CHAPTER XI.FRANK SPEAKS HIS MIND.
At the stage door he saw Douglas Dunton talking to a very pretty, blue-eyed girl, who started and blushed when she beheld Frank, quickly exclaiming in a low tone:
“Oh, there is Mr. Merriwell!”
“Never mind him,” laughed Dunton. “He’s not the only pebble on the beach.”
Frank said not a word, but entered the theater, apparently to the disappointment of the girl.
A short time later, Dunton came in. Frank called him aside.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dunton,” he said, “but there is a matter I wish to speak about.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” grinned Douglas. “I knew you didn’t want to catch on there, old man. Elsie Bellwood or Inza Burrage is your style. This girl——”
“How did you know I mean to speak of the girl?”
“Oh, that wasn’t so hard to guess! She’s all broken up over you, but I think she can be induced to forget you. She is a little beauty, only she’s rather light-headed and thinks she’d like to be an actress.”
“Foolish child!” said Merry, scowling. “She needs somebody to look after her closely.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind taking the job of looking after her.”
“In what way, Dunton? How did you meet the girl?”
“Oh, she was walking around outside the theater, and I simply walked up and spoke to her.”
“You never saw her before?”
“Of course not. It was a case of mash.”
Frank scowled still more.
“Dunton,” he said, “I hope you are not a masher. I hope you do not make it a practice of trying to mash pretty girls in the places where we play.”
“Oh, of course not; but when——”
“Mashing actors I detest,” declared Frank, plainly. “They have done no end of harm. They have given the profession a bad name. I would like a company who did not make a business of mashing.”
“Oh, I don’t make a business of it!” protested Douglas. “But when a fellow sees a nice little thing like this, he doesn’t feel like letting it go by—especially when it is easy.”
“I am sorry you spoke to the girl. She has an innocent face. Dunton, I wish you would let such girls alone.”
“What? Why, you wouldn’t want the members of your company running around with fly girls in the places where we go, would you?”
“No! I want them to mind their own business. I hope you will understand me, my dear fellow, and will not be offended. I do not wish my people to get a bad name by associating with those who are bad; nor do I wish them to get bad names by misleading those who are weak and foolish. It is likely that little girl has a mother who——”
“No; her mother is dead.”
“So much the worse. She has no one to look out for her and restrain her. She can easily be influenced in the wrong direction. No man who is a man will mislead such a girl.”
Dunton was restless.
“Oh, you’re putting it too strong, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “There is no harm in a little flirtation with a pretty girl. Don’t be jealous because I happened to catch on to her before you came along.”
He tried to turn this remark with a laugh, but Frank said:
“You know very well that is not why I am speaking to you. There was something about that girl’s innocent face that made me sorry for her. She is trembling on the brink of a downward path, I am sure of it. She is a girl not naturally bad, but she has her head filled with false notions, and she needs somebody to look out for her till she gets old enough to become aware that those ideas are false.”
“Oh, you are making too much of this, Mr. Merriwell. Don’t worry about girls like that. There are thousands of them. They are everywhere.”
“All the more reason why a man should take an interest in them. If one of them can be prevented from making the fatal mistake, it is a great thing.”
“If they are bound to be gay, they’ll be so, and you may lecture to them all you like.”
“But I hope no one in my company will help any girl to become ‘gay,’ as you call it. That is all I have to say, Dunton. I trust you will understand me. I don’t wish to meddle with your business.”
Frank knew it was useless to say anything more or talk plainer. Dunton understood him, and all he might add to what he had said would make no deeper impression.
That night the theater was packed to the doors. The “S. R. O.” sign was put out some time before the curtain went up, and several hundred more seats might have been sold. More than ever was the manager of the house delighted. He declared “True Blue” the greatest drawing card of the season, and he offered all kinds of bookings for next season.
The performance went off smoothly. The splendid climaxes in each act received tumultuous applause, and atthe end of the third act the audience was worked up to a pitch of great excitement. There were repeated curtain calls.
“Merriwell,” said Hodge, his dark face flushed with excitement, “this play beats your first one out of sight. I’ve never acknowledged it before, but I do now. ‘John Smith’ was not in it with this piece. Oh, but you wouldn’t do a thing with this in New Haven! Can’t you play there, Frank?”
“Perhaps,” smiled Merry, in a singular way. “I am going to put the play to the test in Chicago. We’ll be there the first of next week, and then we jump to New York.”
“What?” cried Hodge. “And you have never told me before?”
“Because I have been working for those engagements, but did not know that I’d get them. We play a week in New York. It’s make or break, old man. I started out on that plan, and I’m going to stick to it. I’ve been aiming for the top notch, and I’ll get there if it is possible.”
“You’ll get there!” exclaimed Bart.
