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

To be Published During December

To be Published During November

The Radium of All Humor

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”

STREET & SMITH PUBLISHERS

79-89 Seventh Avenue, New York

Copyright, 1898

By STREET & SMITH

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Frank Merriwell on the Road

FRANK MERRIWELL ON THE ROAD.

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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]]

[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.