THE MEDAL LIBRARY

                       FAMOUS COPYRIGHTED STORIES
                      FOR BOYS, BY FAMOUS AUTHORS

                          PUBLISHED EVERY WEEK

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    This is an ideal line for boys of all ages. It contains juvenile
    masterpieces by the most popular writers of interesting fiction
    for boys. Among these may be mentioned the works of Burt L.
    Standish, detailing the adventures of Frank Merriwell, the hero,
    of whom every American boy has read with admiration. Frank is a
    truly representative American lad, full of character and a
    strong determination to do right at any cost. Then, there are
    the works of Horatio Alger, Jr., whose keen insight into the
    minds of the boys of our country has enabled him to write a
    series of the most interesting tales ever published. This line
    also contains some of the best works of Oliver Optic, another
    author whose entire life was devoted to writing books that would
    tend to interest and elevate our boys.

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                  To be Published During January, 1905

     295—Cris Rock                  By Capt. Mayne Reid

     294—Sam’s Chance               By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     293—My Plucky Boy Tom          By Edward S. Ellis

     292—Frank Merriwell’s Hard     By Burt L. Standish
       Luck

                    To be Published During December

     291—By Pike and Dike           By G. A. Henty

     290—Shifting For Himself       By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     289—The Pirate and the Three   By Captain Marryat
       Cutters

     288—Frank Merriwell’s          By Burt L. Standish
       Opportunity

     287—Kit Carson’s Last Trail    By Leon Lewis

                    To be Published During November

     286—Jack’s Ward                By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     285—Jack Darcy, the All-Around By Edward S. Ellis
       Athlete

     284—Frank Merriwell’s First    By Burt L. Standish
       Job

     283—Wild Adventures Round the  By Gordon Stables
       Pole

     282—Herbert Carter’s Legacy    By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     281—Rattlin, the Reefer        By Captain Marryat

     280—Frank Merriwell’s Struggle By Burt L. Standish

     279—Mark Dale’s Stage Venture  By Arthur M. Winfield

     278—In Times of Peril          By G. A. Henty

     277—In a New World             By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     276—Frank Merriwell in Maine   By Burt L. Standish

     275—The King of the Island     By Henry Harrison Lewis

     274—Beach Boy Joe              By Lieut. James K. Orton

     273—Jacob Faithful             By Captain Marryat

     272—One of Horatio Alger’s
       Best Stories.

     271—Frank Merriwell’s Chase    By Burt L. Standish

     270—Wing and Wing              By J. Fenimore Cooper

     269—The Young Bank Clerk       By Arthur M. Winfield

     268—Do and Dare                By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     267—Frank Merriwell’s Cruise   By Burt L. Standish

     266—The Young Castaways        By Leon Lewis

     265—The Lion of St. Mark       By G. A. Henty

     264—Hector’s Inheritance       By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     263—Mr. Midshipman Easy        By Captain Marryat

     262—Frank Merriwell’s Vacation By Burt L. Standish

     261—The Pilot                  By J. Fenimore Cooper

     260—Driven From Home           By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     259—Sword and Pen              By Henry Harrison Lewis

     258—Frank Merriwell In Camp    By Burt L. Standish

     257—Jerry                      By Walter Aimwell

     256—The Young Ranchman         By Lieut. Lounsberry

     255—Captain Bayley’s Heir      By G. A. Henty

     254—Frank Merriwell’s Loyalty  By Burt L. Standish

     253—The Water Witch            By J. Fenimore Cooper

     252—Luke Walton                By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     251—Frank Merriwell’s Danger   By Burt L. Standish

     250—Neka, the Boy Conjurer     By Capt. Ralph Bonehill

     249—The Young Bridge Tender    By Arthur M. Winfield

     248—The West Point Boys        By Lieut. Frederick Garrison,
                                      U.S.A.

     247—Frank Merriwell’s Secret   By Burt L. Standish

     246—Rob Ranger’s Cowboy Days   By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     245—The Red Rover              By J. Fenimore Cooper

     244—Frank Merriwell’s Return   By Burt L. Standish
       to Yale

     243—Adrift in New York         By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     242—The Rival Canoe Boys       By St. George Rathborne

     241—The Tour of the Zero Club  By Capt. R. Bonehill

     240—Frank Merriwell’s          By Burt L. Standish
       Champions

     239—The Two Admirals           By J. Fenimore Cooper

     238—A Cadet’s Honor            By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison,
                                      U.S.A.

     237—Frank Merriwell’s Skill    By Burt L. Standish

     236—Rob Ranger’s Mine          By Lieut. Lounsberry

     235—The Young Carthaginian     By G. A. Henty

     234—The Store Boy              By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     233—Frank Merriwell’s Athletes By Burt L. Standish

     232—The Valley of Mystery      By Henry Harrison Lewis

     231—Paddling Under Palmettos   By St. George Rathborne

     230—Off for West Point         By Lieut. Fred’k Garrison,
                                      U.S.A.

     229—Frank Merriwell’s Daring   By Burt L. Standish

     228—The Cash Boy               By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     227—In Freedom’s Cause         By G. A. Henty

     226—Tom Havens With the White  By Lieut. James K. Orton
       Squadron

     225—Frank Merriwell’s Courage  By Burt L. Standish

     224—Yankee Boys in Japan       By Henry Harrison Lewis

     223—In Fort and Prison         By William Murray Graydon

     222—A West Point Treasure      By Lieut. Frederick Garrison,
                                      U.S.A.

     221—The Young Outlaw           By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     220—The Gulf Cruisers          By St. George Rathborne

     219—Tom Truxton’s Ocean Trip   By Lieut. Lounsberry

     218—Tom Truxton’s School Days  By Lieut. Lounsberry

     217—Frank Merriwell’s Bicycle  By Burt L. Standish
       Tour

     216—Campaigning With Braddock  By Wm. Murray Graydon

     215—With Clive in India        By G. A. Henty

     214—On Guard                   By Lieut. Frederick Garrison,
                                      U.S.A.

     213—Frank Merriwell’s Races    By Burt L. Standish

     212—Julius, the Street Boy     By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     211—Buck Badger’s Ranch        By Russell Williams

     210—Sturdy and Strong          By G. A. Henty

     209—Frank Merriwell’s Sports   By Burt L. Standish
       Afield

     208—The Treasure of the Golden By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
       Crater,

     207—Shifting Winds             By St. George Rathborne

     206—Jungles and Traitors       By Wm. Murray Graydon

     205—Frank Merriwell at Yale    By Burt L. Standish

     204—Under Drake’s Flag         By G. A. Henty

     203—Last Chance Mine           By Lieut. James K. Orton

     202—Risen From the Ranks       By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     201—Frank Merriwell in Europe  By Burt L. Standish

     200—The Fight for a Pennant    By Frank Merriwell

     199—The Golden Cañon           By G. A. Henty

     198—Only an Irish Boy          By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     197—Frank Merriwell’s Hunting  Burt L. Standish
       Tour

     196—Zip, the Acrobat           By Victor St. Clair

     195—The Lion of the North      By G. A. Henty

     194—The White Mustang          By Edward S. Ellis

     193—Frank Merriwell’s Bravery  By Burt L. Standish

     192—Tom, the Bootblack         By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     191—The Rivals of the Diamond  By Russell Williams

     190—The Cat of Bubastes        By G. A. Henty

     189—Frank Merriwell Down South By Burt L. Standish

     188—From Street to Mansion     By Frank H. Stauffer

     187—Bound to Rise              By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     186—On the Trail of Geronimo   By Edward S. Ellis

     185—For the Temple             By G. A. Henty

     184—Frank Merriwell’s Trip     By Burt L. Standish
       West

     183—The Diamond Hunters        By James Grant

     182—The Camp in the Snow       By William Murray Graydon

     181—Brave and Bold             By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     180—One of the 28th            By G. A. Henty

     179—The Land of Mystery        By Edward S. Ellis

     178—Frank Merriwell’s Foes     By Burt L. Standish

     177—The White Elephant         By William Dalton

     176—By England’s Aid           By G. A. Henty

     175—Strive and Succeed         By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     174—Golden Rock                By Edward S. Ellis

     173—Life at Sea                By Gordon Stables

     172—The Young Midshipman       By G. A. Henty

     171—Erling the Bold            By R. M. Ballantyne

     170—Strong and Steady          By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     169—Peter, the Whaler          By W. H. G. Kingston

     168—Among Malay Pirates        By G. A. Henty

     167—Frank Merriwell’s Chums    By Burt L. Standish

     166—Try and Trust              By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     165—The Secret Chart           By Lieut. James K. Orton

     164—The Cornet of Horse        By G. A. Henty

     163—Slow and Sure              By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     162—The Pioneers               By J. F. Cooper

     161—Reuben Green’s Adventures  By James Otis

     160—Little by Little           By Oliver Optic

     159—Phil, the Fiddler          By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     158—With Lee in Virginia       By G. A. Henty

     157—Randy, the Pilot           By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     156—The Pathfinder             By J. F. Cooper

     155—The Young Voyagers         By Capt. Mayne Reid

     154—Paul, the Peddler          By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     153—Bonnie Prince Charlie      By G. A. Henty

     152—The Last of the Mohicans   By J. Fenimore Cooper

     151—The Flag of Distress       By Capt. Mayne Reid

     150—Frank Merriwell’s          By Burt L. Standish
       Schooldays

     149—With Wolfe in Canada       By G. A. Henty

     148—The Deerslayer             By J. F. Cooper

     147—The Cliff Climbers         By Capt. Mayne Reid

     146—Uncle Nat                  By A. Oldfellow

     145—Friends Though Divided     By G. A. Henty

     144—The Boy Tar                By Capt. Mayne Reid

     143—Hendricks, the Hunter      By W. H. G. Kingston

     142—The Young Explorer         By Gordon Stables

     141—Ocean Waifs                By Capt. Mayne Reid

     140—The Young Buglers          By G. A. Henty

     139—Shore and Ocean            By W. H. G. Kingston

     138—Striving for Fortune       By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     137—The Bush Boys              By Capt. Mayne Reid

     136—From Pole to Pole          By Gordon Stables

     135—Dick Cheveley              By W. H. G. Kingston

     134—Orange and Green           By G. A. Henty

     133—The Young Yagers           By Capt. Mayne Reid

     132—The Adventures of Rob Roy  By James Grant

     131—The Boy Slaves             By Capt. Mayne Reid

     130—From Canal Boy to          By Horatio Alger, Jr.
       President

     129—Ran Away to Sea            By Capt. Mayne Reid

     128—For Name and Fame          By G. A. Henty

     127—The Forest Exiles          By Capt. Mayne Reid

     126—From Powder Monkey to      By W. H. G. Kingston
       Admiral

     125—The Plant Hunters          By Capt. Mayne Reid

     124—St. George for England     By G. A. Henty

     123—The Giraffe Hunters        By Capt. Mayne Reid

     122—Tom Brace                  By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     121—Peter Trawl                By W. H. G. Kingston

     120—In the Wilds of New Mexico By G. Manville Fenn

     119—A Final Reckoning          By G. A. Henty

     118—Ned Newton                 By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     117—James Braithwaite, The     By W. H. G. Kingston
       Supercargo

     116—Happy-Go-Lucky Jack        By Frank H. Converse

     115—The Adventures of a Young  By Matthew White, Jr.
       Athlete

     114—The Old Man of the         By George H. Coomer
       Mountains

     113—The Bravest of the Brave   By G. A. Henty

     112—20,000 Leagues Under the   By Jules Verne
       Sea

     111—The Midshipman, Marmaduke  By W. H. G. Kingston
       Merry

     110—Around the World in Eighty By Jules Verne
       Days

     109—A Dash to the Pole         By Herbert D. Ward

     108—Texar’s Revenge            By Jules Verne

     107—Van; or, In Search of an   By Frank H. Converse
       Unknown Race,

     106—The Boy Knight             By George A. Henty

     105—The Young Actor            By Gayle Winterton

     104—Heir to a Million          By Frank H. Converse

     103—The Adventures of Rex      By Mary A. Denison
       Staunton

     102—Clearing His Name          By Matthew White, Jr.

     101—The Lone Ranch             By Capt. Mayne Reid

     100—Maori and Settler          By George A. Henty

     99—The Cruise of the Restless; By James Otis
       or, On Inland Waterways,

     98—The Grand Chaco             By George Manville Fenn

     97—The Giant Islanders         By Brooks McCormick

     96—An Unprovoked Mutiny        By James Otis

     95—By Sheer Pluck              By G. A. Henty

     94—Oscar; or, The Boy Who Had  By Walter Aimwell
       His Own Way,

     93—A New York Boy              By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     92—Spectre Gold                By Headon Hill

     91—The Crusoes of Guiana       By Louis Boussenard

     90—Out on the Pampas           By G. A. Henty

     89—Clinton; or, Boy Life in    By Walter Aimwell
       the Country

     88—My Mysterious Fortune       By Matthew White, Jr.

     87—The Five Hundred Dollar     By Horatio Alger, Jr.
       Check,

     86—Catmur’s Cave               By Richard Dowling

     85—Facing Death                By G. A. Henty

     84—The Butcher of Cawnpore     By William Murray Graydon

     83—The Tiger Prince            By William Dalton

     82—The Young Editor            By Matthew White, Jr.

     81—Arthur Helmuth, of the H. & By Edward S. Ellis
       N. C. Railway,

     80—Afloat in the Forest        By Capt. Mayne Reid

     79—The Rival Battalions        By Brooks McCormick

     78—Both Sides of the Continent By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     77—The Perils of the Jungle    By Edward S. Ellis

     76—The War Tiger; or, The      By William Dalton
       Conquest of China,

     75—The Boys in the Forecastle  By George H. Coomer

     74—The Dingo Boys              By George Manville Fenn

     73—The Wolf Boy of China       By William Dalton

     72—The Way to Success; or, Tom By Alfred Oldfellow
       Randall

     71—Mark Seaworth’s Voyage on   By William H. G. Kingston
       the Indian Ocean,

     70—The New and Amusing History By F. C. Burnand
       of Sandford and Merton,

     69—Pirate Island               By Harry Collingwood

     68—Smuggler’s Cave             By Annie Ashmore

     67—Tom Brown’s School Days     By Thomas Hughes

     66— A Young Vagabond           By Z. R. Bennett

     65—That Treasure               By Frank H. Converse

     64—The Tour of a Private Car   By Matthew White, Jr.

