HOLDING BOTH WEAPONS IN FRONT OF HIM, HE LOOKED READY FOR INSTANT FLIGHT.
Johnny was a trifle alarmed at the words, and looked almost timidly behind him to see if he was really there inseveral forms, or if it was only a portion of the play, when Mopsey struck his gun so severe a blow with the edge of his sword that it fell from his not over-strong grasp, striking directly on the toes of the blood-thirsty Richard.
There was a howl of pain as Mopsey dropped his sword with a clang, and appeared trying to gather his feet into his arms, where he could nurse them, while this shock of weapons on the frail stage caused such a motion of the foot-lights that two of them fell to the floor, smashing the bottles. The audience in the reserved seats, anxious to prevent any disturbance of the performance, scrambled for the candles, and the two who succeeded in getting them before they were extinguished kindly held them in their hands during the remainder of the scene.
“Don’t you know enough to fight when the time comes?” cried Mopsey, who, having given up the useless task of nursing his bruised feet, picked up his sword again and advanced once more upon the timid Othello, who was trying to decide whether he should remain there or run away.
These words had the effect of spurring Johnny on to a more perfect acting of his part, more especially since some of his friends in the audience cried out, in a friendly way, “Go for him, Shiner, an’ give him fits.”
Then Johnny did “go for” his adversary almost too strongly, for he refused to die as Mopsey had told him hemust, but continued to strike out wildly with his sword, hitting Mopsey’s weapon a portion of the time, and when he failed in that, coming so near Richard’s face that it seemed certain he would slice off one of his ears or his nose.
It was a furious combat, truly, and the audience favored it with the most generous applause, some inciting Mopsey and others Johnny to renewed exertions, until Mrs. Green started up in alarm, fearing that a riot would ensue.
“Why don’t you die?” whispered Mopsey, hoarsely, as he panted from exertion, and believed that in justice to the other performers the battle should end.
But Johnny refused positively to die, and it is probable that he would have continued the fight as long as he had strength or breath left, had he not been the victim of his own architectural shortcomings. He, the one who had built the stage, actually forgot the pitfalls in the form of spaces left uncovered because of lack of lumber; and in the excitement and fury of the battle, minding only the shouts of encouragement from the audience, he fell into one of these yawning pits, and Richard had a chance to become himself once more. With head down and heels up, the unfortunate Othello struggled in the prisoning space until every one of the bottle foot-lights had been displaced, and an even dozen of the audience seated themselves on the floor, holding the candles in their hands obligingly. Ben had taken Dickeyfrom his leaning-place against the wall, and brought him to the side from which he was to make his entrance when Richard and Othello had first begun to fight, so that when Johnny fell he rushed on in a sidelong way, in order to present his sword-arm to the conqueror.
King Richard was so entirely exhausted from his long struggle that he had apparently forgotten the course he had marked out for the rest of his company, and was leaning on his sword, gazing at the supposed-to-be-dead Othello, wondering whether he ought to help him to rise or not, when Ben launched Dickey full at him. He had no time to parry the shock, nor Macbeth to check the force with which Ben had sent him, and the consequence was that Richard and Macbeth fell almost directly on top of the struggling Othello with a thud that threatened to rend asunder each particular board of the frail stage.
Mrs. Green uttered a cry of horror as she realized that the cover of her new wash-boiler must have been injured; but that noise, as well as the terrified squeak from Othello, was drowned in the burst of applause that came from the spectators. Mopsey sprang to his feet as quickly as possible, bowing his acknowledgments to the audience as if he had planned the scene, while poor Dickey lay prone upon the almost suffocated Johnny, unable to rise, or even to move so that Othello might extricate himself.
As the audience continued to applaud, Mopsey felt that he was forced to remain before them, bowing, and almost expecting to be deluged with bouquets, and, of course, he was not aware that two members of his company needed his immediate assistance.
“Help Dickey! Why don’t you help Dickey?” whispered Ben from the wings, thinking that it would not be seemly in the ghost of Hamlet’s father to rush on to the stage before his time. But King Richard paid no attention to this call, if indeed he heard it, and, after waiting some moments, Ben, with his ghostly covering still flung over his arm, was obliged to go to the assistance of the two warriors, thereby causing a fresh burst of applause. He rolled Dickey over and over until Paul could drag him off by the shoulders, and then pulling Johnny out by the feet, he aided him in repairing the damages done to his costume by his descent through the stage.
It was now time that the dead Othello should do his song and dance, and in a very audible whisper he informed Mopsey that he had better get off, and give him the chance. Some of the audience suggested the same thing, and very reluctantly Mopsey left the stage, while Johnny concluded the act in a highly successful manner by a dance that was considerably better executed than was his sword-play.
Surely if noise was any proof that the audience was satisfied with the performance given by Mopsey’s company, then all must have been highly delighted, for such confusion was probably never heard in that house before as when the curtain fell on the first act of this new edition of Shakespeare’s plays. The actors were in a perfect whirl of delight, and all save Dickey showed it by dancing and shaking hands, until there was almost as much confusion behind the curtain as in front.
Mopsey was so delighted at the success that his gigantic brain conceived a startling idea for the entrance of the ghost, which was neither more nor less than for Ben to crouch under the stage, in the very hole where Johnny had come to grief, and at the proper time to rise up in a ghostly fashion, which must surely be very effective. Ben was disposed to object to this hiding under the flooring, more especially since he would be enveloped in the sheet, and would doubtless be uncomfortably warm; but all hisobjections were overruled by the author and company, and he gave a very unwilling assent to the proposition.
