NEKA ON THE STAGE.
“He is coming in here!” cried the boy, in sudden terror.
“Never mind, I will protect you,” responded the elocutionist. “I will
argue the point----”
“It won’t do; he must not see me!” panted the boy. “I--I’m going up
in the loft to hide.”
Close to his hand were a number of slats nailed to two of the
uprights of the barn wall. The ladder had put the thought of
ascending into his mind. He went up noiselessly, yet like a flash,
and disappeared into a corner filled with hay.
A muttering was heard without, and Daniel Bambo, carrying a lantern
on his arm, entered.
The rays from the lantern fell upon a long figure stretched out on
its back, with eyes tightly closed. The figure was snoring.
“A tramp!” muttered the proprietor of the circus to himself. “The
country seems to be alive with ’em. Hey, there, you!”
He gave Longfellow Wadsworth a prod in the side with his foot. The
prostrate figure groaned, heaved a sigh, and turned over on its side.
“Tired out or dead drunk,” soliloquized Daniel Bambo. “Most likely
the latter, and if I wake him, there’ll only be a row.”
He left Wadsworth’s side and flashed his light across the barn and
into the corners. He walked over to the straw, and shoved it with the
butt end of his whip. Then he looked up at the loft.
“Hardly worth while, I reckon,” he continued, “but I’ll make sure.”
And, with the lantern on his arm, he climbed up the ladder.
Neka, under the hay, hardly dared to breathe. He heard the circus
proprietor walk around the loft, and the rays of the lantern
penetrated through the loose hay. Bambo even poked the boy with his
whip. It was a supreme moment, and Neka nearly cried out with fright.
But it was soon over, and Bambo went below again. Without trying to
get anything out of Longfellow Wadsworth, he left the barn.
Neka remained where he was until the elocutionist called him.
“It’s perfectly safe now, my son. He has gone to the road and the
wagons are moving ahead,” he called out.
“It was a narrow escape,” said the boy, on descending. “I thought he
had me, sure.”
“He thought me a tramp and drunk,” returned Longfellow Wadsworth. “I
had a good mind to get up in my wrath and smite him in the nose for
it. For your sake, I swallowed the indignity.”
“I shan’t forget your kindness,” replied Neka, warmly. “I hope he
doesn’t come back.”
He walked around to the front of the barn. The storm was shifting,
and in a portion of the sky the stars were already shining. Down
in the road he could just make out the wagons filing slowly along
through the mud. He counted them to make sure all were there, and
none left behind.
“I don’t know which way you are traveling,” he said, on returning
inside. “But I want to go in the opposite direction to the one Daniel
Bambo is taking.”
“I am willing. Neka, at present all roads are alike to me. Suppose
we strike out for Chambersburgh? That is a nice town, and perhaps we
shall strike luck of some sort there.”
“That will just suit me, Mr. Wadsworth.”
After this the two laid down to rest on the straw--taking some of the
bedding to cover themselves, for the night was decidedly chilly.
As tired as he was, it took Neka a long while to get to sleep. His
thoughts were busy, and he was filled with anxiety concerning the
future.
Had he really seen the last of Daniel Bambo, or would he meet that
savage tyrant again? And if he did not, would he be able to make
himself a comfortable living without outside aid?
Neka did not worry about the last. To be free of Bambo was a comfort
in itself, and, as Longfellow Wadsworth had observed, he would
probably have little trouble in finding some situation on the variety
stage. If only he would never behold his taskmaster again.
Neka thought also of the dim past, which appeared like a beautiful
vision. He remembered himself as a little boy, playing in an immense
garden surrounded by a high stone wall. He had worn good clothes
then, and had never known what it was to go hungry or to be lashed
with a whip.
“I wish those times would come back,” he half murmured to himself,
and with this wish he finally dozed off.
When the couple in the old barn awoke the sun was shining brightly,
and from the fields around came the carol of numerous song birds.
Neka leaped up, to find Longfellow Wadsworth brushing his silk hat
with a small pocket brush, which he later on used also for his
flowing locks.
“A beautiful morning, Neka,” exclaimed the elocutionist. “A good
morning to expand the heart and fill it with good motives. I trust
you slumbered well.”
“Fairly well, sir. I am glad it has cleared off. Let us be on our
way.”