     63—In the Sunk Lands           By Walter F. Bruns

     62—How He Won                  By Brooks McCormick

     61—The Erie Train Boy          By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     60—The Mountain Cave           By George H. Coomer

     59—The Rajah’s Fortress        By William Murray Graydon

     58—Gilbert, The Trapper        By Capt. C. B. Ashley

     57—The Gold of Flat Top        By Frank H. Converse
       Mountain

     56—Nature’s Young Noblemen     By Brooks McCormick

     55—A Voyage to the Gold Coast  By Frank H. Converse

     54—Joe Nichols; or,            By Alfred Oldfellow
       Difficulties Overcome

     53—Adventures of a New York    By Horatio Alger, Jr.
       Telegraph Boy,

     52—From Farm Boy to Senator    By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     51—Tom Tracy                   By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     50—Dean Dunham                 By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     49—The Mystery of a Diamond    By Frank H. Converse

     48—Luke Bennett’s Hide-Out     By Capt. C. B. Ashley, U.S.
                                      Scout

     47—Eric Dane                   By Matthew White, Jr.

     46—Poor and Proud              By Oliver Optic

     45—Jack Wheeler; A Western     By Capt. David Southwick
       Story

     44—The Golden Magnet           By George Manville Fenn

     43—In Southern Seas            By Frank H. Converse

     42—The Young Acrobat           By Horatio Alger, Jr.

     41—Check 2134                  By Edward S. Ellis

     40—Canoe and Campfire          By St. George Rathborne

     39—With Boer and Britisher in  By William Murray Graydon
       the Transvaal,

     38—Gay Dashleigh’s Academy     By Arthur Sewall
       Days

     37—Commodore Junk              By George Manville Fenn

     36—In Barracks and Wigwam      By William Murray Graydon

     35—In the Reign of Terror      By G. A. Henty

     34—The Adventures of Mr.       By Cuthbert Bede, B. A.
       Verdant Green,

     33—Jud and Joe, Printers and   By Gilbert Patten
       Publishers

     32—The Curse of Carnes’ Hold   By G. A. Henty

     31—The Cruise of the Snow Bird By Gordon Stables

     30—Peter Simple                By Captain Marryat

     29—True to the Old Flag        By G. A. Henty

     28—The Boy Boomers             By Gilbert Patten

     27—Centre-Board Jim            By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     26—The Cryptogram              By William Murray Graydon

     25—Through the Fray            By G. A. Henty

     24—The Boy From the West       By Gilbert Patten

     23—The Dragon and the Raven    By G. A. Henty

     22—From Lake to Wilderness     By William Murray Graydon

     21—Won at West Point           By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     20—Wheeling for Fortune        By James Otis

     19—Jack Archer                 By G. A. Henty

     18—The Silver Ship             By Leon Lewis

     17—Ensign Merrill              By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     16—The White King of Africa    By William Murray Graydon

     15—Midshipman Merrill          By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     14—The Young Colonists         By G. A. Henty

     13—Up the Ladder               By Lieut. Murray

     12—Don Kirk’s Mine             By Gilbert Patten

     11—From Tent to White House    By Edward S. Ellis

     10—Don Kirk, the Boy Cattle    By Gilbert Patten
       King

     9—Try Again                    By Oliver Optic

     8—Kit Carey’s Protégé          By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     7—Chased Through Norway        By James Otis

     6—Captain Carey of the Gallant By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry
       Seventh,

     5—Now or Never                 By Oliver Optic

     4—Lieutenant Carey’s Luck      By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     3—All Aboard                   By Oliver Optic

     2—Cadet Kit Carey              By Lieut. Lionel Lounsberry

     1—The Boat Club                By Oliver Optic

                       _The Radium of All Humor_

                                _Comical
                              Confessions
                               of Clever
                               Comedians_
                            By F. P. PITZER
                              ~EDITED BY~
                                 DEWOLF
                                 HOPPER

Search the world over and you cannot find more genuine, original humor
than that contained in “Comical Confessions of Clever Comedians.”

This little volume has been compiled after the fashion of a continuous
performance. There is an All-Star Cast, or we might say a regular
“Whoop-De-Doo,” introducing such well known comedians as DeWolf Hopper,
Francis Wilson, Lew Dockstadter, Frank Daniels, Dave Warfield, Joe
Weber, and others. Just imagine what there is in store for the reading
public when a glance at the title page reveals the fact that DeWolf
Hopper, the hero of “Wang,” is the editor or manager of this All-Star
Vaudeville Company.

    Issued in a very attractive cloth binding. Price, 75c. postpaid.

       Street & Smith, Publishers, 238 William St., New York City

                            FRANK MERRIWELL
                              ON THE ROAD

                                   OR

                        The All-Star Combination

                                   BY

                            BURT L. STANDISH

                               AUTHOR OF

                       “_The Merriwell Stories_”

                            Publisher’s Logo

                      _STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS_

                    _79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York_

                            Copyright, 1898
                           By STREET & SMITH
                                 ─────
                      Frank Merriwell on the Road

                      FRANK MERRIWELL ON THE ROAD.

                                 ─────

                               CHAPTER I.

                          A LUDICROUS MEETING.

“Stop dot tonkey!”

Boom-te-boom-te-boom-boom!

The bass drummer of the band at the head of “Haley’s All-Star
Combination and Mammoth Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company” did not miss a beat
when the three “fierce and terrible untamed Siberian bloodhounds” darted
between his legs in pursuit of the escaping donkey.

But when the fat Dutch lad, who had been leading the donkey, attempted
to follow the dogs, there was a catastrophe.

The excited Dutch lad struck the drummer squarely, and the drummer
uttered a yell of astonishment and terror. Into the air he flew, down he
came, and—boom! bang! slam he went through the head of the drum.

“Shimminy Gristmas!”

The Dutch boy was startled by the havoc, but he quickly recovered and
started once more in hot pursuit of dogs and donkey.

“Hee-haw! hee-haw!” brayed the donkey, joyously whisking its heels in
the air.

“Hear dot tonkey laugh!” shouted the Dutch boy.

The dogs set up a wild baying, and there was no end of commotion on the
street along which the parade had been making its way toward the Thalia
Theater. Among the spectators, some of the men laughed, while many of
the women screamed and made a scramble to get out of the way of the
terrible “bloodhounds.”

“Stop dot tonkey!”

The pursuing lad waved his short arms wildly in the air, his face
flushed with excitement, his eyes bulging from his head.

The donkey made for a small fruit and cigar store, seeming bent on
rushing straight through the large window where the goods were
temptingly displayed.

A young man standing near the store placed himself squarely in the path
of the little animal, and skillfully caught the dangling halter by which
the creature had been led.

The donkey halted abruptly, while the dogs came up and leaped around it,
still baying.

Puffing like a pony engine, the Dutch boy dashed up and grasped the
donkey’s tail with both hands, shouting:

“Vot der madder vos mit you, ain’d id? I can’t run avay you from uf you
vant me to! Now, don’d try any uf my tricks on yourseluf, for uf you do,
I vill——Wow!”

Up flew the donkey’s heels once more, and the little beast lifted the
fat lad and sent him whirling over in the air.

The creature had seemed to kick with the force of a pile driver, and he
fairly flung the Dutch boy into the air.

Down came the lad, plunging headfirst into a garbage barrel that had
been standing on the curb, awaiting the arrival of the garbage
gatherers.

Into the barrel plunged the boy. Fortunately the barrel was not quite
half filled. Down he went till he stuck fast, his fat legs kicking
wildly in the air.

The youth who had stopped the donkey now released the animal and started
to extricate the boy from the barrel.

A tall, awkward youth, who had been with the parade, forming one of the
band, rushed up, brass horn in hand.

“Darn my pertaturs!” he shouted, dropping the instrument. “That ’air
donkey will be the death of that feller yit!”

Then he made a grab at the legs of the lad in the barrel and received a
kick behind the ear that knocked him over in a twinkling. He struck in a
sitting position on the ground, and there he remained, rubbing his head
and looking dazed.

The youth who had stopped the donkey succeeded in getting hold of the
legs of the unlucky fellow in the barrel, and dragged him out, after
upsetting the barrel.

By this time everybody on the street was roaring with laughter, and the
donkey joined in with a ridiculous “hee-haw.”

“There, my friend,” said the rescuer, as he released the lad he had
extracted from the barrel, “you are all right now.”

The Dutch boy sat up beside his friend who had started to pull him out,
and a most wretched spectacle he presented.

“Oxcuse me!” he exclaimed, clawing dirt out of his eyes. “I don’t like
dot kindt uf peesness!”

“Waal, what in thutteration did yeou want to kick the head offen me for
when I tried to pull yeou aout?” snapped the other lad, glaring at him.
“Yeou made me see mor’n four bushels of stars, an’ there’s many’s four
hundrud an’ seventeen chime bells a ding-dongin’ in my head naow.”

“Who id vos kicked my headt off you?” spluttered the Dutch boy. “You
nefer touched me. Vot der madder vos, anyhow?”

The youth who had extracted the Dutch lad from the barrel laughingly
said:

“I see you fellows are up to your old tricks. You are quarreling, as
usual.”

“Hey?” cried the tall lad.

“Vot?” squawked the Dutch boy.

“How are you, Ephraim?” laughed the rescuer.

“Jeewhillikins!” yelled the tall youth, jumping to his feet, his face
fairly beaming. “Jee-roo-sa-lum! Yeou kin beat my brains out with a
feather duster ef it ain’t Frank Merriwell!”

“Shimminy Gristmas!” howled the Dutch boy, wildly scrambling up. “I hope
I may nefer see your eyes oudt uf again uf dot ain’t Frank Merriwell!”

“Right,” nodded the rescuer. “I am Frank Merriwell, just as sure as you
are Ephraim Gallup and Hans Dunnerwurst.”

“Whoop!” roared Ephraim.

“Wa-ow!” bellowed Hans.

Then they made a rush at the handsome fellow, who had given his name as
Frank Merriwell, flung their arms about him, and literally danced as
they hugged him.

The spectators looked on in astonishment.

“Oh, great jumpin’ grasshoppers!” shouted the Yankee lad. “Ain’t this
the gol dingdest s’prise party I ever struck!”

“I peen so asdonished I vos afraidt you vill die heardt vailure uf
britty queek alretty!” gurgled the delighted Dutch lad.

“Break away!” laughed Frank. “You’ll have me off my pins if you keep
this up.”

“Gol darned ef I ever saw anybody whut could git yeou offen your pins
yit,” declared Ephraim Gallup.

“Yaw, dot vos righdt,” put in Hans. “Nopody peen aple got your pins off
you a hurry in.”

“Oh, Jimminy!” squealed the Vermonter. “This is too good to be true!”

“Yaw!” agreed the Dutch boy; “dot vos shust righdt! Id peen too true to
peen goot!”

“Haow in thunder is it we find yeou here?” asked the overjoyed Yankee.

“Dot vos vot you’d like to know,” declared Hans. “How id vos you
happened to foundt us here?”

“Well, I’d like to know how you two happen to be here,” said Merriwell.
“Have you turned showmen?”

“Yaw.”

“Yeou bet.”

“We peen dwo uf der sdars der ‘All-Star Gombination’ in.”

“We’re hot stuff, b’gosh!”

“Efy blays der paratone horns.”

“An’ Hans plays the donkey when the donkey gets sick and can’t come on.”

“Id vos a greadt shnap. We ged our poard vor our glothes.”

“An’ we’re havin’ a high old time travelin’ around over the kentry.”

“Well,” smiled Frank, as they clung to his hands, “I never dreamed of
seeing you chaps traveling with a show.”

“We nefer knew vot you had pecome uf since der college left you.”

“An’ we was talkin’ abaout yeou last night.”

“Yaw. We said how you would enjoy yourseluf if dese show vos dravelin’
aroundt mit you.”

“There’s a heap of fun in it, Frank. Whillikins! yeou’d oughter be with
us.”

“You come to der theater und let der show seen you to-night,” invited
Hans.

“That’s it!” cried Ephraim. “Won’t you do it?”

“Oh, I think so,” smiled Merry. “But I want to see you chaps before
that. Have you taken dinner?”

“No.”

“Then take dinner with me, and we will have a jolly time talking over
old times. Will you do it?”

“You pet my life!” shouted the Dutch boy.

“By gum, we will!” vociferated Ephraim. “Jest yeou come up to the
theater, an’ we’ll be reddy to go with yeou inside of twenty minutes.
Come on.”

“All right. Go ahead.”

One of the other members of the company had secured the donkey and dogs.
The little donkey was turned over to Hans again, with a warning not to
let the creature get away. Ephraim recovered his horn and took his place
in the band. The procession formed, the band struck up vigorously, minus
the bass drum, and the “All-Star Combination” moved along the street as
if nothing had happened.

In fact, this little affair of the escaping donkey and dogs was regarded
as an incident that would serve to help advertise the show, and that was
exactly what satisfied and pleased Barnaby Haley, owner and manager of
the organization.

                              CHAPTER II.

                         FRANK AND HIS FRIENDS.

The band played two pieces in front of the Thalia Theater. The man who
was handling the “fierce and untamed bloodhounds” skillfully succeeded
in getting all three of them into a fight, appearing nearly frightened
to death over it. The donkey walked into the midst of the dogs and
separated them by taking the aggressor in his teeth and pulling him
away, and Barnaby Haley was well satisfied with the advertising he would
receive on account of all this.

Frank, looking on, understood that the same things happened in nearly
every town visited by the company.

The donkey was to be taken into the theater by the stage entrance, but
Hans found a chance to say to Frank:

“Shust vait here till dot theater comes oudt uf me. I vill peen righdt
pack a minute in.”

Ephraim induced one of the musicians to take charge of his horn, and
remained with Frank.

Hans soon reappeared.

“Now shust you took dot tinner to me,” invited the Dutch lad. “I pelief
a square meal can eadt me a minute in.”

“Eat!” cried the Vermont lad. “Why, that Dutch sausage can eat any gol
darn time an’ all the gol darn time! Never see northing like him in all
my born days.”

“Oh, shust shut yourseluf ub!” cried Hans, quickly. “Your mouth dalks
too much mit you. You don’d peen no ganary pird to eadt. You vos aple to
ged der oudtside uf a whole lot.”

“Waal, b’gosh! these air howtels we stop at some of um have pritty
blamed poor grub,” confessed the Yankee youth. “Their beefsteak is made
of luther, an’ their bread might be bought up by ther loaf an’ used fer
pavin’-stuns on the streets.”

“Well, I think I’ll be able to give you something to eat that you can
digest, but you mustn’t expect too much.”

“We kin eat any old thing with you, Frank,” declared Ephraim. “Why, when
we was campin’ aout at Fardale last summer we hed appetites like hosses,
an’ it didn’t make no diffrunce whut there was to eat, we jest et it.”