Frank was almost the last one of the company to leave the theater that night. He had remained to see that everything was properly cared for, being anxious that there should be no further hitches in the performance of “True Blue.” The company carried quite a lot of special scenery and mechanical “effects,” the most striking of which were those used in the great boat race scene which concluded the third act of the play, and Frank wished to be certain that everything was properly handled in getting it ready for shipment.
Well satisfied, Merry was walking swiftly toward his hotel when he noticed two persons entering a restaurant. He paused instantly, whistling softly to himself.
“Dunton and the blue-eyed girl!” he exclaimed. “He made a date with her, and she met him after the performance. I’m sorry she did it.”
He went forward till he could look into the front window of the restaurant, and he saw the actor and girl pass behind a screen down the room.
“I suppose the tables reserved for ladies must be down there,” muttered Frank. “Well, I don’t like the idea of playing the spy on anybody, and so I think I will let them alone.”
He walked on, but his sense of satisfaction had passed, and he was depressed. Although he tried to forget the actor and the girl, he found he could not do so.
Before the hotel was reached, he stopped short and stood in deep thought for some minutes. The blue eyes and innocent face of the girl haunted him.
“I can’t abandon her to what may happen!” he muttered. “No, even though I hate to play the spy. It is my duty to see that no harm comes to that foolish girl.”
He turned squarely about and retraced his steps.
Reaching the restaurant, he entered and walked down the room till he reached a table near the screen. There he took a seat, for, just as he reached that place he noticed a mirror set against the wall in such a position that it reflected a certain portion of the room beyond the screen, and that mirror showed him Dunton and the blue-eyed girl sitting at a table. Frank sat down where he could watch their every movement by aid of the mirror.
There were a number of couples in the room beyond the screen, and the sound of talk and laughter came plainly to Merry’s ears. Three men besides himself had taken seats in his part of the room.
Merry had sized up the place quickly. He decided that it was a second-rate restaurant, catering to the class of people who kept late hours.
A waiter came for his order, and Frank realized that he was hungry, so he ran over the bill of fare and ordered something he fancied would satisfy his appetite.
“What will you drink?” asked the waiter.
“Water,” was Frank’s answer.
“Wouldn’t you like beer?”
“No.”
“Tea or coffee?”
“No.”
The waiter lifted his eyebrows in surprise and departed.
While waiting for the order to be served Merry watched the reflections of Dunton and the blue-eyed girl. The actor was doing his best to make her feel at ease, but it was evident that the experience of dining with a man in a restaurant at that hour of the night was novel to her, and she was nervous and excited, although she made efforts to appear at ease.
The popping of corks and clinking of glasses came from beyond the screen. The laughter of the men and women was of the strained and artificial kind. One man was talking rather loudly in a manner that plainly indicated his tongue felt thick and unwieldy. Occasionally a woman would begin to sing, but her companions cut her off.
“A bad place for the blue-eyed girl!” thought Merry. “I doubt if she ever saw anything like it before.”
Dunton was talking earnestly to the girl. He seemed to be telling her some sort of story, and he was using every fascination of which he was capable. On the stage, Dunton usually played heavies and villains; in everyday life Dunton was something of a comedian. Now he was able to bring fleeting smiles and nervous laughter to the lips of his companion.
A waiter brought them an addition to their order. Dunton told a funny story that seemed to amuse and startle the girl, for she looked at him reprovingly, even while she laughed.
“But they are not drinking!” muttered Frank, with no small satisfaction.
His own order was filled after a time, and he fell to eating. He had begun to wonder if he had not made a mistake in thinking the girl in any serious danger. Perhaps Dunton had not known the real character of the restaurant when he took her in there. Still, Frank was sorry she had been brought into a place where such people could sit near her and she could hear the sounds and see hints of the false pleasures which lure so many girls to waywardness.
For some little time Merry did not pay much attention to what was taking place behind the screen. At length, he observed that Dunton was leaning over the narrow table and talking in a low tone to the girl, his eyes looking into hers. The actor had secured one of her hands. As she listened, the color in her cheeks came and went. She seemed confused and abashed, yet fascinated.
Now, Frank knew she was in real danger. He thrilled all over, and half started from his seat, but dropped back, muttering:
“Not yet!”
A waiter came with two bottles, buried to their necks in cracked ice. He stopped at their table and prepared to open the bottles.
Frank felt that the time for action was close at hand.
One bottle was opened and glasses were filled.
Frank was astounded that Dunton should think of “blowing himself” on champagne, for that was what, beyond a doubt, the bottles contained. It was a most remarkablething for an actor to open anything so expensive for a stranger.
When the wine was placed before the girl, she hesitated and drew back. Frank was watching her closely, and that movement, that hesitation, settled him in the resolve to act.
Dunton leaned over the table, laughing and coaxing her. In a good-natured way, he was ridiculing her into drinking the wine.
Frank felt his blood tingling in his body as he watched this.
