CHAPTER XIX.DUNTON SEES A LIGHT.
“By Jove!” exclaimed Ross Havener, as he rushed onto the stage the moment the curtain was down. “That was great! Couldn’t have done it better if you had practiced a year! Hear them roar! Why, they’re going to give you a curtain call!”
Dunton started to move away, and he fairly staggered.
“Hold on, Dunton,” commanded the stage-manager. “You must go before the curtain with Merriwell!”
“I can’t!” gasped the wretched fellow. “I—I’m ill!”
“It’ll be only a minute. You must go. Ready, Merriwell. Out here. Go on, now. Bow—bow when they applaud.”
Frank was pushed out, and he found himself before a crowd that seemed beside itself with enthusiasm. Such cheering he had never before heard in a theater. He bowed and walked across.
Then Dunton came out. There was moderate applause, and a few hisses, but it was plain that Merriwell was the one who had won the house.
Behind the curtain Havener stopped them both.
“I don’t understand it now,” he declared. “Why, that was more like a real duel than anything else! One time I was actually scared, for I thought it was a trifle too realistic. In fact, I don’t think it will do for you to go at it like that every time, for you might make a slip that would result in a dangerous wound. I noticed Dunton made some pretty nasty thrusts.”
Again Dunton tried to get away, for he fancied Merriwell would tell Havener everything.
“It looked worse than it really was, I fancy,” smiled Frank. “Mr. Dunton was very easy with me, and all his thrusts were easily avoided.”
Dunton felt like wilting.
“What is the matter, Dunton?” asked Havener.
“I tell you I am ill!” snapped the fellow. “Can’t you see it? My nerves—are all—unstrung!”
“The duel was too much for you. Now, Merriwell seems as cool as ice.”
Dunton went down to his dressing room.
Sargent was there, and he stared at Dunton as the latter came in and dropped down limply on a square box.
“Well,” said Sargent, “what do you think of Frank Merriwell now?”
“Why!” gasped Dunton.
“Why! Don’t I know! Didn’t I watch it all! Didn’t I understand! Think I’m a fool?”
“What are you driving at?” asked Dunton, weakly.
“You know. You made a fool of yourself, Dug. You tried to run him through!”
The fellow sprang up off the box, his eyes glaring.
“Don’t you dare say that!” he panted—“don’t you dare! It’s a lie!”
“It’s the truth!”
“Curse you! You have turned against me!”
“If you are going to turn murderer—yes!”
“Murderer!”
“It would have been murder had you succeeded!”
“In what?”
“Your purpose in that duel. You’d thought you could make it seem an accident if you thrust Merriwell through. You might have fooled a jury into believing it accidental, but I should have known better. I should have known you were a murderer!”
“Don’t—don’t use that word!”
“It is the word that applies.”
“The jig is up with me!” half whimpered Dunton. “Merriwell knows, and he will denounce me. You know, and you will say it is true. Oh, curse you both! I hate you!”
He seemed ready to burst into tears, and yet he was quivering with rage.
“Dunton,” said Sargent, grimly, “you’re not in your right mind. You have become insane through your hatred for Frank Merriwell, and your insanity nearly led you to commit a terrible crime. It was not your fault that you did not succeed. If Merriwell had not been your superior with a sword, you would have accomplished the deed.”
Dunton sat down on the box again, and dropped his face on his hands.
“It’s no use!” he muttered, thickly. “Everything has gone against me! I am finished!”
“You have no one but yourself to blame,” said Sargent, rather stiffly. “I warned you to let the fellow alone. But how is he going to prove that you really tried to run him through?”
“By you.”
“He can’t.”
“Why not?”
“He doesn’t know I think so.”
“You’ll tell.”
“No.”
“You won’t?”
“No. If you will promise me to drop this thing here and let Merriwell alone, wild horses can’t drag anything out of me.”
Dunton lifted his head.
“You will remain my friend?”
“Yes, I’ll stick by you if you’ll quit this monkey business and walk a straight line.”
“I’ll do it, if Merriwell don’t floor me for this first round.”
“You must take chances on that. Brace up, now, and——”
“Yes; give me a drink. Here, I have something in my coat. I must take a big drink, or I can’t play through the last act. They won’t do anything with me till the piece is over, anyhow.”
He got out a bottle and took a heavy drink. To his surprise, Sargent declined to take anything.
“I am done with the stuff for between-the-acts bracers,” he said. “Those who want it may take it. Merriwell doesn’t drink a drop, and he’ll have us all in the shade before the season is over.”
“Are you going to take him for a model?”
“I may. It wouldn’t hurt either of us to pattern after such a model.”
Dunton managed to get through the final act of the play. Appearances indicated that Frank had not betrayed him up to the end of the play, but he felt sure Merry would do so immediately after all was over.
As soon as possible, he wiped off his make-up, got into his street clothes, and left the theater. He went straight to the hotel, and proceeded to get as full of whisky as he could hold.
“I’ll be good and drunk when they jump on me,” he thought.
How he got to bed or when he went he never knew, but he awoke the following morning with a splitting headache, and he was forced to start the day with two stiff drinks. Those seemed to brace him up, and, dressing, he went down to see what was being said about him.
He met some of the members of the company, and they congratulated him on the duel scene. At first he fancied they might be trying to draw him out, but he soon decided they were in earnest. That made it evident that they knew nothing of the facts. But Havener must know.
He met Havener, and two minutes’ conversation with the stage-manager convinced him that Havener did not know.
Then it began to dawn upon him that it was possible Merriwell had not yet denounced him. Before long he was convinced that this was true.
What did it mean?
“He’s waiting for a good opportunity to take me before the entire company,” thought Dunton. “Well, I’ll give him the chance, and I’ll swear every word he says is a lie. I never tried to run him through.”
But, that afternoon at rehearsal, Frank had an opportunity to make the denunciation, and did nothing of the sort.
The rest of the week passed.
Saturday night, after the show, Dunton found Merriwell alone.
“Look here, Merriwell,” he said, “when are you going to do it?”
“Do what?” asked Frank, surprised.
“Blow the whole business.”
“What business?”
“About that duel.”
“What about it?”
“Why, you know I was furious with you, and I tried to do you up for keeps. Of course, you will blow it to Havener and the others. Why don’t you get about it? I’m tired of waiting.”
“Look here, Mr. Dunton,” said Merriwell, facing the fellow squarely. “I want to ask you one or two questions. First, aren’t you a little bit disgusted with yourself for trying such a trick?”
“Perhaps so,” admitted Dunton, sheepishly.
“Next, would you try it again if you had the chance?”
“No. I was a fool, and I’m glad I failed. I don’t want to kill anybody.”
“I thought not, and I thought I would give you time to come to your senses. You need not be afraid that I will blow. I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You—you will keep still about it?”
“If you act decent in the future—yes.”
The fellow was silent. He stood staring at Frank, seeming uncertain what he had better do. Gradually the blood flowed into his face till it was crimson.
“Merriwell,” he said, huskily, “I never knew what a blamed cheap cuss I am! You are a white man! You would have served me right if you had blown the whole thing. I can’t see why you didn’t. I don’t expect friendship from you—I wouldn’t accept it; but I don’t think you and I will have any more trouble.”
Then he turned and walked quickly away.