“Yaw,” nodded Hans; “und some uf der things vot vasn’t to eadt we shust
eated all der same.”

“But naow we want yeou to tell us haow it happens yeou are here, Frank,”
urged Ephraim, as they walked along together.

Frank, who had formerly been a schoolmate of the boys at Fardale
Academy, after which he had gone to Yale, briefly explained that he had
been forced to leave college on account of the loss of his fortune, and
was now making his own way in the world. The boys knew he had left
college, but they had not heard he was working on a railroad. Both were
astonished.

“Darn my turnups!” cried Ephraim.

“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans.

“Whut yeou been doin’ on the railroad?”

“Running an engine,” explained Merry.

“Runnin’ it? Haow?”

“Engineer.”

“Vot?” gasped Hans.

“Come off!” palpitated Ephraim.

“I have come off,” smiled Frank. “I am out of a job now.”

“Haow is that?”

“Railroad made a reduction of wages, there was a strike, big fight over
it, rival road scooped all the business, my road went to pieces.”

“An’ naow—whut?”

“The rival road has scooped the road I worked on—absorbed it. A lot of
old engineers have taken the places of the men who used to run on the
Blue Mountain road. I’ve been trying for a show, but I’m so young they
don’t want to give me anything. Looks like I’d have to get out of here
and strike for something somewhere else.”

“Waal, that’s too darn bad!” drawled Ephraim, sympathetically. “But
haow’d you ever git to be ingineer, anyhaow?”

“Worked my way up. Began as engine-wiper in the roundhouse, got to be
fireman, then engineer. Right there came the trouble, and now I’m on the
rocks.”

The eyes of the Vermonter glistened.

“If the hanged old railroad hadn’t went up the spaout, you’d bin runnin’
that in a year!” he cried.

“Yaw,” nodded Hans.

“Yeou’re a hummer!” declared Ephraim. “Yeou’ve got lots of git there in
ye, an’ that’s whut does the trick. But I swan to man, it must have
seemed tough to yeou to have to git right aout an’ work like a Trojan.”

“Yaw,” put in the Dutch boy. “Vork nefer had nottinks to done mit you
pefore dot.”

“I don’t see haow yeou brought yerself to it.”

Frank looked grave and not exactly pleased.

“I have always expected to work when the time came,” he asserted. “I
hope you didn’t suppose for a moment that I was going to spend my life
in idleness?”

“Oh, no, no!” the Vermonter hastily cried; “but yeou wan’t reddy. Yeou
was in college an’ havin’ a slappin’ good time. It was mighty rough to
have ter break right off from that all to once an’ git out an’ dig fer a
livin’.”

“Well,” said Merry, slowly, “I will admit that it was not pleasant at
first; but I made up my mind that it was to be done, and I went at it
heartily. After a time, I came to enjoy it as I never enjoyed anything
before.”

“Whut! Yeou don’t mean to say yeou liked it better than playin’
baseball?”

“Yes!”

“Jee-roo-sa-lum!”

“Better than anything. Work is the greatest sport in the world, for it
is a game at which one plays to win the prize of his life. The winning
of all other games are tame in comparison with this. It draws out the
best qualities in a man, it tests him as nothing else can. Oh, yes, work
is the champion sport, and success is the prize for which all earnest
workers strive. The man who shirks and fears honest work can never
succeed in the world. Determined men will push him aside, and he will be
with the losers at the end of the great game.”

Ephraim Gallup clapped Frank on the shoulder familiarly.

“Yeou are yerself, b’gosh!” he cried. “I kin see that yeou are soberer
an’ stiddyer, but yeou are Frank Merriwell jest the same. Yeou was alwus
sayin’ things like that that no other feller ever thought to say. There
ain’t no danger but yeou’ll be with the winner in this game yeou’re
talkin’ abaout.”

“Uf der vinners don’d peen mit him they vill peen der wrong side on,”
asserted Hans.

“Come in here,” he said, “and I will introduce you to a particular
friend.”

He led them into the small fruit and cigar store in front of which he
had been standing when the donkey ran away from Hans.

                              CHAPTER III.

                           LUCKY LITTLE NELL.

“Hello, Jack!”

Frank saluted the keeper of the store, who proved to be a bright-faced,
lame boy.

“Jack,” said Merry, “did you ever hear me speak of Ephraim Gallup?”

“Of course I have!” exclaimed the boy.

“And Hans Dunnerwurst?”

“Yes.”

“Well, here they are.”

“What?”

Jack Norton stared at Frank’s two companions.

“These are the friends of whom I have told you; and this, fellows, is
Jack Norton, a hustling young business man of this city. Some day he’ll
be one of the greatest retail merchants in the place.”

Jack blushed.

“I’m gol darned glad to see ye!” declared the Vermonter, striding up and
grasping the lame lad’s hand. “Anybody Frank Merriwell trains with is
all right, an’ I’m ready to hitch hosses with ’um.”

He wrung the young shopkeeper’s hand heartily.

“Yaw,” nodded Hans, waddling up. “You vos plamed clad to seen us, Shack.
Shust catch me holdt your handt uf. How you vos alretty yet?”

“Frank has told me about you,” said Jack, “but I never expected to see
you.”

“Waal, we’re travelin’ araound with the greatest show on earth.”

“Barnum’s?”

“Not by a long shot! Barnum’s ain’t in it. Haley’s ‘All-Star Combination
an’ Mammoth Uncle Tom’s Cabin Company’ knocks ’em all aout.”

“Dot’s vot der madder vos,” agreed Hans. “Dot gompany has dwo ‘Topsys,’
dwo ‘Marks,’ dwo ‘Gumption Cutes’——”

“An’ two jackasses,” grinned the Yankee youth. “One of them leads the
other every day in the street parade.”

“Hey?” exclaimed the Dutch youth. “You don’d mean——Say, you vill lick me
a minute in uf I say dot again!”

He squared off in a fighting attitude, seeming ready to go at Ephraim.

“There, there!” laughed Frank. “Up to your old tricks, I see. Why, I
believe you two fought a duel once at Fardale.”

“We did, b’jee!” nodded Ephraim.

“Mit eggs,” spoke Hans.

“Ripe aigs, at that.”

“Dose eggs couldt smell me vor a veek.”

“It was awful.”

“Yaw; id peen a put ub shob us onto.”

“An’ Frank Merriwell was the feller whut put it up.”

“Yaw. I peliefed I vos all ofer plood mit.”

“So did I.”

“But I nefer knewed pefore dot plood vos so pad to smell uf anybody like
dot.”

“We never got even with him fer that sell, Hans.”

“Nefer.”

“Well, we’ll eat enough to-day to square the account. He’ll think he’s
run up ag’inst a cyclone.”

“Yaw, we vill done dot, Efy. You haf a greadt headt on me, ain’d id!”

“Well, if I can settle the score that way, I won’t kick,” said Merry.
“Is Nellie at home, Jack?”

“Yes, she went home to get dinner. You know one of us has to stay here
and keep the shop open. We take turns getting dinner. She will have it
all ready when you get there, but she may not have enough, for she won’t
know anyone is coming with you.”

“I’ll fix that all right,” said Frank. “There is a restaurant on the
corner, and I can get all kinds of stuff there to take out.”

“Can’t yeou shut up to-day an’ come with us, Mister Norton?” asked
Ephraim.

“Yaw,” put in Hans, “shust haf der shop shut you up und come along us
mit.”

“I’d like to do it,” said the lame lad, “but it might hurt my business,
and I believe in looking after one’s business before anything else.
Frank has taught me that.”

“He’s alwus teachin’ somebody somethin’,” muttered the Vermonter.

Slam!—open flew the door. Bounce!—in popped a lively boy in a neat suit
of clothes.

“Hello, Frank!” he cried. “Goin’ by w’en I seen yer t’rough der window,
an’ I t’ought I’d stop an’ speak.”

It was Bob, the newsboy, whom Frank had befriended in his railroad days.

“Hello, Bob!” exclaimed Merry. “On the jump, as usual. How do you like
your new position in the broker’s office?”

“Great!” was the instant answer. “Der boss treats me fine, an’ he says
w’en I’ve been ter night school long ernough ter have der proper
eddycashun, he’ll put me onter der turns of der business. Oh, I’ll be a
broker meself some day, see if I don’t.”

Frank introduced Bob to Ephraim and Hans.

“Say, dis is great!” cried the former newsboy. “I’ve heard Frank tell
heaps of t’ings about youse chaps.”

He seemed genuinely delighted over the meeting.

“I invited them to dinner,” said Merry. “We wanted Jack to come along,
but he can’t close up.”

“How long will it take?”

“Oh, he might be back in three-quarters of an hour.”

“If he kin do it in dat time, I’ll stay right here an’ run dis joint. I
kin git back on time den. Go ahead, Jack.”

“Oh, but you are out for your own dinner,” protested the lame boy. “It’s
too much to expect you to do all that for me.”

“Not by a blame sight! Youse folks didn’t do a t’ing fer me w’en I was
down on me luck, did yer? No, not a t’ing but take me in an’ keep me
till I could git somewhere. Now, don’t make any talk about dis t’ing,
but jest you skip right along with der odders. Only be sure ter git back
in time fer me ter git ter der office.”

Bob settled it that way, and Jack was carried off with Frank and his two
friends.

On the way home, Merry stepped into a restaurant and ordered plenty of
food, which was given him in a large pail, the pail being wrapped to
disguise its real nature.

Little Nell, Jack Norton’s sister, was waiting for Frank to appear when
she recognized his familiar step on the stairs. She rose hastily to her
feet, but paused to listen.

There were other steps, and she realized that several persons were
coming. Wondering what it meant, she waited till the door opened and the
four filed into the room.

Then there were introductions.

“I am pleased to meet any of Frank’s friends,” declared the girl. “I am
very pleased to see you.”

“That’s right,” nodded the lame boy. “She is pleased to see you. Two
weeks ago she could not have seen you had she stood face to face with
you as she does now.”

“I don’t toldt you so!” exclaimed Hans.

“Whut was the matter?” asked Ephraim.

“She was blind.”

“Plind?”

“Blind?”

“Yes, stone blind.”

“Jeewhillikins! She kin see all right naow.”

“By a miracle. We were saving money to have her treated by a great
oculist in New York, and we had almost enough. One night she got up in a
dream and walked out to those stairs. She fell all the way to the
bottom, striking on her head. I dragged her up the stairs and got her
into bed. The next morning she could see. I believe it was the work of
God!”

“It was marvelous!” put in Merriwell. “You see, she was not born blind,
but received a blow on the head that injured the optic nerve in some
manner so she became blind. Most marvelously, by falling and striking on
her head, the shock restored her sight.”

“And the money we had saved we put into our little business,” said Jack.

“Say, you nefer heardt such a peculiar thing as that uf pefore!” cried
Hans.

“I doubt if anyone ever did. Nellie, I have brought my friends to dine
with me, and here is plenty of food that I bought at the restaurant. All
you have to do is get it onto the table.”

“I’ll do that,” laughed the happy girl. “It seems so good to be able to
do such work! We will have a delightful dinner! I am so glad you brought
them, Frank!”

“There, b’gosh!” exclaimed Ephraim; “that’s whut makes a feller feel
right to hum! Naow I know I’ve got right among the kaind of folks I take
to.”

“Yaw,” nodded the Dutch boy; “id makes beoble feel like you vos right to
home. Oxcuse us uf we make ourseluf so.”

“Go ahead,” invited Frank. “I want you to feel free here.”

                              CHAPTER IV.

                             NEWS OF ELSIE.

It was truly a jolly party that sat down to the table when it was spread
and everything prepared. Ephraim, Frank and Hans talked over old times,
spoke of the jolly days at Fardale, where they had attended school,
recalled the struggles, sports, jokes, night raids and hazings.

All too soon the time came when Jack was forced to leave in order to get
back to his shop in time to let Bob return to his duties.

“I just hate to go!” he exclaimed. “It seems good to hear you talk about
those times. I never had any chance to go to school like that. It must
have been such heaps of sport!”

“Say,” cried Ephraim, “looker here, can’t yeou take yer sister an’ go to
the show this evenin’?”

“Both of us cannot go, for the shop must be kept open in the evening the
same as any other time. Nellie can go.”

“Gosh all hemlock! can’t the thing be fixed somehow so ye kin go
together? I’ll see to it that yeou git the best seats in the haouse. Yes
by gum! I’ll git one of the boxes fer ye if yeou’ll go.”

“Oh, Jack!” broke from Nellie. “You know I’ve never been to see a real
theater show, but now I think my eyes are strong enough to stand the
light. Can’t we go?”

“I don’t see how,” answered Jack, regretfully.

“You can fix it with Bob,” said Frank.

“He doesn’t have to work evenings, and you can get him to keep shop.”

“That’s so!” exclaimed the girl, clapping her hands. “Try it, Jack—do!”

The face of the lame lad brightened.

“All right,” he said, “I’ll ask him.”

“And you will go with us, won’t you, Frank?” asked Nellie.

“Oh, I think so.”

“If Inza were here now we’d have a splendid party.”

“Inza!” gasped Ephraim. “Inza Burrage? Has she been here?”

“All the winter. She was visiting a friend. Left a little more than a
week ago.”

“Dot vos too pad!” murmured Hans. “She vould haf been deekled to seen
me.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t git here afore she went,” said the Vermonter; “but
we had the fun of seein’ Elsie Bellwood abaout a month ago, though it
wasn’t much fun, come to think of it, she was feelin’ so darn bad.”

Inza Burrage and Elsie Bellwood had been two dear girl friends of Frank
in his college days.

Frank sprang to his feet, his face working with excitement.

“Saw Elsie?” he cried, amazed.

“Yaw,” nodded Hans.

“Where?”

“In Bittsburg.”

“Pittsburg?”

“Yaw.”

“Impossible!”

“It’s true,” declared Ephraim.

“But—but I don’t understand it.”

“Whut’s the matter?”

“Why—why, I heard she had sailed with her father for a long voyage.”

“She did.”

“But now she is in Pittsburg? Why, how can that be? It was not many
months ago they sailed—some time last fall, wasn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And they were to be gone a year?”

“Yes.”

“Then something happened?”

“Sure thing.”

“What?”

“You ain’t heered abaout it?”

“Not a word.”

“Justin Bellwood died the second day out from New York.”

Frank gasped for breath, caught hold of the back of his chair, and stood
staring at the Vermonter.

“Justin—Bellwood—dead?”

He spoke the words slowly, as if he did not quite realize what they
meant.

“Yaw,” said Hans, “he vos a gone case.”

“Then—then Elsie is left all alone in the world. Poor little Elsie! I
supposed she was far away on the ocean. What was she doing in
Pittsburg?”

