh, Frank!"
"I am sure of it. Cassie, you are not as wicked as you think. You must try again and again. Have faith! Don't use that drug! Cast it away! It will ruin you!"
"Just to-night, Frank—I must use it to-night! See, we have a good house! I must do my best to-night—for your sake! This is your company, you know, and everything may depend on to-night."
"No, Cassie, not to-night. I had rather make a failure of this, my first venture on the road, than have you yield in the least to the tempter. I had rather lose everything I have in the world, which is precious little, than to let that habit get another atom of power over you. Even though you make a failure of your part to-night, do not touch the stuff. You deceived me when you said it was medicine you wished to buy with the money. Now I have a right to order you to throw the stuff away. I do order you to do that, Cassie, for your own good."
His earnestness impressed her, swayed her.
"If you—say—so——"
"I do!"
"All right, Frank! For you—for you!"
At that moment there was a cry, and Roscoe Havener came rushing out of the dressing room into which he had sent Sargent. He was enraged, and he showed it.
"Something has happened!" exclaimed Cassie, darting out through the wings, followed closely by Frank.
"What's the matter, Mr. Havener?" asked Merry.
"That confounded scoundrel!" grated the stage manager.
"Who?"
"Sargent."
"What of him?"
"Gone!"
"What?"
"That's what!"
"Why, I thought he was in there dressing."
"So did I, but he slipped into the other dressing room and got out that way. He has gone, and here it is time to—— Listen!"
There was a stamping of feet and burst of catcalls from the audience in the building.
"They're growing impatient," said Frank. "What are we going to do?"
The other members of the company gathered about in their various costumes.
"I'll shoot Sargent when I meet him!" grated Havener. "He deserves it!"
"And I left him dressing when I came out," said Dunton. "Hadn't any idea but he intended to play, although he was fearfully angry."