“I am willing--seeing as there is nothing at hand with which we may
appease our hunger. Let us move on in hopes of a speedy meal which
shall satisfy us to the uttermost.”
“I reckon we won’t get much unless we work for it,” laughed Neka. “I
won’t steal, and I would hate most awfully to beg.”
“Exactly my sentiments,” returned Longfellow Wadsworth. “Yet a free
lunch counter----”
He did not finish.
“And I don’t drink,” went on the boy, pointedly.
“You are to be honored, my son, for that. It is the one enemy----”
Again Longfellow Wadsworth did not finish. But Neka knew he was going
to say that drink was the one enemy of his life. He looked at his
companion’s nose, and saw it was unusually red.
Reaching the road, they struck out as rapidly as the mud would
permit. The man was a rapid walker, yet the boy kept up to him
easily. Neka had been trained until his muscles were like iron, and
could endure almost any amount of strain.
After passing the spot where the accident to the circus chariot had
occurred, they branched off on another road, the one running into
Chambersburgh, a town of six or seven thousand inhabitants.
Presently they came to where the road ran across a brook. The stream
was much swollen, and the rain had washed away part of the wooden
bridge.
“A bad break,” observed Neka. “They ought to fix this before night
comes on.”
They stopped beside the bridge to wash their faces and hands, and to
get a drink, for the day was growing warm. They were pleased to see
that the sun was drying their clothes.
Neka had just turned away to regain the road when a shout from the
direction in which they had come attracted his attention. He looked
back and saw a fellow coming on, riding like the wind on a bicycle,
with another fellow running along on foot.
“Stop him! stop the thief!” yelled the fellow on foot.
Startled at this call, Neka ran out in the road. The fellow on the
wheel was now less than a hundred feet away. The boy at a glance
noticed that he was in ordinary street dress, while the wheel he rode
was first-class.
He glanced back. The runner was in knickerbockers, with a cap on his
head. Surely he must be the owner of the wheel.
“Hold up!” commanded Neka, and put up his hands before the
approaching wheelman.
“Get out of my way, boy!” cried the fellow on the wheel. “Skip, or I
will run over you!”
Neka did not budge.
“If this be an honest man he will halt,” he thought, and held his
ground.
Seeing he could not intimidate the boy, the wheelman endeavored to
pass to one side. But Neka again leaped before him, and, coming
closer, caught hold of the handle-bar of the machine.
Leaping to the ground, the wheelman tried to wrench the bicycle away,
at the same time making a pass for the boy’s head. Neka dodged and
held fast, and a few seconds later the young man in the bicycle suit
reached the scene of the encounter.
“You rascal!” he burst out. “Drop my wheel instantly!”
“Hang the luck!” muttered the would-be thief, for he was nothing
else. “I’ll remember you, boy!” he cried to Neka.
And before anybody could stop him, he left the road, leaped a fence,
and darted into a thicket leading to a dense woods.
The owner of the bicycle was profuse in his thanks to Neka, and
offered the boy a dollar as a reward, which amount, however, the boy
declined.
“I was sitting under a tree smoking when that chap sprang out of the
bushes and leaped on my wheel,” said the bicyclist. “If it hadn’t
been for you I would have lost that machine.”
“My companion is truly a plucky fellow,” remarked Longfellow
Wadsworth. “Neka, you should not embarrass the gentleman by refusing
the reward he offers.”
“I don’t want any reward,” replied Neka. “But if you can help us to
get some work to pay for our breakfa----”
“Ahem, ahem!” broke in the elocutionist. “The boy was about to say
perhaps you could assist us in giving an entertainment at the next
town. I am an elocutionist and he is a magician and juggler. We have
been unfortunate, and----”
“By Jove! just the thing!” burst out the owner of the bicycle. “Yes,
I can help you, I am sure. You see, it is this way,” he went on. “I
am the secretary of the Chambersburgh Bicycle League. We expected to
give an entertainment to-night at the town hall to our friends. We
were going to have the Carroll family, sleight-of-hand performers, to
show for us. But they have sent word they can’t come on account of
sickness, and so----”
“Exactly, exactly,” interrupted Longfellow Wadsworth, fervidly. “You
wish us to exhibit in their stead. We’ll do it, sir, just to help
you out, and on very liberal terms, sir, very liberal. Won’t we,
Neka?”