“She was living there with some of her folks or some of her friends, I
dunno which. Didn’t git much chaince to talk with her.”

“But you found out her address—where she was living?”

“No.”

“Too bad! I must know where she is—I must communicate with her as soon
as possible. This is terrible news!”

Merry sat down weakly, and his manner showed how he was affected.

Little Jack whispered something to Nellie, and then slipped out of the
room.

A sudden gloom had come over the merry gathering. Hans and Ephraim
looked at each other dolefully. Little Nell got up and came round to
Frank, putting an arm about his neck.

“Dear Frank,” she whispered, “you know Heaven orders everything for the
best. You must have perfect trust.”

He put his arm about her slender waist, drew her to him and kissed her.

“Yes, dear little comforter,” he said, in his low, musical voice, “I am
sure Heaven orders everything for the best, for many a time I have seen
apparent misfortune prove a blessing in disguise. For instance, your
falling downstairs. But this separation from Elsie is hard. Before I
became a day laborer, forced to depend on my hands for a living, I could
have spent money freely in tracing her and finding her. Now that is an
impossibility. We separated for a year, neither dreaming of the changes
a few months would bring about. I fear those changes, instead of
bringing us nearer together, have torn us further apart.”

Nellie was surprised.

“Why, Frank!” she exclaimed, “you are seldom this way. You are so
light-hearted and hopeful. Nothing seems to daunt you.”

“That is true, but things have been going against me for some time now,
and it is but natural that I should not feel as cheerful as usual. The
railroad strike came just when my prospects were brightest, and then, at
the very hour when it seemed certain everything would be settled and I
should go back to my old job, the railroad went to the wall and the F.
B. & Y. swallowed it. Now comes the news of Elsie’s misfortune, and I
cannot extend to her a helping hand. I cannot even write to her, for I
do not know her address.”

“Trust in Heaven. All will come right in the end. That is the lesson you
have taught me, Frank. You say justice always triumphs. Remember the
case of Darius Conrad.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I will have perfect trust, little girl. But I must do
something—I must find work right away, for I have been idle too long. If
I cannot get back onto the railroad, I must do something else.”

“Why don’d you gone der show pusiness indo?” asked Hans. “I pet me your
life you vould like him.”

“That’s raight,” drawled Ephraim. “Gosh! I wish yeou was in our company.
It would be great.”

“Does the ghost walk regularly?” asked Merry, with a slight smile.[1]

Footnote 1:

  Among theatrical people the “ghost walks” when salaries are paid.

“Waal, purty much so,” answered the Down Easter. “There was a time when
we run ag’inst mighty hard business, an’ Haley got three weeks behind;
but we’ve been doin’ tarnal well lately, an’ ev’rybody’s flush ag’in.”

“Oxcept me,” said Hans, ruefully. “Mein salary’s peen so schmall dot id
nefer missed me ven I don’d got him.”

“Well,” said Merry, “I hardly think I’ll go into the theatrical
business; but we’ll come and see the play to-night, if you get that box
for us, Ephraim.”

“Oh I’ll git it, yeou bet!” assured the Vermonter. “I’ll git right arter
it fust thing this afternoon afore rehearsal.”

“Yaw,” assured Hans. “Uf he don’d done dot, I vill got after him.”

                               CHAPTER V.

                           MURDEROUS REALISM.

Jack, the lame boy, succeeded in getting Bob to keep shop for him that
evening, and so he was able to attend the theater with his sister and
Frank.

Ephraim Gallup kept his word and secured a box for them.

Little Nell was in raptures when they were seated in the box and
“Haley’s Mammoth Gold Band” played the overture in the place of an
orchestra.

The band was made up of an odd collection of human beings, but they had
practiced on a few pieces till they could “tear them off” in a style
that was pretty sure to please the uneducated ear and catch the fancy of
the crowd.

Ephraim Gallup sat up proudly and puffed out his cheeks as he blew away
at his horn. He was aware that Frank Merriwell must be regarding him
with interest, and he was determined to do his best.

“Isn’t it lovely!” murmured little Nell, as she sat with one hand
clasped in her brother’s.

Despite the age of the play, the house was filled with spectators. It
was a “popular price” theater, and its patrons were the common people.
The gallery was packed with youngsters who were there to sympathize with
“Uncle Tom,” applaud “George Harris,” laugh with “Topsy” and “Gumption
Cute,” and hiss “Simon Legree.”

When the band had finished playing, the gallery broke into a roar, amid
which could be distinguished cat calls, screams and shrill whistles.

The footlights flashed, and the musicians played a “riser” as the
curtain rolled swiftly up.

The play was on, and little Nell was enchained, enraptured, enchanted.
For the first time in her life she saw a genuine “theater show,” and,
within three minutes, everything happening on the stage was true as life
for her.

It was a great satisfaction for Frank to watch the face of the girl. He
saw how keenly she was enjoying everything, and her enjoyment gave him
the greatest pleasure.

Merry soon saw that this “All-Star Combination” was made up of
“ham-fatters,” among whom were two or three fairly good people. Haley
knew how to catch the crowd with specialties, and he had introduced
singing and dancing into every act.

Frank watched for Hans. The Dutch lad appeared at last, blackened with
burnt cork, representing one of the negro laborers. He did not have any
lines, which was fortunate, as his dialect would not have corresponded
with his color.

Hans was one of the slaves on sale at the auction at which “Simon
Legree” obtained possession of “Uncle Tom.”

Before the play was half finished little Nell was greatly wrought up
over it. The escape of “Eliza” over the floating ice, with the
bloodhounds in pursuit, was well done, and it caused the gallery to go
wild.

When the curtain went down after that climax, little Nell fell back in
her chair, crying:

“Oh, Frank, isn’t it wonderful! I never knew anything could be so real
and still a play.”

From where he sat, Merry could see through one of the open stage
entrances at the opposite side. Several times he saw some of the actors
pause there and watch what was taking place on the stage. It happened
that he was looking through that entrance when one of them stopped
there, glanced quickly around, and produced a bottle from one of his
pockets. The man quickly uncorked the bottle and took a long drink from
it.

He was the one who played the part of “Legree.”

When the man next appeared on the stage, Merry saw he was drunk. Frank
watched him closely.

“That fellow acts to me as if he is out for trouble,” he thought. “I
believe he is well cast in the piece, for he seems to be a ruffian by
nature.”

Frank sat so near the stage that he was able to see bits of by-play that
the audience did not catch. Thus it happened that he saw “Legree” give
“Uncle Tom” a look of genuine hatred and make a menacing gesture toward
him.

Merry instantly “tumbled.”

“Trouble between them,” he decided.

A little later, when both these characters were off the stage, Frank saw
“Legree” again prepare to take a drink in the wings. Just as he tipped
the bottle to his lips, a hand reached out and caught it from his grasp.

Crash!—it was smashed on the floor.

“Uncle Tom” was there, and he started in to remonstrate with the
intoxicated actor.

“Legree” was furious, and he tried to grasp the other by the throat. He
was held off some seconds, a sharp struggle taking place. Then he
succeeded in getting one hand fastened on the throat of the man who was
impersonating the leading character of the play.

“Uncle Tom’s” fist was lifted, and he struck his assailant fairly
between the eyes.

Down went “Legree!”

Frank Merriwell felt like applauding the little drama behind the scenes.

“Uncle Tom” departed, and, after a time, some of the players came and
assisted “Legree” to his feet.

Frank Merriwell now knew there were two men in the company who were
bitter enemies.

Both Jack and Nellie had been so absorbed in what was taking place on
the stage that they had not observed the encounter behind the scenes.

Frank watched for the two men when they should next appear on the stage.

“Uncle Tom” was calm as ever when he came on. He was a fairly good
actor.

“Legree” came on.

Watching them closely, Merry heard some low-spoken words pass between
them while the action of the piece was being carried on by other
characters.

“Oh, I’ll fix you for that!” hissed “Legree.”

“You’re drunk!” declared the other, contemptuously.

“Am I? Well, it’s none of your business! I’ll soak you before the night
is over!”

“Try it!”

“I will! I’ll kill ye!”

Then they went on playing their parts as if nothing unusual had
happened.

“There is bad blood between them,” decided Frank, “and the fellow with
the rum in him is dangerous.”

He did not realize how dangerous till the scene was being played where
“Legree” lashes “Uncle Tom” to death with a heavy whip.

“Simon” came on with the whip, and there was a strange glitter in his
dark eyes. With his first blow at the old slave, he caused “Uncle Tom”
to collapse, uttering a yell of pain.

For the whip had whistled through the air, wielded by a powerful arm,
and the hissing lash had curled about the body of “Uncle Tom.”

The audience looked on spellbound, rather astonished by the realism of
this whipping scene.

Grinding his teeth together, “Legree” bent over and pitilessly cut the
writhing man with the whip.

Cries of pain broke from the fallen man.

“Curse you!” Merry heard “Legree” hiss. “Here is where I fix you!”

“Help!” cried “Uncle Tom.”

It was a genuine appeal for aid. This was not acting.

Frank Merriwell started to his feet.

“Oh!” gasped little Nell—“oh, Frank, he is really murdering ‘Uncle
Tom’!”

“Hanged if it doesn’t look that way!” Merry admitted to himself.

The whip dropped from “Legree’s” hand. It struck the floor heavily, but
the man caught it up in a twinkling, reversing it.

Then, with the loaded butt, he struck “Uncle Tom” a savage blow on the
head.

The stricken man straightened out, quivering in every limb.

With the expression of a fiend on his face, “Legree” lifted the heavy
whip again to bring the butt down upon the man’s head. It seemed to be
his purpose to smash the skull of the actor he hated.

As one man, the audience rose and stood, uttering a cry of horror, for
everyone seemed to realize that this was not acting.

It was murder!

“Stop!”

The word shot like a bullet from the lips of a handsome youth who went
flying over the rail of the right-hand proscenium box and alighted on
the stage.

“Drop it!”

Frank Merriwell dashed at the murderous actor, caught the whip, tore it
from his hand, flung it aside.

Then they grappled!

                              CHAPTER VI.

                          FRANK’S POPULARITY.

The audience shouted its astonishment.

“Off!” snarled the actor, trying to break from Frank.

“Steady!” commanded Merry. “You have gone over the limit. What are you
trying to do?”

“I said I’d fix him!”

“He’s in luck if you haven’t done it already.”

“Let go!”

“Never!”

Then the fellow tried to strike Frank, but Merry warded off the blow. In
another moment a fierce struggle was taking place between them in full
view of the audience.

Up to this time the actors behind the scenes had seemed asleep or
paralyzed with surprise. Now they came rushing onto the stage and
surrounded the combatants.

Barnaby Haley himself came on. He was greatly excited.

“Seize that fellow!” he ordered, pointing at Frank. “Where are the
police? I’ll have him arrested for interfering with the show!”

Down the aisle rushed two policemen, clambering over the footlights and
onto the stage.

The actors, directed by the manager, had torn Frank and “Legree” apart.
Merriwell flung off those who attempted to hold him, and stood there in
their midst.

“Arrest him!” commanded Haley.

A long, lank, awkward youth came scaling over the footlights from the
midst of the band. With two long strides he reached Merriwell and
planted himself by Frank’s side.

“Hold on, b’gosh!” he cried, flourishing the brass horn he carried. “You
don’t arrest him in a hurry!”

Out from the wings rushed a fat lad, with a blackened face. He took a
position on the other side of Frank.

“Yaw, py shimminy!” he gurgled! “he don’d arrest you a hurry in
alretty.”

Frank’s friends were on hand. Ephraim and Hans were there.

Barnaby Haley gasped with surprise, and the policemen hesitated a
moment.

“What’s this? what’s this?” spluttered the manager.

“Business, by gum!” declared the Vermonter.

“Yaw!” nodded Hans, “id peen pusiness.”

“This man attacked Storms.”

“Waal, I guess it was a gol darn good thing for Havener that he did.
Mebbe Storms has fixed Havener anyhaow.”

“What do you mean?”

“Jest take a look at Havener an’ you’ll find aout.”

“Uncle Tom” was lying where he had fallen, and a hasty examination
showed he was unconscious, while blood was flowing from a wound on his
head, caused by the blow from the butt of the whip.

Haley, who had not seen the encounter between the two actors, was dazed.

“Who did it?” he asked.

“Him!”

Ephraim Gallup’s long index finger pointed straight at the one who had
impersonated “Legree.”

“How?”

“With that whip.”

“But—but why should he do——”

“Ask him. He’s had a grutch ag’in Havener fer a month, an’ to-night he
tried ter kill him right here on the stage afore all these people!”

“That’s right!” shouted fifty voices from the audience.

“He is the one to be arrested!” roared a man standing in the front row
of the first balcony. “I know t’other feller. He’s Frank Merriwell, an’
he’s the right sort.”

Frank Merriwell! Many persons in the audience had recognized Merry when
he leaped on the stage, but the mention of his name sent a surge of
emotion over the entire house.

Now they knew him! The name of Frank Merriwell was familiar to everybody
in that city, for the prominent part he had taken in the railroad strike
had advertised him thoroughly.

And Frank’s greatest admirers were aroused. Up in the gallery a
red-headed boy poised himself on the rail and shrilly yelled:

“Well, wot’s der matter wid Frank Merriwell?”

And the gallery broke into an answering roar:

“He’s—all—right!”

“Dat’s wot!” screamed the red-headed boy. “Let him erlone an’ see wot
he’ll do ter ‘Simon Legree’!”

“He won’t do a thing to him!” significantly bellowed half the gallery.

“If dem cops puts a fin on him, we’ll come down an’ wipe up der
the-a-tur with ’em!” threatened the red-headed champion.

“Dat’s what we will!” shouted the others.

Frank looked up, smiled and bowed. That smile was enough to set his
admirers wild. They howled, roared, clapped and stamped till the gallery
shook and threatened to come down.

“Great gosh!” cried Ephraim Gallup, in Merry’s ear; “I ruther think
yeou’ve got a few friends in this ’air taown!”

One of the policemen was examining the wound on the head of the
unconscious actor. He spoke to a companion:

“Call an ambulance,” he said. “It looks to me as if this chap’s skull
may be cracked. He may never recover consciousness.”

“Is it possible?” gasped Barnaby Haley, who had heard the words. “And
Storms did it? I declare!”

He turned and glared at the drunken actor.

“What’s the matter with you?” he asked. “Are you mad?”

Storms did not reply, but now he began to show symptoms of fear.

“If Havener is dead, I’ll see that you hang for it!” declared the
manager.

“Shall we arrest Mr. Merriwell?” asked one of the policemen, a touch of
sarcasm in his voice.