In order that the audience might not be kept waiting until their patience was exhausted, or their good-humor began to evaporate, the curtain was raised as soon as the ghost could be tucked away in his hiding-place, and Paul made his first appearance on any stage. Mopsey had explained to him the part which he was to assume, and in a well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare’s works belonging to Mrs. Green he had found the lines which Hamlet is supposed to speak after he sees the ghost. These he had committed to memory, although he had little idea of the meaning of them; and when he came upon the stage he addressed the audience as if in them he saw the ghost of his murdered father.
Now Ben had seen the play of “Hamlet” several times, and he knew enough about it to know that the speech Paul was delivering should be addressed to him. In his anxiety to have the scene played properly, he marred the effect of his own entrance somewhat by popping his head out of the hole and whispering, hoarsely,
“Turn ’round this way, Polly; turn ’round to me.”
Paul heard the advice, and he turned his back to the audience. Ben, seeing that his suggestion had been carried out, ducked his head again, very much to Hamlet’s perplexity.
Mopsey had stated particularly that as soon as he saw the ghost he must run away in alarm, and yet Ben would persist in keeping out of sight even though he had attracted his attention.
Paul repeated all of the speech he had committed to memory, and then waited for the ghostly visitant. Ben, who had not anticipated that there was so much speaking in Hamlet’s part, was rather confused, and did not know whether it was time for him to come out and strike terror to the heart of his supposed son or not.
He popped out his head two or three times, but Paul was not standing in such a position as he fancied would be best suited for the reception of a ghost, and he went back again out of sight, delighting the audience with his agility, and confusing Hamlet.
Paul knew that it was not the proper thing for him to stand there silent, and, fearing lest he might not have said enough, he began to repeat the same speech over again.
Ben realized that it was but a repetition that doomed him still to remain in hiding, and believing it to be a mistake on Paul’s part, he whispered, loudly,
“You’ve said that before; say something else.”
Paul was perfectly well aware that he had repeated those words before, and he was doing so for the very good reason that he did not know what else to say; but the ghost’scommand confused him, and he stood silent and motionless, resolved to remain quiet rather than make a mistake.
By this time Mopsey had discovered that there was something the matter with the two actors who were supposed to be delighting the audience, and he found that it was the ghost who was delaying the progress of the play.
“Come out of there, Ben,” he whispered, loudly; and some of the audience hearing him, they called, in pleasant tones,
“Yes, come out, Ben, and show yourself.”
Thus urged, the ghost could do no less than make his appearance, and he arose from his place of partial concealment as majestically as he could, considering the fact that the sheet had been caught upon a nail, and he was obliged to stoop two or three times to unfasten it. But he did succeed in rising at last, and then, to make himself look as much like a spectre as possible, he held both arms straight out as he walked slowly down the stage.
It is very likely that he would have made a good impression if it had not been for that portion of his costume that did not properly belong to the character he was assuming. The long ends of tape that he had insisted on allowing to hang down from his ankles persisted in getting under his feet, and he tripped himself up with a force that gave Hamlet a genuine fright. The sheet which coveredBen’s head prevented him from rising as quickly as he would have liked, and while he was trying to disengage himself from it, Paul, realizing that he should run away, did so by leaping over the prostrate ghost, to the great delight of the patrons.
The shock of Ben’s fall and Paul’s leap so shook the frail structure which Johnny had built that the curtain came down with a thud, tearing away from its fastenings above, and the poor ghost was made doubly a prisoner by this additional covering.
“Don’t tear it, Ben!” shouted Johnny, fearing lest his artistic labors in the way of the “Wild Indian” would be ruined, and then he and Mopsey sprang on the stage, rescuing the curtain from the frantic clutch of the ghost, and leaving that worthy to get to his feet as best he might.
Of course the audience enjoyed all this highly; and while they hooted and shrieked in the excess of their delight, Ben succeeded in escaping from the rather awkward mantle.
“I can dance, if I don’t do the ghost very well!” he shouted, almost angrily, to the noisy audience; and then he began to prove the truth of his words with a force that threatened the immediate destruction of the entire theatrical surroundings.
And the audience seemed to realize that Ben could dance,for they insisted on his continuing that portion of his duties until he was bathed in perspiration, and so tired that he could hardly move.
Of course, now that the curtain had been wrecked, there was no opportunity for dividing the acts, and after the applause which Ben’s efforts had produced died away, Mopsey sent Nelly on to sing again. The audience greeted her kindly, as before, and not only insisted on joining in the chorus, but demanded more than she had intended to give. They were evidently determined to get the full value of their money, and, suspecting that she would appear no more that evening, dictated to her such songs as they wanted to hear.
It was of no use for her to refuse, for they insisted upon their demands being complied with so noisily that the performance could not proceed until they were ready. She stood there singing until she was hoarse, while the entire company waited, in battle-array, for the time to come when they should make their last appearance in the great combat.
It was nearly half an hour before Nelly was allowed to go; and as soon as she was clear of the stage the waiting forces rushed on, displaying the most wonderful skill with their swords.
It would not be exactly correct to say that all of thecompany rushed on, for Dickey made his appearance very carefully. Of course he was obliged to come sideways, and he moved with great caution, lest he should fall down again, thus working more damage to the covers of Mrs. Green’s wash-boilers. But he got on with the others, even if he was slower in his movements, and soon was in the very midst of the mimic battle, apparently the most wounded one there, judging from the blows that were rained upon his armor.
