A ROW ON THE STAGE.
“You didn’t think I would drop on you quite so quick, did you?”
sneered Daniel Bambo, as he rushed forward and grabbed Neka by the
arm.
“Leave that boy alone!” thundered Longfellow Wadsworth, dramatically.
He had not heard the accusation the jeweler had brought against him.
“And who are you?” demanded the proprietor of the Greatest
Aggregation of Marvels on the Globe, harshly.
“Longfellow Wadsworth, elocutionist and tragedian, of Boston,
Philadelphia, and New York. A man of the world, and a champion to
this downtrodden youthful genius, and----”
“You’re cracked,” muttered Bambo. “I have no quarrel with you. I have
to do with Neka, my ward, who ran away a few days ago. Neka, come
along with me.”
“I shall not go,” replied the boy, in a low, but firm, tone.
“What!” roared Daniel Bambo, his wrath arising on the instant.
“What’s that?”
“I shall not go back with you, to be beaten and starved,” went on
Neka. “I have struck out on my own hook.”
“Just to hear the young scamp,” cried the circus proprietor, turning
to the Lock Haven constable. “He won’t go back--after I have brought
him up, clothed and fed him, and given him a good home for four
years!”
“Some boys need to be taken well in hand,” was the officer’s comment.
“And some men ought to be taken in hand,” snorted Longfellow
Wadsworth. “That man is a brute, if ever there was one. If the
Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children knew of his doings
he’d be cracking stone for the State this minute.”
“Shut up!” cried Bambo. “Officer, as that man is undoubtedly a thief,
you had better arrest him and take him away. I’ll take care of the
boy myself.”
“A thief!” Longfellow Wadsworth strode forward, his eyes flashing
wildly. “I will--will----There! how do you like that, sir?”
That was a savage tweak of Bambo’s long nose, which caused the circus
proprietor to yell with pain. Bambo made a pass at the elocutionist,
but the constable stepped between.
“This is all contrary to law----” he began.
“He called me a thief!” blustered Longfellow Wadsworth.
“So you are!” howled Bambo.
“He is no thief!” put in Neka, warmly.
“But he said the pearls belonged to his wife, while they really
belong to Miss Fordham, of this town,” put in Cordley, the jeweler.
All eyes were now turned upon Longfellow Wadsworth.
To his credit be it said that the elocutionist blushed deeply. He had
meant no harm by the fiction he had invented concerning the history
of the pearls. He had told the story merely for “dramatic” effect, as
he told many other things. To tell a “good story” and give it out for
truth was one of his failings.
“What have you to say to this?” asked the constable, as the
elocutionist paused before replying.
“The pearls belong on this skate bag, which I picked up in the
woods to-day while on my way from Chambersburgh to this town,” said
Longfellow Wadsworth, squarely. “We were short of funds, and so I put
them out on a loan, expecting to redeem them to-morrow. It was then
my intention to sew the pearls on the skate bag again, and make a
diligent search for the owner.”
“A likely story,” sniffed Daniel Bambo.
“I was not addressing you, you brute,” retorted the elocutionist. “My
business appears to be with these gentlemen.”
“But how about that story about your wife----” began the jeweler.
“I must have--er--have been thinking of something else when I told
that. My head was full of business, you know.”
“Probably,” replied Cordley, dryly.
“If this Miss Fordham is about I shall be happy to restore her bag
to her. I will also pay you, Mr. Cordley, the money advanced, with
interest on the loan, and you can return to her the pearls. That
ought to be satisfactory.”
“I suppose so,” mused the constable. “She took the skate bag with
her yesterday to go chestnuting, and I reckon she dropped it where
you picked it up, although she felt almost certain a thief stole it
before she left this town.”
“If necessary, I can prove I was in Chambersburgh all day yesterday,”
replied Longfellow Wadsworth, eagerly. “I can prove it by Mr. Harry
Lardale, the son of the county clerk.”
“Then you certainly must be telling the story straight about finding
the bag,” said the constable. “I’ll take the bag, and you pay
Cordley, and I reckon it will be all right.”
Longfellow Wadsworth lost no time in emptying the money from the bag.
As Daniel Bambo saw the amount his eye glistened.
“Been taking in a lot of money at the door,” he remarked, but the
elocutionist paid no attention. He paid over the money to the
jeweler, and got his receipt.
“I should not have touched the pearls, but I found a loan absolutely
necessary. Kindly restore the bag to Miss Fordham with my regrets and
compliments.”
And the elocutionist bowed profoundly.
“I will,” said the constable.
Then he looked at Daniel Bambo.
“I’ll attend to my end of the affair,” said the circus manager. “You
can go.”
“Not so fast, please,” put in Longfellow Wadsworth. “Mr. Constable,
I will ask you to take this man with you. We don’t want him behind
the scenes.”
At this Daniel Bambo’s face almost turned white with surprise and
rage.
“Put me out!” he fairly gasped.
“Yes, put him out.”
“I’ll go--but I take that boy with me,” growled the proprietor of the
Greatest Aggregation of Marvels on the Globe.
And again he took hold of Neka’s arm.
“Let go of me!” said the boy.
“You’ll go with me!”
“I will not!”
Bambo tried to shove the youth toward the side door.
Longfellow Wadsworth sprang in between. He leaned over, close to
Daniel Bambo’s ear.
“Let him go. I know something of the past, and if you molest that boy
I will take you to court and expose you.”
This random shot had an electrical effect on the circus proprietor.
He released his hold on Neka’s arm and fell back, gazing in wonder at
the elocutionist.
“Who--I never saw you before,” he faltered.
“Never mind, you never saw many of old Jerry Brown’s friends,” went
on Longfellow Wadsworth, following up his advantage.
“A friend of Jerry Brown!” muttered Daniel Bambo, and on the instant
his whole manner changed.
“After this I want you to leave Neka alone. He is under my
protection and I shall see to it that he obtains his rights.”
“You’ll keep him to make money out of him,” sneered the circus
proprietor.
“No, I shall not be as avaricious as you were. So long as we perform
in partnership, half the receipts shall go to him. This has already
been arranged.”
“Does he git half the receipts to-night?”
Daniel Bambo’s eyes glistened. How he wanted to get at that money!
To go back to the day before, his circus had been attached for debt
at Ryetown, four of his principal performers had left, and it looked
as if the Greatest Aggregation of Marvels on the Globe was going to a
total smash.
No wonder, therefore, he looked with longing eyes on the money
Longfellow Wadsworth held in trust for Neka.
But he dared not just then push his claim for the possession of the
youthful King of Fire. There was no telling how much the elocutionist
knew of the past, or what trouble might arise should the matter be
dragged into court.
“I ought to have some of that money. I kept him when he wasn’t worth
his salt,” he growled.
“And you kept him, too, when he made money hand over fist for you,”
added Longfellow Wadsworth. “Now leave us, for the audience is
growing impatient.”
The elocutionist spoke the truth. Outside in the main hall the people
were stamping and uttering cat calls, which grew louder each instant.
Daniel Bambo stood irresolute for a moment. The jeweler had gone off,
but the constable still lingered.
“All right, have your own way,” he said, as a sudden idea flashed
into his mind. “I only hope the boy proves as much care and trouble
to you as he has to me.”
And with these words he marched out of the door and downstairs into
the street.