“No, no!” cried Haley. “My gracious, no! It seems that I was mistaken
concerning his purpose. He sprang onto the stage to stop Storms—to keep
him from finishing his work. Do not molest Mr. Merriwell.”

The gallery heard this, and shouted its delight. The red-headed boy
stood up and screamed:

“T’ree cheers fer Frank Merriwell! Open yer t’roats ev’rybody!”

Then the entire audience, catching the spirit of the occasion, broke
into a mighty cheer, bringing the hot blood to Merry’s face.

“There, b’gosh!” sighed Ephraim Gallup, with satisfaction. “Naow yeou’ve
got whut ye deserve.”

“Yaw,” agreed Hans, “now you haf got vot I deserfe.”

“Merriwell! Merriwell! Speech! Speech!”

The audience was calling for a speech, but Frank simply shook his head
and flatly refused to make a speech.

“Arrest ole ‘Legree’!” howled the red-headed boy.

“Yes,” said Barnaby Haley, speaking to the officers. “I want you to
arrest him.”

Storms glanced quickly around, as the officer stepped toward him.

“Wait!” he exclaimed.

Like a flash he snatched out a revolver.

“As well for two as for one!” he snarled.

Up went his hand.

Click!

The hammer of the revolver fell, but there was no report.

The cartridge had failed to explode, and Frank Merriwell’s life was
spared.

Uttering a howl of rage, the fellow flung the weapon at Merry, striking
him fairly on the breast and staggering him.

Then, with a shout of defiance, the desperate actor made a run and a
leap, sailing out over the footlights, out over the heads of the band,
and alighting on his feet.

“Stop him!” Haley cried.

Up the aisle flew the fugitive. The policemen sprang after him, but no
one seemed to care to get in the ruffian’s path, so he dashed through an
open door and disappeared.

                              CHAPTER VII.

                         AN ENGAGEMENT OFFERED.

The patrons of the Thalia Theater had been given a surprising sensation
that evening, and they did not think of demanding their money back when
they were forced to file out without seeing the final scene of the play.

The name of Frank Merriwell seemed to be on every tongue.

Barnaby Haley was quick to see the advertising value of the affair,
which, at first, he had regarded as most unfortunate. He perceived that
Frank Merriwell was well known and popular with the common people, such
as patronized that house.

It had not proved necessary to remove Roscoe Havener, the injured actor,
in an ambulance. Havener was carried to a dressing room, where he soon
recovered consciousness, and his injury was dressed by a physician, who
pronounced it a mere scalp wound.

Haley had taken Frank down into the dressing room, where he was profuse
in the expression of his thanks.

“Mr. Havener,” he said, “I believe you owe your life to the prompt
action of this young man.”

“Yes?” said the actor, staring at Frank.

“Yes,” assured the manager. “He was in a proscenium box, and he sprang
onto the stage and grappled with Storms in time to keep the fellow from
hitting you again with the heavy end of the whip.”

“Well, I am sure I am much obliged, Mr. Merriwell,” said Havener,
holding out his hand, which Frank took.

“Don’t mention it,” said Merry. “I happened to be watching Storms, for I
saw he had it in for you.”

“Yes, he was dead nuts on me. I’m the stage-manager, you know, and I
have been calling him down lately for drinking. He got so he hated me.”

“I heard him tell you he would ‘fix’ you.”

“Yes, he did that, but I did not dream he would try anything on the
stage. I wasn’t prepared at all. The first cut he gave me with that whip
seemed to take all the strength out of me.”

“Saw it,” nodded Frank. “Hardly thought he was in the habit of putting
it on that way every night.”

“Guess not!”

“The way you cried out told me it was a genuine surprise to you.”

“I should guess yes.”

“That made me ready for what followed, but was not quite quick enough to
keep him from hitting you the first time with the butt of the whip. I
stopped the blow he intended for a finisher, just the same.”

“And earned my everlasting gratitude, Mr. Merriwell.”

“They were ready to arrest me for interrupting the play,” laughed Frank.

Haley flushed.

“You must forget that, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “I didn’t see Storms hit
Havener, so I could not understand why you jumped on the stage and
grappled with him.”

“But I understood it, b’gosh!” broke in Ephraim Gallup, who was on hand;
“an’ yeou kin bet I was goin’ to stan’ by Mr. Merriwell if it took a
wing off me.”

“Yaw,” came gravely from the Dutch boy, who was likewise there, “Vrank
Merrivell nefer made a misdake your life in.”

“You seem to know Mr. Merriwell,” insinuated Haley.

“Waal, I guess we do!” cried the Vermonter.

“You petter pelief we do!” exclaimed the Dutch youth.

“We was old chums at skule,” explained Ephraim.

“Yaw, we peen shums at Vardale,” elaborated Hans. “Dot peen vere he hadt
der bleasure our aguaintance uf makin’ alretty then.”

“It seemed rather remarkable that you took sides with him so promptly,
but it’s all right. The papers will be full of it to-morrow, and we
ought to get a good run here the next two nights. I’ll have to get a man
to fill Storms’ place.”

“That’s right,” quickly said Havener. “I’ll never play with him again.
If he’s arrested, I am going to push him for what he did.”

“If you do that, you’ll have to stay in this place some time,” declared
the manager; “and you can’t stay here without breaking your contract. I
can’t spare you, for you know the loss of Storms will make me two men
short. I need a prompter and property man, and need him bad.”

Ephraim nudged Frank, whispering:

“There’s your chance.”

“I guess not,” smiled Merry.

But the Vermonter said:

“Why don’t you make Mr. Merriwell an offer, Mr. Haley? He’s a gol darn
hustler, an’ he’s aout of a job jest naow. Mebbe yeou could git him.”

“It’s not likely he knows anything about the business,” said the
manager, looking Frank over.

“Waal,” declared Gallup, “yeou’ll find he kin l’arn ther quickest of
anybody yeou ever see. I’ll reckermend him.”

“Und I vos anodder,” put in Hans.

“Are you looking for an opening, Mr. Merriwell?” asked the manager.

“I am looking for some kind of a job,” confessed Frank. “Must do
something, you know.”

“You seem like a bright young man. Perhaps we might agree, if you are
willing to take hold and do not expect too much money at first.”

Somehow the idea of going on the road with a show appealed to Frank. Had
he been working at anything steady just then he would not have thought
of giving up his job to take such an engagement; but he was doing
nothing, and any kind of a job was preferable to idleness.

“I don’t know,” he said, slowly. “I haven’t thought about going into
such work, but——”

“You might think about it?”

“Possibly.”

“All right. I’ll be ready to make you an offer to-morrow, if you are
ready to come right away. I’ll be in the box office of the theater at
eleven in the morning. Will you call?”

“I think I will.”

“Do so. It won’t do any harm, even if we don’t agree. I shall be glad to
see you, anyhow.”

Frank was ready to go. He knew Jack and Nellie would wonder what had
become of him.

Hans and Ephraim accompanied him, and they found the brother and sister
waiting near the entrance of the theater.

“Oh, Frank!” cried little Nell. “We didn’t know where you had gone.”

“I told her you would turn up all right,” asserted Jack, “but she was
nervous after that fight on the stage.”

“It was dreadful!” shuddered the girl. “I was so frightened! I saw that
wretch was really and truly hurting ‘Uncle Tom,’ but I didn’t expect you
would jump right onto the stage, Frank.”

“Had to do it,” smiled Merry. “Case of necessity.”

“You did it so quick, and you handled that ruffian! I never saw a fight
before in my life, and it frightened me. But I was so proud of you when
all the crowd was shouting your name and cheering. They all seemed to
know you, Frank.”

“That’s right, by gum!” cried Ephraim. “Yeou seem to be purty nigh as
well known here as yeou was at skule. Guess yeou’re bound to be pop’ler
wherever yeou go.”

“I pet a dandy goot actor vould make him,” said Hans.

“Yes, I ruther think he’d make a good actor,” agreed Ephraim. “He will
hev a chaince before he’s bin with Haley long, if he goes with the show.
Better do it, Frank. We’ll hev heaps of fun.”

“Yaw, dot’s vot’s der madder!” cried Hans. “You’d petter took dot shob
uf he don’d pay a goot lot.”

Little Nell showed her alarm.

“What job is that?” she asked, flutteringly.

“P’r’aps he’ll hev a chaince to go aout on the road with aour show,”
explained Ephraim.

“And he’ll have to leave us!” cried Nellie.

“Waal, little gal, it’s too bad, but he can’t stay here an’ live on
wind. That’s sartin sure.”

“Oh, we don’t want to lose him like that!”

“Folks hev to make a livin’. He ain’t got money to burn, same as he had
once.”

“If I had, I should be very careful how I burned it,” asserted
Merriwell. “I have learned the value of money, and it will be precious
little that I shall throw away foolishly in the future. Must be going
home now. Good-night, fellows. See you to-morrow.”

“Yeou’d better engage with Haley,” cried Ephraim, as Frank moved away
with Jack and Nellie.

“Yaw,” shouted Hans. “Uf you don’d you vill peen sorry all mein life.
Goot-night.”

                             CHAPTER VIII.

                             FRANK ACCEPTS.

The following day Frank went down to the Thalia Theater at the time
appointed, and he found Manager Haley waiting for him in the box office,
as he had said he would be.

Merry was invited in, and he accepted the invitation. He was given an
introduction to the ticket seller, and then Haley asked him into a
little room adjoining the office.

“I’ve struck a man this morning to fill Storms’ place,” he said, “and
now, if we can make arrangements, the company will be all right again.”

“Did the officers arrest Storms?” asked Frank.

“No. He got away, but he’s broke, and they’ll get him all right, unless
he counts the ties.”

“Counts the ties?”

“Yes; walks out of town on the railroad. I’m glad to be rid of him. He
made a good ‘Legree,’ but he was a quarrelsome fellow, always kicking up
a fuss. He made more trouble in the company than all the others put
together.”

The manager opened a little closet door and took out a bottle and
glasses. He placed a glass before Frank on the table that served as a
desk, and then shoved the bottle toward Merry.

“Help yourself,” he urged. “I’ll get some water for chasers.”

“What is it?”

“Whisky—good whisky, too. Needn’t be afraid of it. Took particular pains
to get good stuff.”

“I do not care for any,” said Frank.

“Eh? Don’t? What’s the matter?”

“I never drink whisky.”

“Singular! Young man, good color, full of life. Can’t be you prefer
rum?”

“No, sir.”

“Brandy?”

“No. I do not drink.”

“Don’t drink? Why, you take something occasionally?”

“Never.”

“Is that so? What made you swear off? Going it pretty hard?”

“Didn’t swear off.”

“Didn’t?”

“No; I never took a drink of liquor in my life.”

Haley stared hard at Frank.

“If I were running a dime museum, I’d engage you as a freak,” he said,
in a manner that brought the color to Merry’s face. “You’ll excuse me if
I take a snifter. It’s my time for one.”

“Go ahead, sir,” bowed the youth.

So Haley poured out a brimming glass of the stuff and dashed it off
without a “chaser.”

“Ah!” he said, smacking his lips. “That’s all right. Better than we’ll
get when we get further west.”

He put away bottles and glasses. Then, turning to Frank once more,
produced a cigar case, opened it and held it out.

“Have a weed?” he invited.

“Excuse me,” protested Frank.

“What? Oh, go ahead! Those are no two-fers; they’re straight tens.
Needn’t be afraid of them.”

“I’m not afraid of them.”

“Not? What’s the matter, then?”

“I do not smoke.”

The manager stared harder than before.

“Don’t drink, don’t smoke, don’t——Do you swear?”

“No, sir.”

“Then I’m afraid you won’t make a first-class property man. No man can
handle properties unless he swears.”

Frank laughed.

“I didn’t suppose it was absolutely necessary to swear in order to do
any kind of work successfully,” he said.

“Never knew a property man who didn’t swear. If you take the place,
you’ll learn to swear within a week.”

“Then it must be a position that provokes a man’s ill nature?”

“It is—riles him all up. Going to tell you just what it is before we
talk business. Then you’ll know what you are going up against.”

Then the manager sat down and told Merry all about the requirements and
duties of a first-class property man.

“You see, it won’t be no fat job,” said Haley. “I’d rather you’d
understand at the start, for you might get disgusted with it after a
short time if you went with us thinking you had a soft snap.”

“I am not looking for snaps,” declared Merry. “I expect to work.”

“That’ll be all right. Some young chaps think traveling with a show and
acting is all play. Didn’t want you to start out with such a notion.
Gallup, who plays in the band, says you’re a wonder at anything you
attempt to do, and I’ve been making some inquiries about you in town
this morning. You did chop frost for a short time after getting a job on
the railroad, and that’s a fact. They say your rise was phenomenal. But
the strike knocked you out.”

“Yes; and now I must do something for a living. Doesn’t seem to be any
show for me to get a job railroading right away, so, if we agree, I am
willing to engage with you.”

They talked it over a long time, and finally came to terms. Frank was
not to receive much money at first, but Haley said he would do better
after he had learned all about his business.

Ephraim and Hans knew of Frank’s appointment with the manager, and they
were waiting for him outside the theater when he appeared. Both made a
dive for him.

“Did yeou do it?” asked Gallup, breathlessly.

“Yaw!” cried Hans, “did it do you?”

“I am going with the company, if that is what you want to know,” said
Frank.

“Glory!” shouted the Vermonter, catching his hand and wringing it.

“Py Chorch! dot vos pully!” gurgled Hans, getting hold of his other hand
and trying to pull his arm out of the socket.

“Say, we’ll jest have haydoogins of fun!” declared the Yankee youth.

“You pet my life!” fluttered the Dutch youth.

Frank went home and found little Nell there, anxiously awaiting his
return.

“What is it?” she asked, immediately on his appearance.

“I am engaged,” answered Merry.

A deep cloud came over her face, and she slowly turned away. He hastened
to her side.

“You know, I must do something for a living, Nellie,” he quickly said.
“I cannot remain idle.”

“I know,” she nodded, chokingly.

“I have been idle too long. Last night I did not sleep. I was thinking
of Elsie. I must earn money; I must find her. I feel that she needs my
aid.”

“But, Frank, you will not be able to find her if you are traveling over
the country with a show.”

“I shall be earning something. When spring comes, I shall go in search
of her.”

“Oh, but it will be so lonely when you are gone!”

Her face dropped in her hands, and she gave a choking sob. He had his
arm about her in a moment.

“It is not fated that we shall be together always, Nellie,” he said. “I
have been with you some time, and fortune has turned in your favor
during that time. You were blind when I first saw you; now you can see.
You have a snug little business which will grow, and you will prosper
and be happy.”