The combatants had soon found out that their stage was hardly large enough for the movements of an army of five with such long swords, and that the greatest caution must be used to prevent serious injury to some of them. Therefore, when Mopsey hit a resounding blow on the front-piece of Dickey’s armor with the back of his sword, all saw that the din of battle could be represented in that way much better and with less danger than by clashing their swords together.
And thus it happened that poor Dickey found himself in the midst of a blood-thirsty crowd, each one pounding him on the chest or back, while he was unable to parry the attack, save when some one incautiously moved towards his sword-arm. He cried for mercy at the full force of his lungs, while Mrs. Green shouted the same request because of her tin-ware. The audience were equally divided inopinion as to whether Macbeth had been punished enough, and still the blows were delivered with such force and noise that one would have thought an army of tinsmiths were at work.
How long this unequal combat might have gone on it is impossible to say; for when Dickey found that he was likely to have no mercy shown him so long as the audience was so well pleased, he dropped to his knees, and then tried to roll off the stage. Of course, he could roll over no more easily than a turtle, but he had stopped the supposed sanguinary fight, and he was satisfied. Having no one on whom they could wreak their vengeance without considerable danger to themselves, the combatants dispersed, and not until then did Mopsey remember that the very one whom they had been using so roughly was the one upon whom they depended to close the performance.
When the self-elected manager thought of this, he called to Ben to help him set the vanquished Macbeth on his feet, and to get him in dancing condition. It was quite an easy matter to get the tin-encased hero on his feet, but quite another matter to bolster him up so that he could dance. Dickey was wearied with long standing, sore from the effects of the pounding, and so thoroughly cured of his desire to wear an armor, that all he thought of or wanted was to get where he could take off the trappings of war, andbecome a humble boot-blacking citizen once more. In fact he utterly refused to dance, which would really have been an impossibility, unless he had been relieved from the embarrassment of the boiler covers, and Ben and Johnny went on in a double clog to give a proper finish to the performance.
DICKEY FOUND HIMSELF IN THE MIDST OF A BLOOD-THIRSTY CROWD.
Inasmuch as there was no curtain, it was found necessary for Mopsey to go forward and announce that the evening’s entertainment was finished—an announcement which the audience was not inclined to accept as a fact. They utterly refused to leave their seats, and it was not until Nelly had appeared and sung three more songs that they left the theatre. Then, although they drew some comparisons between that theatre and others which they had attended, which were certainly not very favorable to Mopsey, they departed, apparently very well satisfied that they had received the full worth of their money.
The entertainment had lasted fully two hours, and every one of the performers, but more especially Dickey, was greatly pleased when the last one of the audience passed out of the door. It would be stating it all too mildly to say that Mrs. Green was relieved when they had gone. The good woman had been in a deplorable condition of fear since the time the first hearty applause was raised, and she had been seriously afraid that they would go throughthe floor of her attic in some of their more vigorous manifestations of pleasure.
Before the last one of their patrons had left the hall Dickey had asked Paul to help him cast aside the uncomfortable costume of Macbeth. When that was done, Master Spry stated most emphatically that if he ever acted again it would be in some part where the use of armor was entirely forbidden.
As a matter of course, the first thing the partners were anxious about, after their patrons had departed, was to know how large their profits were from that evening’s excessive labor. Without waiting to change their costumes, save as has been related in the case of Dickey, they gathered around Mrs. Green, who was beginning to recover some of the senses that had been frightened from her. She and Paul counted the money she had in her apron, and the amount was found to be three dollars and five cents. There was already in Treasurer Paul’s hands eight dollars and sixty cents, and when it was announced that the evening’s performance had netted them the very handsome amount of eleven dollars and sixty-five cents, the joy of the partners showed itself in many extravagant ways.
Ben proposed, and the boys agreed to it willingly, that one dollar of that amount be paid to Mrs. Green for the use of the attic. This being so much more than she hadexpected, caused her to look upon the theatrical enterprise as a gigantic success.
Then quite a discussion arose as to what should be done with the funds on hand. Mopsey was in favor of making an immediate division; but such a plan was thought by the others to be most unwise. Dickey proposed that a certain sum be set aside as working capital, and the balance divided among them all, including Nelly, of course, since she had contributed in no slight degree to the success of the entertainment.
This appeared satisfactory to the majority of the party, and would probably have been done if Ben, who had taken no part in the discussion, but appeared to be thinking deeply of something, had not said,
“I’ve got a plan that I reckon you’ll all agree to; but I don’t want to tell what it is yet awhile. Now I say, let’s let Paul keep it till Monday night; it won’t spoil if we don’t divide it till then.”
Since there was no good reason why this request should not be granted, and since Ben seemed so anxious to have it left that way, the rest of the partners agreed quite willingly. Then the tired company of actors crept off to bed, proud in the belief that their venture had been a success, but anxious to rest.
On Monday morning before they parted, and while Dickey was still their guest, Ben was very mysterious in his actions. He avoided Paul so much that one would have said he suspected the treasurer of having embezzled some of the funds of the concern.
But if any one knowing him had suspected that such was the case, that supposition would have been rejected as soon as a full view had been had of his face. He appeared to be in the most perfect good-humor, but considerably excited. Before he left the house he had succeeded in whispering these same words to Mopsey, Dickey, and Johnny, without having been overheard by Paul:
“Meet me at Nelly’s stand ’bout ’leven o’clock, an’ don’t let Polly know anything about it.”