“If the gentleman will accept our services,” smiled the boy.
“Of course, I’ll have to talk it over with the others first,” said
the bicyclist. “Come with me, will you?”
The three journeyed along side by side, Neka and the elocutionist on
foot and the young man on his wheel. On the way, the young man said
his name was Harry Lardale, and that his father was county clerk.
Longfellow Wadsworth made quite a splurge when he introduced Neka and
himself. Neka did not like this much, and at the first opportunity
took the elocutionist to task about it.
“But we must put up a front, my son, it’s everything in business,”
said the elocutionist. “Besides I told nothing but the truth. I
am world famous, having read for kings and queens, as well as
presidents, and I know you’re a wonder in your specialties by your
noble forehead.”
Reaching Chambersburgh, Harry Lardale took them to his residence, and
there treated them to breakfast. He readily saw what a plight they
were in, and asked no questions. Then he went off to interview his
friends.
“The pair may be very good and they may be bad,” he said. “But we can
get them at our own figure, and they’ll be better than nothing. It’s
too late to tell folks we can’t entertain them now. The town people
will know, but what of those from Camville, Horner Run, and other
places?”
So it was decided among the committee of the league that Neka and
Longfellow Wadsworth should make up a programme for them and do their
best. Each was to receive ten dollars for his services, and the
elocutionist put in the stipulation that half of the money was to be
paid immediately. After some hesitation, this was done.
“Now we can brush up a bit,” said Longfellow Wadsworth. “I need a
shave and a new collar and necktie at the very least.”
“And I a whole outfit,” replied Neka, surveying his shabby suit. “But
I can’t afford it, so will have to go without. The chemicals I use in
my fire tricks will cost at least a dollar.”
“I have an idea for you, my son. Why do you not buy some cheap red
and blue stuff and have some seamstress make you a fancy suit, just
for stage use?”
“Good! I’ll do it!” cried Neka, enthusiastically, and he went off at
once.
By the middle of the afternoon their preparations for the
entertainment were all made. A pianist had also been engaged, and
they ran the programme over with him, to give him the proper cues,
especially for playing while Neka was performing.
The hall was a fairly large one, with seats for six hundred people.
At the hour for opening it was comfortably filled, and people
continued to come.
“A good house,” whispered Longfellow Wadsworth to Neka, as both
looked out through a peep-hole in the curtain. “We must do our best.
Who knows but what this opening may lead to other engagements.”
The first number on the programme was a musical selection by the
pianist. Then the curtain rolled up, and Longfellow Wadsworth came
forward, and, after making a profound bow, started in to recite Poe’s
“Raven.”
While the recitation was not of the first order, it was by no means
bad, and the elocutionist received a generous round of applause. This
encouraged him, and for an encore he recited an original piece called
“The Other Man’s Hat,” semi-humorous, which went still better.
“Now, Neka, keep up the good work,” he whispered, as he came behind
the scenes. “They are ready to give you a warm welcome.”
The pianist was playing a low, tremulous movement, just as Neka had
instructed him. The lights on the stage were lowered until they were
all but out.
Suddenly Neka, King of Fire, burst into view. No longer was he a mere
down-trodden boy. He was an actor, a magician, a wizard, all in one.
He burst on the stage like a meteor, clad in a suit of fiery red,
tipped top and bottom with bright yellow. In one hand he held a
ribbon of fire, yards in length, and this he moved around his body
with great rapidity. Up it went to his head, around his neck, under
his leg, across his back, and over his shoulder, until it seemed as
if there was a perfect tangle of fire about him. And while he was
doing this he opened his mouth and blew out a stream of fiery sparks
into the air.
A deafening round of applause broke forth from the audience. They
had thought Neka some semi-professional magician, and were prepared
to see a lot of very simple tricks. They were taken completely by
surprise.
“My, but he’s a wonder!”
“How in the world does he do it?”
While the audience were still spellbound, Neka suddenly threw himself
backward and turned a somersault. It was as if a huge pin wheel was
sailing in the air.
Then as speedily a shout of horror arose.
“Look out! The scene is coming down!”
Neka heard the shout, but did not understand it. He sprang backward
to make another somersault, when of a sudden a heavy side scene,
representing a portion of a castle, began to topple over on him.
It looked as if he would be crushed and burned in the very midst of
his triumph!