Her face was hidden by her hands, and she made no reply.

“Don’t do that way, Nellie!” he implored, gently. “We shall meet
again—some time.”

“Some time!” she sobbed. “When?”

“I can’t tell that.”

She turned quickly, reached up and put her arms about his neck, burying
her face on his breast, where she wept, while he vainly tried to comfort
her.

“Nellie, Nellie, don’t!” he pleaded, his own voice husky. “I can’t bear
this! Please don’t—for my sake!”

“For your sake!” she murmured. “For your sake, Frank, I’ll try not to
cry. You have been so good to us. Oh, I shall miss you so much! Heaven
bless and keep you, Frank! Heaven guide you to Elsie! May you
prosper—may you always be happy! I shall pray for you every night!”

“And I shall pray for you, dear little friend,” he said, in his sincere,
manly way. “I will write to you often.”

Then they sat down together, hand in hand, and talked of the future.

                              CHAPTER IX.

                     FRANK’S UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY.

A week later Frank had become pretty familiar with his duties. Besides
being “manager of properties,” he was the prompter, and he found plenty
of work.

He took hold of the new work readily, and Barnaby Haley soon became
satisfied that he had made no mistake in engaging him.

The company was “on the road,” playing one-night stands, having
abandoned the larger cities.

It was a case of hustle day after day. The moment the show was over at
night everything had to be picked up and packed for the morning train.

Frank soon became familiar with all the stuff, so that he knew just
where everything belonged, and this enabled him to do the packing
swiftly.

A certain amount of special scenery was carried for the piece, and that
was the most difficult to handle.

As soon as Merry had taken care of the properties, he was expected to
lend his aid in getting the scenery ready for shipment, and thus it came
about that he seldom got to bed before one or two o’clock in the
morning.

Then it was necessary for him to be up early to see that everything got
off right, and, immediately on arriving at a destination, he had to
attend to the getting of the baggage to the theater.

Arriving at the theater, he was required to have the trunks placed in
the proper dressing rooms, the people who played the leading parts
always being allotted by the stage-manager to the most convenient,
commodious and handy rooms.

Sometimes the assignment of dressing rooms caused no small amount of ill
feeling, but Frank tried to keep things as pleasant as possible.

He soon showed he was not afraid of work, for which reason a large
amount of work it was not his duty to perform was thrust upon him.

But he started in at this business, as he had at railroading, to learn
everything possible about it in the shortest possible time. Thus it came
about that, having assisted in the work of making the stage ready, in
one week’s time there was not a scene of the play that he could not set
properly.

It was not long before the stage-manager discovered this, and he began
to take a still greater interest in Frank.

“Say,” he broke out one night, as Frank was assisting in the setting of
the stage, “what are you trying to do?”

“Helping,” was the laconic answer.

“Yes, but you are helping differently from any novice I ever saw before.
You take hold as if you were trying to do all there is to be done.”

“I want to do my part.”

“You want to do more than that, and I fancy you know it, for you are no
fool. What’s the object?”

“If I’m going to follow this business any length of time, I am going to
know all I can about it.”

“So that’s it! Well, that’s all right as far as it goes, but you will
get tired of it. Fellow who is willing to do his work and everybody
else’s work is pretty sure to get crowded. Better let up on it.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe anybody will crowd me.”

“All right; do as you like. I’m willing you should as long as you don’t
attempt to get in front of me.”

This was said with a laugh, but Merriwell caught the significance of the
words.

“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Havener,” he said. “I am not seeking anybody’s
chance in this company.”

Frank had become acquainted with the different members of the company,
and the personality of each interested him.

Arthur Sargent, the new man, who filled the place of Errol Storms,
playing “Simon Legree,” was a man quite unlike Storms. He was a jolly,
good-natured fellow off the stage, always joking and telling stories.
But he did make a fierce “Legree,” and he was detested and hissed by the
small boy in the gallery quite as much as Storms had been.

Cassie Lee, the “leading Topsy,” for there were two “Topsys” in the
play, interested Frank more than anybody else. Off the stage, she was a
thin, frail, sad-faced little girl, with a hollow, hacking cough. On the
stage, she was a supple, bright-eyed, lively, vivacious creature,
dancing and singing, as if she had not a care in the world.

Cassie’s father, old Dan Lee, played small parts, making many changes.
In fact, his skill at making quick changes was something marvelous, and
it was astonishing how many different parts he could fill.

It was said that old Dan knew every line in the piece, and could play
any male part. Some even insisted that the old man in his palmy days had
played “Little Eva,” but Dan himself denied the accusation.

Old Dan’s one failing was his strong liking for liquor. But for Cassie’s
watchful eyes, he would have been “loaded” the greater part of the time,
and lost his engagement a dozen times a month. Cassie could handle him
unless he was crazed by liquor, and he was humble and pliant in her
hands.

But there were stories that on occasions old Dan took too much and
became like a maniac. Then even Cassie could do nothing with him, and it
was said that he had once beaten her so severely while madly intoxicated
that she had been taken to the hospital, where she remained six weeks.

It was said that through her father’s ill-treatment and neglect Cassie’s
health had been broken down.

Frank wondered at the change that came over her every night just before
she went onto the stage. She suddenly seemed to become quite a different
creature. The lackluster departed from her eyes, her step became elastic
and buoyant, and even her voice seemed to change.

All this was a mystery to Merry at first, but, one night, when she sent
him to her dressing room for some article she had forgotten, he made a
discovery that enlightened and horrified him.

A small needle syringe lay on the shelf beside the square mirror.

“Morphine!” gasped Frank. “That is the secret of the change!”

Little Cassie was a morphine fiend!

The knowledge preyed on Frank’s mind. He pitied the girl, and longed to
do something for her, but he knew that when the dreaded habit had once
fairly fastened itself on a victim that person was almost surely doomed.

Frank was very considerate with Cassie. He showed her many favors, and
he never minded her freaks and whims when she was in a bad humor. As a
result, after a time, the girl began to take a great interest in Frank.

“Look here, Merriwell,” she said, one night as she was “laying on” the
burnt cork, “I cotton to you. You are the right stuff, but you never
ought to be in this business.”

“What business?”

“Show.”

“Why?” asked Frank, surprised.

“’Cause you ain’t the same grade as the rest of us. That’s plain
enough.”

“I don’t think I quite understand you. Am I not good enough to become an
actor, if I wish?”

Cassie laughed unmusically.

“That’s the matter with yer,” she declared. “You’re too good. This kind
of a life will ruin you.”

“I guess not.”

“I guess yes, and I know what I’m talking about. I hate to see a nice
young man like you spoiled.”

“Don’t let that worry you.”

“You think I’m jollying you, but I ain’t. I mean what I say. Common
actors are poor associates for such a fellow as you are. You don’t
drink, smoke or swear now, but, if you stick to the road, I’ll bet a
month’s salary you are doing all three within a year.”

“I will not take your bet, for it would be robbing you, Miss Lee.”

“Don’t you believe yourself. I’d win. I know, for I’ve seen what it all
leads to.”

“I don’t suppose you mean to say the life depraves everybody who follows
it?”

“No, not that; but it’s a hard strain on a fellow. This knocking around
just kills a person’s conscience. You’re the kind that’ll be a soft
thing for every bum who wants to hit you up for a fiver. You will think
they all mean to pay when they can, but by the time you have been beat
right and left you’ll begin to get onto the game, and think you may just
as well play it in order to get even. That’s what hurts. Borrow a five,
and fail to pay it once, and you’ve got your start on the wrong road.
The keen edge is taken off your conscience, and, before long, it gets
pretty dull. Oh, I know what I’m givin’ yer!”

“Well, well!” exclaimed Frank, surprised. “Never thought I’d hear you
preaching, Miss Lee.”

“Don’t call me Miss Lee! Don’t like it. I’m just plain Cassie, or Cass,
to all the boys.”

“All right, I’ll call you Cassie, then.”

“Do. Don’t tell the other fellers I lectured yer. They’d say I’s getting
soft. I don’t want Havener to know I take enough interest in you to say
anything like I did to yer.”

“Don’t want Havener to know it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well—because—you see him and me are—are—pretty friendly.”

She blurted out the last two words, as if they cost her a great effort.

“Why,” said Frank, “I never noticed.”

“Course you didn’t. We’re keeping it quiet, for Havener’s got a wife.”

Then, seeing the look that came over Frank’s face, Cassie hastened to
explain:

“They ain’t lived together or ever heard from each other for four years,
and Havener’s going to get a divorce as soon as he can for desertion. We
couldn’t help gittin’ struck on each other, but I don’t want pop to know
it till Havener is free to marry me. That’s why we’re keeping shady. But
Storms was onto it.”

“Storms.”

“Yep. Feller you kept from knocking the head offen Havener.”

“Oh! He——”

“Was jealous.”

“Ah! Then that——”

“That was his real reason for cracking Ross that way, though the others
didn’t know it. He wanted me to marry him.”

“Storms did?”

“Sure thing.”

“And you refused?”

“I should guess yes! Roscoe Havener suits me. Him and I’ll get along all
right, and I’m glad Errol Storms is out of the comp’ny. I was afraid of
him.”

“Then I——”

“Done me a good turn—yes. It was a good thing when you jumped on that
night and nipped Storms. I was down in my dressin’ room when I heard
Havener holler, and I knew something was wrong, for that cry was too
real. I ran upstairs and got into the wings just in time to see you and
Storms have it. Then I came nigh giving the whole thing away by getting
sloppy over Ross, but I pulled myself up just in time, and nobody got
onto the real reason why that business happened. I don’t know why I told
you, ’less it was ’cause I have been dying to tell somebody about it,
and I reckon you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“You may be sure I’ll not give you away, Miss—Cassie.”

“All right; but I’ve got something to tell you, too.”

“Something more?”

“Yes.”

“About——”

“You.”

“About me?”

“Sure thing.”

“What is it?”

“You want to look out not to let Ross get an idea you take any
particular interest in me.”

“Why?”

“He’s jealous of you now.”

“Jealous of me?”

“Yes.”

“Why—why should he be?”

“Well, there ain’t no real reason, but he don’t know. You’ve always been
trying to do me favors, and his eyes are sharp. He liked you at first,
but now he is beginning to growl to me. Says you are trying to know too
much. Says you’re fresh. Quizzes me about what I think of you, and all
that. I can read him, and I know he’s jealous, so look out.”

“I am sure I thank you for the warning,” said Frank, embarrassed.

“Oh, that’s all right. He’ll get over it.”

“Aren’t you afraid of a jealous man?”

“No; I like him all the better for it. If you was some chaps, I’d
pretend to like you pretty well, just to see how much he’d stand; but I
don’t know what he’d do, and I don’t want to get you into trouble. He
has a pull with Haley, and he might get you fired. I shouldn’t like
that.”

Cassie had a frank way of speaking out that was decidedly embarrassing,
but she did not seem to imagine that she had said something about which
other girls would have hesitated to speak.

This revelation opened Frank’s eyes to a great extent. He understood
thoroughly the real cause of the trouble between Storms and Havener, and
also why the latter’s manner toward him had changed within a day or two.

“I must be careful,” Merry decided.

After this talk with Cassie, Frank liked her and pitied her more than
ever. He wondered if Havener knew anything of the terrible habit that
had fastened itself on the girl, and if he would marry her just the same
should he discover it.

Havener’s first venture in marriage had not proved a success, and his
second one might result disastrously unless Cassie could be cured of her
liking for the fatal drug.

Although Merry felt certain the girl used morphine, sometimes he would
long to find that it was all a mistake.

One night, however, it was all settled in his mind.

Some of the theaters on the road contained but a few small, dirty
dressing rooms, so that it was necessary for a number of persons to
dress together in the same room.

Cassie was put in with two other girls at one place. She did not “kick,”
for she was used to everything on the road.

But she was not given much chance to be by herself.

Just as the curtain was going up on the first act, Frank was sent down
to the dressing room to get something for one of the girls.

The door was just a bit ajar, and Merry bolted in quickly.

There was an exclamation of consternation, echoed by Frank.

Cassie was there. The sleeve of her left arm was thrust back, showing
white above the line of black at her wrist. She was in the very act of
using the little syringe.

The tiny instrument dropped from her fingers, and she staggered back a
step.

“Merriwell!” she gasped.

Frank started to turn away, then hastily explained why he had come to
the room. His manner told her he had seen and understood.

“Look here!” she hoarsely said, springing forward and clutching him by
the arm; “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll keep mum.”

“I will.”

“Sure thing?”

“You can trust me.”

“You won’t tell Havener?”

“No.”

“Don’t you do it on your life! I’m going to stop it—some time. I want to
see you after the play to-night. I want to talk to you. I’ll tell you
all about it. Go on, now.”

He secured the article he was after, and she pushed him out of the room,
closing and fastening the door behind him.

Then the little syringe was recharged and used.

                               CHAPTER X.

                       THE JEALOUS STAGE-MANAGER.

There was now no doubt in Frank’s mind; he knew Cassie used the drug,
and his heart was full of pity for her.

That night, after the play was over, Cassie lingered in the dressing
room, slowly picking up her things. The other girls were ready to leave,
and they called for her to hurry up.

“Oh, go on,” she said. “I’ll be along pretty soon. Don’t wait for me.”

So they started for their hotel, leaving her there.

Frank was at work getting the properties together and packing them in
one of the dressing rooms, while Havener was above on the stage, looking
after the special scenery.

Cassie found Frank and came in on him.

“Look here,” she said, in a dull, dejected way, “I’ve got a few things I
want to say to you.”

Frank was uneasy, but he stopped working, saying, respectfully:

“All right, Cassie; I’ll listen.”

“If you blow on me, I’m done for.”

“Now don’t be afraid that I will blow. What put such a notion into your
head?”

“Well, I don’t know but you’d be doing the right thing if you did.”

“Why?”

“Oh, because it might not be right for any man to hitch up with a girl
like me. If Havener knew——”

“Do you think he’d go back on you?”

“Can’t tell. His other wife drank like a fish, and he quit her. That
ain’t so bad as what I do.”

“But you, Cassie—how in the world did you ever contract such a habit?”

“Got it in the hospital.”

“Oh, that is how?”

“Yes,” she faltered, as if she found it difficult to choose her words.
“You know—I—was hurt. I went to the hospital. They had to inject
morphine to keep down the pain. When I came out I kept on using it once
in a while. After a time I used it oftener, and now——”

“Now——”

“I can’t seem to shake it. I’ve tried, but it’s no use.”

She said this sadly, dejectedly, and Frank’s heart was stirred by a
great sympathy.

“Are you sure?”