The only one of that party who had not been in the best of spirits during the Sabbath, when Mrs. Green had exacted a due observance of the day by her boarders, was Paul, and he had been very sad. It was the second Sunday that hadpassed since he had been so unfortunately separated from his parents, and his distress of mind seemed to have increased, instead of being soothed, by time; in fact, as the days passed on, and he still found himself very far from accomplishing his purpose, he began to despair of ever succeeding.
As successful as they had been with their theatrical enterprise, the proceeds were not as large as he had expected; and when he figured out the amount which was each one’s share, he realized that it would be very long before he could get from that source money enough to buy his ticket home.
A few days previous to the giving of the entertainment, he had asked at one of the numerous ticket-offices on Broadway how much they would sell him a ticket for, and had been told that he could go for half fare, which would be fourteen dollars—a sum of money which seemed almost a fortune to him. During that day Ben had talked with him about his chances of getting home, what he would do when he got there, and many questions about his relatives, all of which Paul had answered readily, although it added to his distress to speak of such matters.
When Monday came, and the boys started out to attend to their business duties, Paul noticed that there was an evident anxiety on the part of all his companions to avoid him.This pained him more than he would have been willing to admit, and it was with a heavy heart that he went about his work, wondering what he had done to cause any change in their feelings towards him.
As all of that theatrical company had expected, they heard many criticisms on the performance they had given, and it seemed as though all of their patrons bestowed more time on giving them advice for future guidance than on their regular business. Some advised that Saturday evening performances be given each week, assuring the firm of their support during the entire season. Others were so unkind as to advise that a small theatre be built for Mopsey, where he could take all the parts himself, and very many had suggestions to give Dickey as to the kind of armor he should wear the next time he played the part of Macbeth.
Some of this advice Dickey received in a kindly spirit, assuring his friends of his determination never to play a part again that required any such uncomfortable costume; but to others he displayed considerable ill-feeling, and was so unwise as to be angry, when he should have remembered that as the public’s servant, in the capacity of an actor, he was obliged to hear their criticisms. But the partners were made happy by knowing that, in the majority of individual cases they heard of, their performance had given satisfaction, and that if they could only get a new play, since theyhad exhausted all of Shakespeare’s in one evening, they might feel assured of considerable patronage again.
Having been told of this at an early hour in the morning, Mopsey set about the task of writing, or thinking of, another play immediately; and it was said by those who watched him closely that he drove away at least four customers that forenoon by his seeming discourtesy, while he was trying to decide how a new play could be arranged.
At eleven o’clock, agreeably to the appointment made by Ben, all the partners, except Paul, met at Mrs. Green’s fruit-stand, wondering not a little as to why they had been summoned. Ben was there, almost bursting with importance; and when he found that all, including Mrs. Green and Nelly, were ready to listen to him, he said, as if he were again on the stage:
“I’ve got a big plan, an’ I hope you’ll all think jest the same about it that I do. You know how bad Polly feels ’cause he can’t git back to his folks, for you see how he moped round yesterday when we was all feelin’ so good. Now, I jest come from a place where they sell railroad tickets, an’ I found out that a little feller like him can get to Chicager for fourteen dollars.”
“It won’t be long before he gets that much, if nothin’ happens to the theatre,” said Mopsey, much as if he had been speaking of a gold-mine.
“Not long!” echoed Ben, almost contemptuously; “it’ll take him longer than you think for if he depends on that. I asked him yesterday to figger up an’ see how much every one would have after payin’ Mother Green, an’ he made it a dollar’n seventy cents. Now that’s a healthy pile ter go to Chicager on, ain’t it?”
“Well, how can he fix it any other way?” asked Dickey, in considerable surprise, not understanding what Ben was trying to get at.
“I’ll tell you how we can. We can all turn to, Mother Green an’ all, an’ give him the whole of the money. Then he won’t have to git only a little over two dollars to fix him right, an’ I reckon me an’ Johnny can fix him out on that.”
The partners looked at each other in surprise as this startling proposition of Ben’s was understood by them. For some moments no one spoke, and then Dickey said, as if his mind was made up so firmly that it would be impossible for any one to try to change it,
“He can have my share, an’ I’ll ’gree to put in enough more to make up as much as he’s got to have jest as soon as I kin earn it.”
“Good for you, Dickey,” said Nelly, admiringly, knowing that the ruined merchant’s offer meant a great deal, coming at a time when he was almost penniless. “Mother an’ I’ll put in our share, won’t we, mother?”
“Indeed we will,” replied Mrs. Green; and before she could say any more Johnny spoke up,
“Of course I’m in for anything Ben is, ’cause he’s my partner, an’ I’m mighty glad he thought of such a thing.”
Mopsey was the only one who appeared to be at all averse to the generous deed, and there seemed to be a great struggle going on in his mind, when he should have been the first to agree to it, since he had more money than all the others save Mrs. Green.
“Shame on you, Mopsey, for not speaking right up, and saying that you’ll do as much as the others will,” cried Nelly, in great excitement, lest one of the party should frustrate the others in their good work.
“Why don’t you give a feller a chance to say what he’ll do?” replied Mopsey, angry with himself for having hesitated at such a time. “I’m willin’ to come in with the rest, only I want to think it over first.”
“Then you’ll agree to it, will you?” asked Ben, anxious for the success of his plan.
“Of course I will; didn’t I say so?” asked the pea-nut merchant, sulkily.
“Then it’s all right,” said Ben, joyfully; “an’ now let’s get what money he’s got of ours, in some way so’s he won’t know what we want it for, an’ add enough to it so’s to buy the ticket, an’ give it to him to-night.”