Merry rose to his feet. A check had been placed on his table, and he tossed the amount of his bill beside it.
All the while he was watching the girl. He hoped she would refuse to touch the wine, but he realized she lacked the firmness to do so. Her face, though pretty, betrayed in its mold the weakness of her character.
Dunton was winning. The girl looked at the wine, while he continued in his persuasive way to urge her to try it. In hesitation and laughing confusion she asked him something, and Frank knew he was declaring on his honor that the wine was harmless.
She reached out her hand, which trembled the least bit, and took up the glass.
And then, just as Dunton was clinking his glass against that of his pretty companion, Frank walked round the screen. The girl lifted her glass to drink.
Merriwell stood beside the table.
“Miss,” he said, quietly, “I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”
She gave a little cry of alarm, and nearly dropped the glass.
Dunton stared at Frank and muttered an exclamation of astonishment.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Merriwell!” cried the girl, in mingled delight, confusion and shame, as she put the wine down.
“Yes, it is!” said Dunton; “but where the dickens did he come from?”
Frank looked the actor sternly in the eyes.
“I think I wasted my breath when I talked to you to-night, Dunton,” he said.
The man moved restlessly in his chair, and his face flushed in an angry way.
“Have you been spying on me, Mr. Merriwell?” he demanded.
“I have been watching you,” said Frank, honestly. “It was purely by accident that I saw you come in here with this young lady. I came in also and sat out there beyond the screen. I sat down where, by the aid of the mirror yonder, I could see everything you did.”
Dunton’s anger threatened to flare forth. He half started up, but dropped back, grating his teeth together. His look just then reminded Merry of the time when, infuriated beyond endurance, Dunton had tried to wound or kill Frank in a sword combat on the stage.
“Why have you done this?” snarled the angry actor.
“Because I was impressed by the innocent appearance of this girl, and I feared for her safety. I thought it possible I had been mistaken till I saw this wine brought on, and now——”
“Now—what?” hissed Dunton, in great excitement.
“Now,” said Frank, looking straight into the eyes of the girl, “I’m going to take this young lady home!”
With a savage exclamation Dunton sprang to his feet, staring at Frank.
“Well, this is the greatest case of nerve!” he exclaimed.
The girl looked frightened and seemed on the verge of bursting into tears.
“Steady, Dunton!” commanded Merry, turning on him. “Don’t make a scene. It will do no good.”
“Do you think this is a very nice thing for you to do, Mr. Merriwell!” panted Dunton. “Don’t you think you are overstepping the bounds?”
“I fancy not.”
“But the young lady will not go with you!”
“On the contrary, I am quite sure she will.”
“Not on your life! She is with me! I believe you are jealous because you did not catch on with——”
“Stop!”
That word cut the speaker off instantly. Merriwell’s eyes looked dangerous just then, and Dunton knew Frank could not be trifled with when he was aroused.
“Oh, very well!” said the actor, with an effort to be mildly sarcastic. “I presume you will walk in here and take the young lady away from me without her consent? It is barely possible she may have something to say about it.”
“It is,” admitted Frank, “and I propose to let her say it, but still I am sure she will permit me to see her safely home.”
The girl arose at once, but just then two waiters came hurrying up, demanding to know what the trouble was about.
“No trouble at all,” assured Frank.
“Well, what are you doing bothering this gent and lady?” growled one of the waiters, who looked like a bouncer.
Frank did not look at him.
“Will you come with me, miss?” he asked.
“Well, that beats!” gasped the bouncer. “He’s tryin’ ter take the gent’s lady frien’ away from him.”
“T’row him out!” suggested the other.
“All right!”
Now Frank paid some attention to the men.
“Don’t attempt to put your hands on me!” he said, grimly. “If you do, I shall knock you down!”
“Ho! ho!” laughed the bouncer. “Out yer goes, freshy!”
He endeavored to catch hold of Merry to run him for the door, and the other offered assistance.
Smash! crack!—two blows stretched one of the waiters on the floor and sent the other flying over the top of a table.
The girl seemed overcome with terror, but Merry politely offered his arm, calmly saying:
“If you will accept my protection, I will see you home.”
She took his arm, and they started toward the door.
All this had happened so suddenly that the other patrons of the place scarcely seemed aware there was any trouble before the waiters had been knocked down and Frank was leaving with the girl.
Uttering furious exclamations, the waiters scrambled up.
“Give it to him!” snarled the bouncer, starting after Frank.
Then, strangely enough, Douglas Dunton thrust out his foot, and the man tripped over it, going down with a crash. The other waiter was following him closely, and he went sprawling over his companion.
Dunton made haste to skip out by a side door, not even stopping to pay his bill. The waiters saw him escaping, and, remembering he had not paid, they turned after him, giving Merry an opportunity to get away without further molestation.