“Well, I’m going to break it off some time—I will if I die!” she
declared, fiercely. “I have sworn it! It’s the only thing left for me,
and I must do it.”

“Now you are talking right.”

“Oh, I ain’t a fool, Frank Merriwell! I know well enough what I’ve got
to do. The thing is to do it. One night I tried to play ‘Topsy’ without
using it, but I was so dull and dead that Haley gave me a great call
down. It puts life into me, it braces me up long enough to play the
part. If I don’t do it, I’ll lose my engagement.”

“Better lose your engagement than your health—your life.”

“But I can’t afford to lay off now,” said Cassie, desperately. “I must
go through till the end of the season. Then I’m going to a sanitarium
somewhere and get rid of this business—get cured. I’ll do it! All I want
is for you to keep still.”

“You can trust me,” assured Merry. “You may be sure I’ll keep still.”

“Don’t tell Havener.”

“No.”

A man came quickly into the room. It was Havener himself, and his
scowling face showed he had overheard something.

Cassie gave a gasp of terror.

The stage-manager glared at them both.

“What’s this secret between you that you are going to keep from me?” he
demanded.

Neither answered.

“Speak!” cried Havener, furiously. “It’s no use trying to keep the thing
hidden, for I am dead on.”

Cassie looked at Frank appealingly.

“Now don’t take a lot of time to think up something to say,” snarled the
angry man. “It won’t go down with me! I’ve seen how things were going
for some time.”

Then he whirled madly on the girl.

“So you’re stuck on him because he’s young and smart! Well, you may make
a fool of yourself! He’ll throw you over after a time. You have made a
fool of me already! Oh, I’d like to——”

His clinched fist was drawn back, and he seemed on the point of striking
her.

“Stop!”

Frank leaped forward and caught the man’s wrist.

With a howl, Havener turned and struck at Merry.

Quick as he was, Frank dodged the blow. Then he grappled with the
stage-manager, strong as that person was, ran him up against the
partition, and held him there, helpless.

“Listen a moment, Mr. Havener,” he said, with remarkable calmness; “you
are making a blithering idiot of yourself.”

“Don’t lie——”

“I am not lying. There is no affair between Miss Lee and myself.”

“The secret——”

“I shall keep. All the same, you have no reason in the world to be
jealous. I swear it. If you will permit, I’ll gladly be your friend and
Miss Lee’s.”

“Let me go!”

“Not so soon.”

“Please don’t hurt him, Merriwell!” entreated Cassie, anxiously.

Those words made Havener squirm. He felt the disgrace of being handled
thus easily by a beardless youth. At the same time, he was filled with
admiration and astonishment because of Frank’s strength.

“I’ll not injure him,” promised Frank; “but he must come to his senses
before I let him go. He must promise not to act like a fool.”

“Let go,” said Havener. “I was a fool to get stuck on the girl! Said I’d
never let another one fool me after my first mistake, but a man don’t
know much when it comes to women.”

“You will make a fool of yourself if you break with Miss Lee because you
think there is anything between us, that’s sure.”

“What was the secret?”

“Perhaps she will tell you some day. If you care for her, you must
believe in her and trust her. If you cannot trust her now, it will be a
good thing for her to break with you right here.”

Somehow those words seemed to take the excitement out of the
stage-manager. He looked at Frank, and then his eyes wandered to the
face of the girl.

“You must believe him, Ross,” she said. “He is right. If you can’t trust
me now, you never will, and we shall be miserable, instead of happy.”

“He knows——”

“Everything. I have told him.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Because I had to tell somebody! You are a man, and you can keep still,
but a woman just has to talk.”

“I guess that’s right.”

“He is ready to help us, instead of trying to make trouble between us.”

“That’s right,” nodded Frank.

“Let me go,” urged Havener. “Let me think it over. Perhaps I have been
foolish. I don’t know. I’ll have to have time to think about it.”

Frank released him, saying:

“All right, but don’t get daffy about it. Believe me—believe Miss Lee.
All will be well in the end, I hope.”

“You were talking together in a confidential way,” said the
stage-manager, “and I heard her ask you not to tell me about something.
That was enough to make any man suspicious.”

“Perhaps so; but you had better forget it.” Frank went about his work,
leaving Cassie talking earnestly with Havener.

It was evident to Merry that she finally satisfied him that his jealousy
was groundless, for he stooped and kissed her suddenly.

In Frank’s heart, however, was a deep and heavy pain, caused by the
knowledge of the unfortunate girl’s terrible secret.

                              CHAPTER XI.

                             TWO “ANGELS.”

The “All-Star Combination” struck bad business and a run of all-around
hard luck. The “ghost” did not “walk,” and distrust, dissension and
rebellion arose. Barnaby Haley had all he could do to hold the company
together. He did so, hoping that the “streak” would pass and good
business would come.

The part of the country through which they were playing had been
surfeited with “Uncle Tom,” and the people were tired of the old piece,
so they refused to be aroused and inveigled into giving up their
hard-earned money, for all of the glaring paper, the donkey, the “fierce
bloodhounds,” and the “gold band.”

One night there was a “council of war” among the members of the company,
and demands were made on Haley. He could not meet the demands, and the
entire company threatened to “quit.”

The following morning several members of the company were missing, and
the show was forced to go on without them, or suspend.

That night old Dan Lee filled more parts than he had ever before
attempted on one occasion.

In order to get through with the piece, it was necessary for almost
every actor to “fake,” and Frank was obliged to fill in by assuming a
small part. He did it very well, saving the piece from complete
disaster, although the thin audience went away far from satisfied.

When the next town was reached, it was found that their reputation had
reached there in advance of them.

“We’ll be lucky if we take ten dollars to-night,” declared Havener,
after discovering the true state of affairs.

Then one of the actresses “struck,” adding to the complications. It
seemed doubtful if they could play that night at all, but, as a last,
dying gasp, they resolved to make a bluff at it.

The actress had been required each night to ascend into the flies as the
spirit of “Little Eva” after the death scene, and it was necessary for
some other person to take her place.

That night it was arranged that Hans should dress in the flowing white
robes, and be hoisted into the flies when the proper time came. The
stage would be in semidarkness, and it was hoped that the audience would
not catch on.

This struck Frank as very ludicrous. Merry believed the dissolution of
the company must come on the following day, and so he was ready to play
any sort of a practical joke. He resolved to have some sport at the
Dutch lad’s expense.

To the astonishment of everybody, the theater filled surprisingly with
spectators. Barnaby Haley rubbed his hands together with satisfaction
and congratulated himself.

But the audience was there for sport, and they began almost as soon as
the curtain went up to guy the players. As the play progressed, this
“jollying” became more and more offensive and hard to bear.

Frank decided that, before the play was over, the audience would break
out all together.

When the death scene came, Hans Dunnerwurst, arrayed in white robes,
with wings attached to his shoulders, was crouching behind the couch on
which “Little Eva” was supposed to be gasping her last.

Frank had arranged the tackle that was to hoist Hans, and he was waiting
eagerly for the climax that was to come.

It came.

The footlights refused to grow dim, although a desperate attempt was
made to lower them, and there was a hitch in the play.

At last, thoroughly desperate, Havener gave the signal for the men at
the windlass to hoist away.

Something white rose swiftly into the air over the couch.

The “spirit of Little Eva” was ascending.

But such a spirit!

The hook of the tackle was attached to the seat of the Dutch lad’s
trousers, so that he was held limply “amidships,” while his flowing
robes had fallen away in such a manner that his clothing was exposed
beneath.

Probably never before in the history of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” on the stage
had such a “spirit” ascended before the eyes of a staring, astounded
audience.

“Hell-up!” howled Hans, kicking and squawking, as he sailed toward the
flies. “Come und safe me pefore you vos a deat man!”

Then there was a hitch, for the windlass refused to work, and there the
struggling Dutch lad hung in full view of the now laughing spectators.

Missiles began to whizz through the air.

Spat!—a stale egg struck Hans behind the ear.

Whizz—plunk!

A small cabbage sent him spinning round and round like a top.

“Nail him!”

“Soak him!”

“Give it to him!”

“Hooray!”

The audience was in an uproar, and it seemed as if every person there
had brought something to throw.

“Hel-lup!” bellowed the unfortunate lad. “I vos peing kilt alretty yet!”

With the band, Ephraim Gallup roared with laughter. He knew a practical
joke had been perpetrated, and somehow it had the flavor of Frank
Merriwell’s old-time larks, so he was immensely amused.

As Hans stopped revolving for a moment, he shook his fist at Ephraim,
gurgling:

“Vait, vait! Uf I aind’t kilt pefore I die, I vill got efen mit you! You
vos a——”

Swat!—a rotten apple struck him fairly in the mouth, stopping his flow
of speech.

“This is the funniest show I ever seen!” shouted a man in the audience.
“Ain’t I glad I come!”

Some boys began to sing “I Want to Be an Angel.”

Then the windlass began to work again, and the pelted youth was drawn up
out of sight, just as Havener succeeded in arousing the curtain boy to
let the curtain down.

It was not necessary to finish the play. The audience did not expect it,
and the theater was emptied.

Hans Dunnerwurst was so angry that he couldn’t talk.

Havener did not have much to say, for he decided that it would be a
waste of words, for the company was pretty sure to disband on the
following day.

That night the stage-manager accompanied Cassie Lee when she left the
theater. It was dark on the side street, and a man sprang on them almost
as soon as they came out by the stage entrance.

“Now I’ve caught ye together!” snarled a familiar voice. “I’ll finish
you both this time!”

“Storms!” screamed the girl.

“Yes, Storms!” grated the man. “Take that!”

“That” was a bullet from a revolver aimed straight at Cassie.

But the bullet did not touch her.

Frank Merriwell had followed them from the building, and he leaped on
their assailant, bearing Storms to the ground.

The revolver was discharged again, and Frank felt the powder singe his
wrist.

Then Havener came to Frank’s aid, and, between them, they disarmed and
captured the ruffian, beating him into a stunned condition with the butt
of his own revolver.

That night Storms lay in the town’s “cooler,” and on the following day
he was tried for murderous assault and held for the grand jury.

Havener and Cassie promised to appear against him.

The stage-manager went to Frank, like a man, and said:

“Merriwell, I don’t know what the secret is between you and Cassie, and
I don’t want to know till you get ready to tell me, but I want to ask
your pardon for making a fool of myself over it.”

“That’s all right,” assured Frank. “I had forgotten it.”

“I hadn’t. I could hate you even if you did save my life, but since you
saved Cassie’s, I can hate you no longer. I believe Storms’ first shot
would have killed her.”

“Perhaps so.”

“You bore him down just in time. Keep the secret, and be my friend.”

He held out his hand, which Frank grasped.

“All right,” said Merry; “I am glad to be your friend. As for the
secret, some day Cassie will tell you that herself. We may part here,
but I wish you good fortune.”

“Part?” said Havener. “I hope not. Haley has struck an angel.”

“A what?”

“An angel—a chap with money who will back the show. We are going to
reorganize and go on.”

“Hurrah!” cried Frank. “That is good news!”

                              CHAPTER XII.

                         FRANK IS GIVEN A PART.

A few weeks later Frank was startled by a request to take a part himself
owing to the illness of one of the actors. The request came from the
stage-manager of the “Empire Theater Comedy Company,” which was, in
fact, the reorganized “All-Star Combination,” formerly on the road
playing a “modernized version” of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin.” This play was now
simply one of the numerous pieces in the repertory of the reorganized
company, the donkey and the bloodhounds being relegated to the
background for the time being, although the famous “Gold Band” was
retained in all its glory.

Barnaby Haley believed in the efficacy of a band of music to draw
spectators in small cities and country towns. He rated it next to
“paper” in the general run, and even better in some cases.

As for “paper,” three of the pieces in the repertory were “old
stand-bys,” and “stock paper” could be obtained for them from any of the
big eastern theatrical printing houses.

Haley had retained his grip on the management of the company, although
obliged to take in a partner. The partner was the “angel” who saved the
company from going to pieces. His name was Zenas Hawkins, a man with
theatrical ambitions, who had “money to burn.” Haley was helping him
burn it.

Haley realized that “Uncle Tom” had been done to death through the
section of the country he was in, and so the reorganized company
prepared to put on several other pieces.

Some of those plays they could obtain legitimately. Others were secured
from a certain company of “pirates,” located in Chicago, who boasted
that they could supply any dramas on the American or English stage.

These plays were secured by the “pirates” with the assistance of expert
shorthand writers, who were hired to attend them and take down the lines
as spoken by the different actors. From these shorthand notes
typewritten manuscript copies of the plays were made, and sold for sums
ranging from five to twenty-five dollars, to such unscrupulous managers
as cared to purchase and use them.

Of course, this traffic in stolen property was unlawful. The manager who
purchased and produced the play was committing a crime, but, until
recently, the penalty was simply a fine, usually insignificant when
exacted, and the manager could jump on to some other part of the country
and go right ahead playing the piece. In nine cases out of ten he would
not have money enough to pay the fine, and it cost the rightful owners
of the piece more trouble and money to prosecute him than they could
afford, as such prosecution seldom or never interfered more than
temporarily with the pirating of the play.

Under the amended copyright law of 1895, however, any manager unlawfully
presenting a play is liable to a fine of not less than one hundred
dollars for the first performance and fifty dollars for each subsequent
performance; and offenders who fail to pay the fines imposed may be
imprisoned upon order of the court.

This revised law has, in a measure, stopped the pirating of plays,
although the fact that the rascally concern in Chicago is still doing
business is evidence that there are unscrupulous managers in the country
who are willing to take desperate chances in order to play in remote and
unfrequented towns the popular dramas of the day.

Barnaby Haley had decided to take such chances, for he had obtained
three plays in manuscript from the Chicago thieves. The titles of these
plays, however, he had changed, to reduce the liability of detection,
and he had resolved to be very careful where he presented them.

Of course, there was no paper for these pieces, but the advertising for
the other plays was good enough to attract attention at the start, and
the stolen plays would be presented to wind up full week engagements,
where a change of bill was required nightly.

Haley had induced Hawkins to “put up” for one “full stand” of printed
advertising, made especially for them, and that was “pretty good stuff.”

In the selection of a name for the organization, the crafty and astute
Mr. Haley had remembered that there was an “Empire Theater Stock
Company,” the fame of which had spread extensively. By calling his
aggregation the “Empire Theater Comedy Company” he fancied many people
might be deceived into believing it the organization of a similar name,
which was handled and controlled by a wonderfully successful theatrical
manager.

Roscoe Havener, the former stage-manager, had been retained in his old
capacity, for he was a good man and knew his business.

The company had played three days in a town where they were billed to
remain for a week, when, one afternoon just before rehearsal, Havener
sought Frank Merriwell and requested him to take the place of Mr.
Lawrence, who was dangerously ill.