The others, with the possible exception of Mopsey, were eager to complete the good work at once and Mrs. Green was called upon to tell them how much money was needed, and how much each person would be obliged to give. She was not an adept in the art of arithmetic, but after some little time, during which a good many figures were made, she informed them that the total amount needed was two dollars and thirty-five cents, and that as there were six of them, including herself and Nelly, each one would be obliged to give a fraction over thirty-nine cents.
Ben responded at once with forty cents, although he then had but ten cents left, and in a few moments the entire sum was contributed. It was only necessary to get the money which Paul had, and the ticket could be purchased.
It was decided that, since Ben had formed the plan, he should carry it out—a task which he was perfectly willing to perform; and, after promising to let his partners know as soon as he had succeeded, he started off, happy at the thought of being able to give Paul so much pleasure. When he met the boy whom he was eager to make happy once more, he had not been able to form any plan for getting the theatrical funds from him without running the risk of raising his suspicions. But since there was no other course which he could pursue, he said, as innocently as possible,
“I’ve been talkin’ with the other fellers, Paul, an’ I want you to let me have the money that come from the theatre. We’re thinkin’ of doin’ somethin’ with it, an’ when you come home to-night we’ll tell you what it is.”
Paul had been thinking so much of his home and of his parents, whom he feared he should not see again, that he could have had no idea of Ben’s purpose, even though he had spoken more plainly, and he handed him the money without a word.
During the remainder of that day Paul was considerably mystified at the singular behavior of his friends; they indulged in the most wonderful winks and nods to one another whenever they were where he was, and something which Ben showed them from time to time seemed to please them immensely. Whenever he asked the reason for their unusual good-humor, and apparent secrecy about something, he was told that he should know at dinner-time, but not before.
Without having the slightest suspicion as to what his friends had done for him, Paul was so excited by the evident secret which was being kept from him that he was very impatient for the time to come when he could know what it was.
Never before had the boys seemed so anxious to be with him as they were during that afternoon, and he quiteforgot their seeming coolness of the morning. One or all of them—excepting Mopsey, of course, who was obliged to remain at his stand in the absence of the boy who sometimes acted as clerk for him—kept near Paul all the day; and when it was time to go to dinner, it seemed as if they were escorting him home.
Once or twice while they were eating dinner some one of the party had said, “Now, Ben, now!” but Ben had shaken his head significantly and continued eating, as if he had no other duty before him.
When the meal was finished, instead of getting up from the table as they were in the habit of doing, each one of Mrs. Green’s boarders, as well as herself and Nelly, remained at the table as if waiting for something, and Paul looked at them in the greatest surprise.
“Mister Weston,” said Ben, gravely, as he pushed his plate farther on the table, and arose from his seat as if he had a long speech to deliver, “us fellers have seen that you wasn’t feelin’ very nice at havin’ to stay with us, an’ we kinder thought you wanted to leave us ’cause things didn’t go to suit you.”
As he paused for a moment, Paul, who had been in a perfect maze of wonder at this preface to the speech, said, quickly,
“I’m sure things go to please me as much as you canmake them; but you mustn’t feel angry if I don’t want to stay, ’cause you know just how it happened that I came here; an’ when I think of my father an’ mother an’ my sister, I can’t—help—feeling—”
“MISTER WESTON,” SAID BEN, GRAVELY.
Here Paul burst into a flood of tears at the thought that his companions were reproving him for grieving for those whom he loved so dearly, and whom he feared he might never meet again. Ben hesitated at this grief of his friend, and for a moment it seemed as if he could not continue until he had tried to console him; but like one who has a duty to perform, and must do it as quickly as possible, he continued:
“We ain’t layin’ anything up agin you ’cause you don’t want to stay round here, for we don’t blame you, seeing how you’ve got a good home to go to; an’ if we had one we should tear round worse’n you do. But all the same, we’ve seen how you felt about it, an’ we’ve come to the ’clusion that you’d better not stay here any longer.”
Paul looked up in fear and surprise, for it certainly seemed as if he was being turned away.
“No,” continued Ben, in a loud voice, growing more emphatic the nearer he approached the conclusion of his speech—“we’ve made up our minds that you’ve got to go, an’ Dickey here’s all ready to take your place as one of the boarders. We give a pretty good show Saturday night, an’we got so much money out of it that we’ve bought this for you so’s you can go home.”
Ben handed Paul the ticket, which he had opened to full length as he ceased speaking, and it was some moments before the surprised boy could understand it all. But when he realized that now he could go to his friends, if not to his parents, his joy was more than he could control, and from its very excess came the tears in an irresistible torrent.
It is highly probable that one might have searched over New York City that night and not found a happier household than that of Mrs. Green’s. Paul was so wonderfully happy in the thought that he was going back to Chicago, where, even though he could not see his parents, he should find relatives and friends, that he could talk of little else. Even the theatre was forgotten by him; for when Mopsey spoke of the necessity of getting another boy to take his place in the dramatic company he hardly gave the matter a thought, except to say that he hoped they would make plenty of money out of it. And Paul’s partners were happy, more happy than they could possibly have been by any other outlay of their money; Paul’s pleasure reflected on them to such a degree that they became almost as much excited as he was before the evening was over.
Good Mrs. Green alternately laughed and cried, until she seemed to realize that such nervousness was not exactlysuitable to the occasion, and then she busied herself by reading one of the papers Ben had brought home.
