AL'S SCHEME.
"Mr. Wattles," said Al, in a low tone, "I suppose you have in your time
met a few stage-struck amateurs--people who thought they knew it all,
and only needed a chance to show the world that they were the equal of
anyone who ever trod the boards?"
The manager laughed.
"I should say yes. The woods are full of them."
"Well, we have one here."
"Only one?"
"There are others, but one whom it will be worth your while to know."
"Who is she?--for it is a woman, of course."
"Yes, sir, it is a woman; she is the wife of the mayor."
"The wife of the mayor of Boomville stage-struck?"
"In the worst way, Mr. Wattles; she believes herself the only legitimate
successor of Charlotte Cushman."
"They all do. Well, what has all this to do with your scheme?"
"A good deal. Mrs. Anderson--that is her name--is very anxious to appear
on the professional stage."
"Of course."
"Why can't you give her a chance?"
"Eh? I? How?"
"Send her word that one of your actresses has been taken suddenly ill,
and ask her to take her place. She'll do it, take my word for that, and
all Boomville will go to see her."
"Well, you must be crazy, young man," said Mr. Wattles, in a tone of
disgust. "So that is your scheme, is it?"
"That is part of it."
"Well, it won't work."
"Why not?"
"For a dozen reasons. If I had two or three weeks to work up the thing
it would be different; then it would, perhaps, be a good scheme. But you
seem to forget that the performance takes place to-night."
"There's plenty of time to work up business," said Al, calmly. "It is
not ten o'clock yet. See Mrs. Anderson, get her consent to play, and
I'll prove my executive ability by doing all the rest."
"But, good gracious! how could the woman memorize a part between this
and night?"
"Give her a short part--any old part. Two or three lines will do. What
she wants is a chance to show herself on the professional stage."
"There is a small part," hesitated Mr. Wattles, "one that she could
learn in half an hour. But, no, it won't do. The woman might queer the
performance, and I should be the laughingstock of the profession for the
next year."
"She's not as bad as all that," said Al. "She has appeared in amateur
performances here and made a success. Better see her, Mr. Wattles. I
know she'll be tickled to death with the idea. You'll be in plenty of
time to get a big ad. in this afternoon's _Herald_, and you'll have the
biggest house of the season."
The manager brought his fist down on the table by his side, and said:
"By jingo, boy, I will do it! Lots of money has been made out of
stage-struck society women, and perhaps I may come in for a little of
it."
"You'll come in for a lot of it to-night, sir, if you just follow my
advice. And now I'll show you the way to the mayor's house."
"Wait a minute. You said this amateur racket was only a part of your
scheme; what is the rest of it?"
"Souvenirs. This town is wild on souvenirs. The 'Crack of Doom' Company
give hand-painted fans to-night. Why don't you go one better, and
announce that every lady attending your performance will receive a
heavily plated silver souvenir spoon?"
"But where the mischief could I get the spoons?"
"I'll provide them."
"You?"
"Certainly."
"But where are you going to get them?"
"I've got them. You see, sir, I am a sort of speculator. I attend
auction sales and that sort of thing, and if I see a big bargain I take
advantage of it. It's better than clerking at five dollars a week. A few
days ago I struck a bankrupt sale in New York, and bought a lot of
plated spoons at 'way below cost. I meant to sell them to the stores
here, but I'll let you have them at just what they cost me--you can
afford to give them away if you buy them at that price--and there will
be plenty to go round."
Mr. Wattles surveyed his companion in amused wonder.
"Well, you are a queer sort of lad," he said. "You seem to have a pretty
old head on those young shoulders of yours!"
"I think I have enough to look out for number one, sir."
"I should say you did. I should like to know more of you."
"You will, sir, when I become your advance agent."
"Well, we'll see all about that. And now I'd better be off for the home
of the stage-struck mayoress. Meet me in half an hour."
"I'll be here, sir."
As the manager walked away, he muttered:
"I'm afraid I'm going on a fool's errand. Confound it! I believe that
young rascal has hypnotized me. But, after all, I can't afford to
neglect the chance. The treasury is pretty low, and if this scheme
doesn't work there may be trouble on salary day. I'll do my best to get
this woman to play, and I guess I shall succeed; people used to say that
Gus Wattles was the champion jollier, and I don't think he has lost his
powers yet."
Al was doing a little soliloquizing, too.
"I didn't think I had so much nerve," he mused. "I'm beginning to have a
little more confidence in myself. If to-night's performance is a success
I shall get the job sure--he can't refuse me. But if it isn't a
success, if Mrs. Anderson refuses to have anything to do with the
scheme--I won't let myself think of that."
It was nearly an hour before Mr. Wattles returned.
"Well, sir?" questioned the boy, breathlessly.
"It's all right."
"She will play?"
"Not only that, but she is going to pay me for the chance. Oh, there are
no flies on Augustus Wattles, my boy! Yes, she is going to play, and she
is delighted because the part will give her a chance to exhibit herself
in a new costume which she has just imported from Paris. Now, then, my
lad, we must get up the ads. How much time have we before they must be
in the newspaper office?"
"An hour at least. And you had better get out some posters announcing
Mrs. Anderson's appearance. They can be on the walls in two hours. Will
you leave that part to me?"
"Yes; but first you can help me with the advertisement. Undoubtedly you
can give me some points."
Al was able to do so. The manager was plainly delighted and surprised at
the aptitude he displayed.
"I begin to think," he said, "that you were cut out for this business."
"That is what I have thought for a long while, sir," replied the boy,
as, copy in hand, he started for the office of the _Herald_.
Within a few hours everyone in Boomville knew that Mrs. Anderson, the
mayor's wife, was to assume a role in the drama, "Loved and Lost," at
the opera house that evening, and all the lady's friends, all her
enemies and almost everybody else who ever attended theatrical
performances at all had made up their minds to go and see her.
Besides, the offer of a plated spoon as a souvenir was almost
irresistible; people who had more solid silver spoons than they had any
use for fell over each other in their frantic haste to secure seats for
the evening's performance and make sure of the coveted spoon.
"We haven't had an advance sale like this since the house was built,"
said the local manager to Mr. Wattles, a short time before the doors
were opened. "Why, there isn't a seat left in the house except in the
gallery, and they will be all filled as soon as the doors are thrown
open. And I understand that there is no sale at all at the other house.
I don't believe there'll be a baker's dozen there. It was a great idea
of yours to get Mrs. Anderson to appear."
"I claim no credit for it at all," said Mr. Wattles. "It was all the
work of that bright young fellow."
"Oh, by the way," interrupted Mr. Perley, taking an envelope from his
pocket, "here is something that came for you a few minutes ago; I had
nearly forgotten about it."
Mr. Wattles tore open the note and ran his eyes over its contents. As he
did so the expression of his face underwent such a remarkable change
that his companion said, uneasily:
"There's nothing the matter, is there?"
"I should say there was," was the reply. "We're in a nice fix. Mrs.
Anderson won't play!"