They were on the stage, which was set for the first act of the play to
be given that night.

Several of the other members of the company, attired for a dress
rehearsal, were present and heard what was said.

One of them, a young man, Douglas Dunton, who played the scheming
villain of the piece, listened with great interest.

Leslie Lawrence, the actor who was ill, had been cast for the leading
character of the play, a part Dunton had coveted.

“You, Merriwell,” said the stage-manager, “must play the part given to
Lawrence. The local stage-manager will have to serve as prompter
to-night, and every member of the company must, so far as possible, look
after the properties required by him or her. We must get through with
this piece somehow, even if you have to read Lawrence’s part.”

Dunton stepped forward.

“It strikes me, Havener,” he said, in his forward way, “that you can
make a better arrangement.”

Ross Havener turned and scowled at the speaker, for he was a man who did
not fancy receiving suggestions from anyone.

“What?” he said, sharply, like a pistol shot.

Dunton repeated his words in a bold manner.

“What do you mean?” asked the stage-manager.

“It strikes me that it is a mistake to put Merriwell, a raw amateur,
onto such a part,” said Dunton, swiftly. “He cannot memorize the lines
in such a short time, and he is bound to make an awful mess of the whole
play if he tries it.”

Frank said not a word, but his eyes looked the speaker straight through.

Havener turned to Frank.

“Think you can do anything at all with the part in such a short time?”
he asked.

“I can try,” was the quiet answer. “I am very apt at memorizing
anything, and I believe I can have the greater part of the lines before
the evening performance, if I am not required to do anything else.”

“Even if he had the lines perfectly,” put in Dunton, “he could not
handle the part.”

“How do you know?” asked the stage-manager.

“Reason will tell anybody that. Why, it is almost a star part! It
requires some one with experience and judgment. I have studied the part,
for I like it, and I believe I can play it as it should be played. It is
the kind of a part that suits me.”

“Hum!” grunted Havener. “What are you driving at? Want to play it
yourself?”

“Well, I believe that would be the best way to arrange it.”

“Who’d fill your part?”

“You might put Merriwell on that. It is only about half as long as the
other, and it does not make so much difference if it is not played well.
The audience hates the villain, anyway, and so what’s the odds if he is
rank?”

“So that is the way you feel about your part, is it?”

“Yes; I haven’t liked it from the start.”

Havener drew himself up, and his black eyes glared at Dunton.

“Then, sir!” he exploded; “you are not capable of playing the part as it
should be acted, much less a better part, like that given Lawrence! The
trouble with you is that you have an enlarged head. I advise you to put
it in soak and see if you can’t reduce its size. Get such notions out of
your nut, or I shall have to put you onto juveniles. You will play the
part assigned to you, and Mr. Merriwell will do his best with the part I
gave Lawrence. That settles it, and I don’t want to hear any more about
it.”

Havener turned away, and Douglas Dunton, furious over such a “call
down,” gave Frank Merriwell a look of hatred, but remained silent.

                             CHAPTER XIII.

                         CASSIE, THE SOUBRETTE.

Frank was given the manuscript of the play, and he began looking the
part over at once.

He had a wonderful memory, and he put his mind onto the lines in such a
manner that he did not hear Cassie Lee, the soubrette, till she had
spoken to him three times.

“I don’t want to bother you, Frank,” she said, “but accept my
congratulations, and I hope you’ll just paralyze ’em to-night. Somehow I
believe you will astonish ’em.”

“I shall do my best, Cassie,” said Merry.

“I know it,” nodded Cassie, an unusually animated light coming to her
eyes. “I heard what Dunton said, and I was mighty glad Ross gave him
that call down. Dunton is a flub, but he’s got a bad temper, and he’ll
hate you worse than sin now. Look out for him.”

“He won’t trouble me.”

“Don’t you be too sure.”

“Well, I shan’t worry about it. I’m not afraid of him.”

“That’s just it. You’ll be too careless. I wouldn’t trust him as fur as
I could sling a mule by the tail. I don’t like his eyes. They’re too
shifty. He alwus struck me as treacherous.”

“Well, he must hate Havener worse than he does me.”

“He won’t dare touch Ross, and that’s the very reason why he may try all
the harder to do you. My! but I wish this old rehearsal was over.”

“You’re tired.”

“As a dog.”

“This business of playing so many different parts is too much for you.”

“It’s work, but I like it.”

“Better than playing ‘Topsy’ regularly?”

“Sure. I was dead sick of that old part. I’m glad ‘Uncle Tom’ is only
played once in a while, but pop is heartbroken.”

“He’d rather stick to the old piece?”

“Lord, yes! He’s been playin’ parts in it for the last twenty years, and
he knows every line and every bit of business. He thinks the country is
degenerating when people get stuffed with ‘Uncle Tom’ and don’t want no
more of him. He wouldn’t stay with the company if it wasn’t for me, and
he’s liable to break loose any time and get on a reg’l’r tear. I’m
watching him all the time and hold him down. Pop is all right when he
lets red-eye alone, but he’s worse’n an Indian when he gets on a tear.”

“I hope you will be able to keep him straight, Cassie; but this watching
is wearing on you. You don’t get rest enough, and you show it.”

She shot him a quick look.

“It ain’t that so much,” she muttered. “It’s something else the most.
You know what ails me.”

“Yes, I know,” admitted Frank. “Can’t you break away from the habit,
Cassie?”

“How can I? Look at me! I’m dull as a rainstorm, my head feels like a
block of wood, and my feet are like lead. Wouldn’t I be in nice shape to
go on before a house? Time I did it twice, Haley’d fire me, and he
wouldn’t be to blame.”

“But isn’t there anything else——”

“Nope. Got to use the same old stuff till the season’s over anyhow.”

“But it’s getting an awful hold on you, Cassie.”

Hard lines formed round her mouth—a mouth that had once been rather
sweet and pretty.

“Can’t help it,” she said, grimly. “It wasn’t my fault in the first
place, and I’ve got to live. All summer there won’t be nothing for me to
do, and I must stick the season out, so as to have something saved up
for hot weather. I tell you, this life ain’t what it’s cracked up to be.
A girl that’s got a good home and wants to go on the stage is a fool.
She don’t know when she’s well off.”

Frank nodded his conviction that this was true. He had not seen much of
theatrical life, but already he was convinced that it was a hard life to
follow, especially for a girl.

“I was brought up to it,” Cassie went on; “and that was just my hard
luck. Never had no good chance to get an education.”

“You can educate yourself now.”

She shook her head slowly.

“No use,” she said. “I’m too old now.”

“Too old! Why, how old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

“Only eighteen?”

“That’s enough. Most girls are ready to leave school when they’re that
old.”

Frank did not tell her, but he had fancied that she was twenty-three or
twenty-four. He now realized that it was the life she had led that had
made her seem so much older than she was in truth.

Life on the stage in cheap dramatic companies that play one-night stands
is hard at best; but Cassie’s life had been particularly hard on account
of her father, who had neglected and abused her when he drank.

For all of this neglect and abuse, Merry believed old Dan Lee really
loved his daughter, for, when the man was sober, he was proud of Cassie,
being tender and considerate in all his actions toward her.

Old Dan was very jealous of her. He believed her too good to “tie up” to
a common ham-fatter, and so he had blocked the game of every cheap actor
who tried to show her particular attentions. He believed that, some day,
she would be able to make a “good match,” for other men must see in her
all the fine qualities that were so evident to him.

Thus it came about that the girl did not dare let her father know there
was a love affair between herself and Roscoe Havener, the stage-manager,
for, although Havener had not seen his legal wife for four years, he was
not divorced, and the entire company knew it.

When Frank discovered this attachment between the soubrette and the
stage-manager he felt like advising Cassie to wait a while before she
permitted herself to become very fond of Havener, but he quickly decided
that such advice would be a waste of words, and kept still.

That Havener was favorably disposed toward Merriwell, Cassie felt sure,
even though he had said little or nothing about the young man. Now,
after seeing him give Merry the part that had been assigned to Lawrence,
who was really one of the best actors in the troupe, and hearing him
call down Dunton, she was certain Havener was aiming for one of two
things. Either he had confidence in Merriwell, and wished to give him a
chance to show up, or he believed Frank must make a wretched failure in
attempting to play on such short notice, which would mean his “release”
from the company.

Cassie had such confidence in Frank that she believed that Havener would
fail if he was aiming to disgrace Frank.

She wished to encourage Merry, and that was why she had spoken to him as
he was sitting on a canvas-covered property tree stump, industriously
and hurriedly running over his lines in the first act.

“If you’re only eighteen, you’ve got plenty of time to study and add to
your education, Cassie,” said Frank. “You have a way of learning your
lines quickly when you take a part. You can read the right kind of books
and memorize their contents.”

“I don’t know what kind of books to read.”

“I can tell you.”

“Oh, well, I’ll think it over. I don’t have much time, you know. Can’t
do it after the show is over, for I’m dead tired by that time. Can’t do
it forenoons, for I’m digging away on new parts all the time now.”

“But you can do it vacations.”

“Oh, I suppose I might. There, I’ve bothered you too much. Didn’t mean
to when I spoke to you. Just wanted to tell you I’d bet anything you
surprise ’em on the part to-night. Something makes me sure you will. You
have lots of lines with me, and I know them lines as well as I do my
own. If you get stuck, I’ll be able to give you a lift without the aid
of the prompter. Keep your nerve; don’t get the shakes. That’s all.”

“The shakes?”

“Yes.”

“Stage fright?”

“That’s what I mean.”

“I don’t know, but I hardly think I’ll have that.”

“You can’t tell.”

“Why——”

“Nobody can.”

“You ever have it?”

“Did I?”

“Yes.”

“Did I! I should guess yes!”

“Thought you were brought up on the stage.”

“Was.”

“Then I don’t see why you should have stage fright.”

“It’s a mighty funny thing, I tell you. I began as an infant prodigy,
and I don’t s’pose anything ever scared me till I was playing soubrette
parts. One night I got it, just as hard. Opened my mouth to speak, and,
by George! I couldn’t make a sound. I just stood there like I was nailed
to the boards. Pretty quick I began to shake, and you’d thought I was
taken with the ague. It was terrible, I thought I’d faint. After a
while, I got strength enough to rush off, and then I had fits in one of
the dressing rooms.”

“That was strange.”

“No. ’Most ev’rybody gets a touch of it sooner or later. When it was all
over, I was so hopping mad I didn’t know what to do. I went on again and
played right through the piece without a quiver, and I’ve never had a
touch of it since. But I had to have it some time. Some people never get
over it fully, but with most folks, one attack ends it. I hope you won’t
have it to-night, Frank.”

“I hope so.”

“Well, I’ll git. ’Scuse me for the bother.”

She walked away, and Frank followed her sympathetically with his eyes.

“As good-hearted girl as ever lived,” he murmured. “It’s a shame she’s
contracted that frightful habit. I’m afraid it has such a hold on her
that she’ll never be able to get rid of it. Poor Cassie!”

Then he resumed his studying.

                              CHAPTER XIV.

                             THE REHEARSAL.

By this time the band, which had given its midday parade through the
town at the regular hour, was gathered before the stage, ready to
practice the pieces to be played that evening.

Ephraim Gallup had managed to retain his position in the band, as he was
a remarkably good baritone player, and he had a way of making his horn
“talk” so that it pleased the ear of the average countryman mightily.

Hans Dunnerwurst, the Dutch boy, had developed a knack for playing the
bass drum, so he was retained by Manager Haley. Hans played the drum and
cymbals at the same time, beating the drum with his right hand and
playing the cymbals with his left, one of the brass discs being attached
to the drum so that the other could be struck against it.

The leader of the band had a great idea of the proper music for a street
parade and for an inclosure like the interior of a hall or theater. On
the street the little band of eight pieces roared and thundered in an
amazing manner, making enough noise for four times their number. It was
not noise without harmony, either; and it was the kind of music that
pleased all small boys and most men and women.

In the band was a quartet of fine singers. Each night the band played in
front of the theater just before the doors were opened. The final piece
in the open air was one that always pleased the fancy of the listeners,
as it was replete with all kinds of musical tricks. It contained a
cornet solo, into which some imitation bugle calls were worked, a snare
drum solo, during which, for a few seconds, the drummer rattled away on
the side of his drum, instead of the head; a trombone solo, giving the
trombone player a chance to do some fancy flourishing, and, at one point
in the piece, every other instrument stopped for the bass drum and
cymbals to rattle, and bang, and thunder, and crash. But the real
catching features of the piece came toward the end. Of a sudden every
instrument stopped, and the entire band whistled a strain of the piece.
Then it was that Hans Dunnerwurst made his great hit, for he was a
marvelous whistler, and he warbled and trilled in a way that made it
seem a whole flock of mocking-birds had broken loose, and caused the
spectators to stand on their toes and crane their necks to see who was
producing all those amazing sounds. The final feature of this piece was
singing by the quartet, and when it was all over the crowd almost
invariably broke into a tumult of applause, and the astute Mr. Haley
rushed the band off the scene, knowing anything more would be too much,
as the crowd had been worked up to just the proper pitch to part with
its quarters and halves.

The music provided by the band inside the hall was of quite a different
character. It was soft and subdued, full of rippling melody, and quite
suited to the situation. Of course, the medley was given in the evening,
as it was almost always called for by the audience, and some new
features were introduced, such as sleighbells, tinkling cymbals and the
shuffleboard to imitate dancing.

Some of the musicians acted as accompanists for the singing given at
each performance, and furnished music for the dancing, so they were
required to rehearse with the company regularly. Indeed, Havener was
quite a stickler about the matter of rehearsals, no one being excused
from them without good cause.

The band played through one of its new pieces, and then, in order to
give Merriwell more time to run over his part, Havener had the singers
go through with their songs for the evening performance.

And Frank was so utterly absorbed in his effort to commit as many lines
as possible that he did not even notice when the rehearsal began.

At last, the time for him to go on arrived, and Havener appeared at his
elbow, saying:

“If you can get along at the start without the manuscript, Merriwell, it
will be better. I’ll take it and help you along. We’ve managed to go
this far without a prompter.”

Frank did not stir. He sat with his eyes fastened on the page before
him.

Havener touched his shoulder.

“Come, Merriwell,” he said, sharply.

Then Frank was aroused, and he got up quickly.

“All right,” he spoke. “I’m ready.”

He handed the manuscript to Havener.

“Think you can do anything without reading?” asked the stage-manager.

“I believe I can remember a part of the first act.”

“All right; go ahead.”

Frank went on, and Havener observed that he made the proper entrance. He