Master Treat had spent so much time on the good work he had carried through so successfully, and then had paid so much more attention to the boy he was going to surprise than to the sale of his goods, that, instead of helping Johnny as had been his purpose when he took some of his papers to sell, he was a drawback, and the consequence was that Mrs. Green had three evening papers to read, while Messrs. Jones and Treat had been “stuck” just that number.
After she had joined in the general good time over Paul’s good-fortune with her daughter and her boarders, and found that she was marring rather than adding to it by her nervousness, she ceased to pay any more attention to what was said by those about her, but became interested in the advertisements of fruit for sale. Suddenly she came across something that seemed to surprise her greatly, for she took off her glasses and wiped them, as though she mistrusted that which she saw was on the glass and not in the paper.
After satisfying herself that she was not the victim of an optical delusion, her face was a remarkable sight, exhibiting as it did surprise and delight alternately. It appeared as if it was difficult for her to speak, for she tried several times before she succeeded in saying,
“Listen to me every one of you, an’ if I ain’t mistakenPaul will be more glad to hear this than he was to get his ticket. This is what it says in this paper, word for word: ‘Paul Weston’—that’s in big letters. ‘Any one who can give information of Paul Weston, who strayed from an outward-bound steamer on the afternoon of the seventeenth, will receive a handsome reward by calling on the undersigned. Said boy is ten years old, has light hair, blue eyes, nose slightly turned up, and at the time of his disappearance was dressed in dark blue clothes; he would most likely be trying to make his way to Chicago, and any one who has seen such a boy will please communicate at once with Rufus Weston, Fifth Avenue Hotel.’ There! what do you think of that?” and Mrs. Green looked around at her circle of listeners, who appeared to have been stricken dumb with astonishment.
“Why, that means me!” exclaimed Paul, suddenly, as if he had thought some one else was spoken of. “And Rufus Weston, that’s my father! He didn’t go away, after all. And now, somebody, tell me where that hotel is.”
As he spoke he had grasped his coat and hat, running from the house at full speed before he even knew which direction he should take. There were none of that party who had a very clear idea of what they were saying or doing just then; but as the most important thing in their minds was to see this father of Paul’s, who had come at atime when his son was about to go home without his assistance, each one of the boys started out in the same rapid way, overtaking their more excited companion just as he was stopping to consider which direction he should take.
“This way, Polly!” shouted Ben, waving his hand, and started along as if he were going to a fire.
No one thought of walking, for it seemed as if every moment was precious then, and that they might not find him if they were two or three minutes late. On they ran, at full speed; and when they stood in a row before the clerk of the Fifth Avenue Hotel, they were so breathless that they could not speak distinctly.
“Polly’s come to see his father,” said Ben, after they had stood there so long that the clerk was about to order one of the porters to turn this quite dirty and very ragged crowd, who appeared to have come there simply to look at him, out-of-doors.
“Who is his father?” asked the man, hardly believing that any guest in that hotel would claim a son from that rather disreputable-looking party, for Paul looked almost as dirty and ragged as the others did.
“His name’s Rufus Weston,” said Paul, speaking in a low voice, because of the tears that would persist in coming into his eyes, so much afraid was he that his father was no longer there.
THEY STOOD IN A ROW BEFORE THE CLERK OF THE FIFTH AVENUE HOTEL.
Almost every one in the hotel knew Mr. Weston’s story, and no sooner did he hear the name than the clerk, calling one of the servants, ordered him to show this odd-looking party to Mr. Weston’s room. Paul almost ran ahead of the man in his eagerness to see his father, while the others were inclined to remain quite a distance in the rear, awed by the elegant things they saw around them, and not quite certain as to whether they ought to follow their friend. When, finally, the man stopped before one of the doors, knocked, and Paul rushed into the room, the boys heard a scream of delight, and then they were shut out, as if their companion had forgotten them entirely.
Ranged close to the wall, opposite the door which Paul had entered, wondering whether they ought to go or stay, four boys stood in bewilderment, hardly daring to speak. Porters, servants, and guests passed them with looks of wonder at the motionless line, who appeared to be trying to make themselves as small as possible, so that they should be in no one’s way; and each time they were favored with a look of scrutiny or surprise they fancied that they were to be ordered to leave the house at once.
“I guess we’d better go,” whispered Dickey, after one of the porters had looked at them unusually hard.
“Yes,” replied Mopsey, in an injured tone; “he’s got all he can out of us, an’ we sha’n’t see him agin.”
“Now don’t you go to tryin’ to be a fool, Mopsey Dowd,” said Ben, indignantly. “Polly ain’t the kind of a feller to forget his chums, an’ I’m going to stay here till he comes out, if it ain’t till mornin’. S’posen you had a father that had got lost, an’ you’d jest found him, wouldn’t it be quite a while afore you’d think of such a lot of duffers as we be?”
Mopsey was silent, but not convinced; he shook his head in a knowing way, as if to say that his companions would soon see that he had spoken the truth, and then he tried to push himself farther into the wall in order to occupy less space in the hall. For fully ten minutes the boys stood there, first on one foot and then on the other, like motherless chickens in a rain-storm, and then the turning of the handle of the door caused them to straighten up into what they intended should be careless attitudes, which should say that they had intended to go right away, but had been delayed by the discussion of some important question. It was Paul who came out of the room; and if the boys had had any doubts as to whether they had done right in staying, they were convinced now, for their companion looked around as if he were absolutely certain they would be there.
“Father wants to see you; come in,” he said, holding the door open for them to enter.
But they were not disposed to accept the invitation;they had waited to see Paul, not his father, and they had an idea that they should not feel exactly at their ease in there.
“Come in,” insisted Paul; “there’s no one here but father, and he wants to see all of you.”
Mopsey was the first to enter; he had settled it in his mind that they ought to be invited to see Mr. Weston, and he considered it his right to go in because of the money he had contributed towards Paul’s ticket to Chicago. The others followed him, but did not appear as confident as he did. Whatever extravagant idea Mopsey may have had as to the way in which they ought to be received by Mr. Weston, he was not disappointed. Paul’s father welcomed them in the most cordial manner possible, and had they been his most intimate and esteemed friends they could not have been received more kindly.
Paul had given his father a brief account of his life since the time he learned that the steamer had sailed without him, and he had spoken in the warmest terms of the boys who had befriended him when he was in such bitter trouble. After the boys had entered the room, Mr. Weston explained why it was that he was still in New York City, when it seemed almost certain that he had sailed for Europe.
In a very few moments after the steamer had startedfrom the pier Mrs. Weston had asked him to send Paul to their cabin, she needing his service in some trifling matter; and when Mr. Weston looked around for his son, of course he could not be found. A hasty and vain search was made, and then the boy whom Paul had left behind to acquaint his father of the important business of buying tops that had called him away, told the story which he would probably have told before had he known which one of the many passengers his newly-made friend’s father was. Leaving his wife and daughter to continue the journey alone, Mr. Weston had come back with the pilot, and from that day until then he had searched for his son, never once thinking that almost any newsboy in the vicinity of City Hall could have given him full particulars.
Paul had told him of the generosity which his friends had shown in devoting all the theatrical funds, and nearly all of the money they had individually, to the purchase of the ticket to Chicago; and after he had told them how it was that he had remained in the city, he said, as he took the ticket Paul was holding in his hand to give back to his friends,
“I shall keep this ticket, boys, even though Paul will not need it, for we shall sail for Europe in the next steamer. I want it as a reminder of generosity and nobility as shown by four boys, who could not have been censured if theyhad let the lost boy work his own way back to his home. I shall have it framed, with your names written on it; and when any one asks the meaning of it, I shall tell them that it was bought for my son by four noble boys of New York.”
Ben’s eyes fairly sparkled with delight as Mr. Weston bestowed this praise, and Mopsey drew himself up at full height, as if the idea of doing the charitable deed had originated with him, instead of his having been opposed to it.
“Now, boys,” continued Mr. Weston, “I shall try to do something towards repaying you for your kindness to Paul; but then I have another matter to settle with you. I advertised that I would give a reward to any one who should bring me information of my son. You have done that by bringing the boy himself, and are, therefore, entitled to the sum I should have paid any one else.”
As he spoke he handed some money to Paul, and he in turn handed it to Ben, who said, as he took it rather unwillingly,
“We don’t want any pay for comin’ here with Polly, an’, besides, it warn’t very far, so we won’t say nothin’ ’bout it.”
“All we shall say about it, my boy, is that you will keep that money in order that I may keep my word. To-morrowwe will see what can be done to reward you for your kindness to Paul, and he and I will call at your house some time in the evening, where I hope you will all wait for us.”
Ben concluded from this that Mr. Weston wanted to be alone with his son, and he said, as he went towards the door,
“We’ll keep the money, though it don’t seem jest right; it kinder looks as though we was takin’ what didn’t belong to us, an’ the only way I know of to get square on it is for us to give a show all for you alone, an’ let you come in for nothin’.”
Mr. Weston seemed highly pleased at the novel idea, and he told them, as he shook their hands in parting, that he would be obliged to give the matter some considerable attention before he could accept any such generous offer, but that they could talk the matter over the following evening. Paul bade them good-night, with the assurance that he would see them the next day, and the boys marched out of the hotel saying not a word, but looking as if they believed they had grown considerably in importance during their call.
Once in the street, Mopsey stopped under the nearest gas-light and asked Ben to see how much money Mr. Weston had given them. Ben unfolded the bills, which heheld crumpled up in his hand, and the surprise of all four may be imagined when he unrolled five twenty-dollar notes.
“Jinks!” squeaked Dickey, with delight, after he had turned four consecutive hand-springs to quiet himself down a little, “that’s a hundred dollars; an’ if we don’t swell ’round with that it’ll be ’cause we don’t know how to put on style.”
Then, quite as fast as they had left Mrs. Green’s, they ran back to relate the startling news, and surprise their landlady and her daughter with the treasure that had come because of their generous act.
As may be supposed, Paul’s good-fortune in finding his father was the topic of conversation during the forenoon following that happy event, and there was even more excitement regarding it in the news-selling world than there had been when the fact was first circulated that Ben and Johnny had embarked in a theatrical enterprise.
Of course the good-fortune that had come to the firm through Paul was known as soon as the other, and whenever one of the partners passed a group of merchants in his same line of business, he was sure to be pointed out as one of the boys who were the happy possessors of a clear hundred dollars.
As it was quite likely that Paul and his father would come down town during the day, no one of the merchants knowing of the facts went very far from the City Hall, lest they should miss the chance of seeing him. There was a great deal of pride manifested because they had had a richman’s son among their number, even though it had only been for a few days; and those who had tried to drive him away during the first of his attempts to sell papers now tried to show how often they had befriended him.
Some even allowed such flights to their imaginations that they came to believe Paul’s father would give them money enough to make them all rich, and they came to think of the five cents which they had spent for a theatre ticket as just so much money given directly to Paul. But the boys who had actually received money from Mr. Weston were so much excited by the wealth which had so suddenly become theirs that they could do no business at all that day. From the time they had reached home with the hundred dollars in their pockets they had been in earnest discussion as to what they should do with their money.
Mopsey had used every argument he could think of to show that it was not only wise but proper for them to invest it all in their theatre; and so earnest was he in his attempts to have it so expended that he took upon himself the excessive labor of figuring the cash result of ten performances at the same amount of receipts as those of the previous Saturday, showing that they would receive in return the amount of their investment and considerably more. But he was unable to give any reason as to why they should not have as liberal patronage if they continuedtheir efforts in the same place without any further outlay of money.
Ben was willing that a small portion of the amount should be spent for the purchase of a curtain, and for more secure foot-lights; but he insisted that the greater portion of it should be invested where it would be safe.
Dickey was of the same opinion as Ben; and he further proposed, since Mopsey was so anxious to carry out his ideas, that rather than spend it all on their theatre they should divide the money, so that each could do with his share as he thought best.
Johnny advised buying or starting a news-stand in some good location, and this Mrs. Green seemed to think was the most sensible plan of all. Of course the boys knew that she and Nelly each had a share in the money, and her advice had great weight with them. But they had come to no decision when they went to bed that night, and the morning found them quite as divided in opinion as to what should be done with their great wealth.
None of the boys, not even Mopsey, had been able to go to work that day, and the greater portion of the forenoon was spent in City Hall Square, trying to come to some understanding about their money. As a matter of course, they remembered what Mr. Weston had said about rewarding them still further because of what they had done forPaul; but since it was Ben and Johnny who had really cared for the boy when he did not know where to go or what to do, they would be the only ones who would probably be benefited, although Mopsey felt that there was a great deal yet due him for the theatrical education which he had bestowed.
While they were still engaged in argument, and with no more prospect of coming to any agreement in the matter, Mr. Weston and Paul stood before them, having approached unobserved, because of the exciting discussion which had occupied their attention to the exclusion of everything else. Mr. Weston had heard enough of the conversation to know that the question of what should be done with the money he had given them was under discussion, and after seating himself on one of the benches, with the boys all around him, he succeeded in gaining their confidence so far that they talked unreservedly before him.
When each one had advanced his views on the matter, Mr. Weston agreed with Dickey that it was better for them to divide it equally, and Paul figured out to them what each one of the six would have as his portion.
Then Mr. Weston startled them by an invitation which almost took their breath away. He said that he could not keep his appointment with them that evening, because of business matters which would require his attention, but,instead, he would invite them, as well as Mrs. Green and Nelly, to go to Coney Island with himself and Paul for a holiday.
Of course there was but one answer to such a proposal, and they accepted it with the greatest pleasure, agreeing to meet him at the pier on the following morning.
Then Mr. Weston and Paul went to the steamship office to engage passage to Europe for the coming Saturday, and the partners went to startle Mrs. Green and her daughter with the wonderful news. To their great surprise Mrs. Green, even though she did own one-sixth of the hundred dollars, decided that she could not afford to close up her basket-store for the day, even when she had been invited to make one of the pleasure-party; but she was willing and anxious for Nelly to go, which was, perhaps, just as well.
Nine o’clock was the time when Mr. Weston had said that he and Paul would meet the party at the pier; but they, fearing lest they might be late, had arrived there a little before eight on the following morning, as full of pleasure as any five children that could have been found in New York City.
Ben and Johnny presented very nearly the same gorgeous appearance they had on the night when they first called on Mrs. Green, while Dickey and Mopsey were attired in costumes that were models of their own idea offashion. Nelly, who looked very sweet and modest in her clean gingham dress, had tried in vain to persuade her friends to go in their usual working-clothes, rather than put on such a striking array as they did; but each one of the boys indignantly repelled the idea of showing so little regard for the gentleman who was to give them so much pleasure, by not making themselves look as beautiful as possible, and she could not persuade them to do differently.
It was hardly more than half-past eight when they began to express their doubts as to whether Mr. Weston would arrive in time to take the steamer he had designated, and they were fearing lest they should be disappointed after all, when Paul and his father arrived.
Mopsey was in favor of giving Mr. Weston three cheers as a mark of their appreciation and admiration, when that gentleman appeared at the head of the pier, and, finding that his companions objected to it, would have done all the cheering himself if Ben had not forcibly prevented him by holding his hand firmly over his mouth.
Paul greeted his friends as warmly as if he had been separated from them for weeks instead of hours, and then the party went on board the steamer, feeling that they were justly the observed of all observers.
Mopsey explained everything they saw with a reckless disregard of accuracy; and if his companions had not knownto the contrary, they would have thought that all his life had been spent on the steamers running from New York to Coney Island.
It was not until Mr. Weston asked him some question about the theatre that he laid aside the duties of guide and historian, to launch out in glowing details of their temple of histrionic art, which must one day be the resort of the general public. The others quietly enjoyed the sail, drinking in deep draughts of pleasure from everything around them excepting Mopsey’s loud boasting.
Johnny seemed plunged in an ecstasy of delight, from which he emerged but once; and then it was to express the wish that he might always be a passenger on one of these steamers, with no other object than to enjoy the continual sail.
Nelly and Dickey sat side by side, speaking only at rare intervals, while Paul and Ben discussed the latter’s prospects in life, or spoke of the wonderful journey which the former was to make in order to rejoin his mother and sister. As for Mr. Weston, he appeared to find as much enjoyment in the delight and wonder of his guests as they did in the sail, and there was every prospect that the holiday would be a remarkably pleasant one to all.