LIFE ON THE ROAD.
From Philadelphia the Neka-Wadsworth Specialty Company went
to Baltimore and then on to Washington. Long before this the
elocutionist was as well as ever, and had resumed his place among the
players.
The fame of the organization was now spreading, and Neka and his
partner were well pleased to see the crowded houses which greeted
them everywhere. More than once the S. R. O. (standing-room only)
sign had to be displayed in the lobby of the theatre they were
playing at, and this, for a new company, was as unusual as it was
gratifying.
Meeting with such success, Bindley was likewise enabled to demand a
larger share of the receipts. Where the company had heretofore been
content with from forty to sixty per cent., it now asked and received
from fifty to seventy-five per cent.
Bindley was a hard and shrewd worker, and realizing the important
part he played in the success of the organization, Neka and
Longfellow Wadsworth talked the matter over, and made him an equal
partner with themselves. The name of the company, however, remained
unchanged.
It must not be thought that Neka and Longfellow Wadsworth had
forgotten Daniel Bambo and Hank Maul. The police of Philadelphia had
been informed concerning the rascals, and a sharp watch had been set
for them. The captain of the _Blue Dart_ was also interviewed, but
said he had merely taken the men on at the lower bay from another
sloop that was bound for Baltimore.
“I don’t believe that story,” said Neka, when he heard it.
“Nor do I,” replied the elocutionist. “But what are you going to do
about it?”
“If I felt rich enough, I would hire some first-class detective to
run Daniel Bambo down.”
“And Maul, too?”
“I don’t care for Maul so much. I want to get Bambo, so I can make
him tell me what he knows of my past history.”
“I see. Well, you’ll soon have money enough ahead to hire two
detectives,” laughed Longfellow Wadsworth. “Actually, Neka, I feel as
if we were rolling in wealth.”
“So do I. But we are not, and the best we can do is to save our
money. We may strike a long bad spell before the season is over.”
“That is so, and I’m not spending money foolishly. You have taught me
the best lessons I ever learned, and I mean to profit by them.”
While in Washington, Neka paid many visits to the public
institutions, and even visited the House of Representatives and
the Senate. The Patent Office also interested him, especially that
portion devoted to stage devices, of which there are many hundreds.
Leaving Washington, the company struck out for the West by the way of
Pittsburg and Harrisburg, and exactly a month later landed in St.
Louis. Up to this time the weather had been everything that could be
desired, and business was fine.
It must not be supposed, however, that Neka and his friends had an
altogether easy time of it. There were many difficulties to overcome,
and more than one trouble to adjust. Not only this, but on two
occasions they came in contact with rival companies, and once Bindley
almost came to blows with the billposters for tearing down the
Neka-Wadsworth paper and sticking up rival matter in its place.
This incident terminated in a very funny way, and is worth recording.
It happened in Harrisburg on a Monday morning, when the company had
been in town scarcely an hour.
Bindley was walking down a street, in company with Neka, when he
espied a tall and gaunt-looking billposter on the opposite side of
the street.
“He’s tearing down our bills!” cried Bindley, and rushed over,
prepared to fight it out.
To Bindley, to tear down one of the show bills was as base as to
steal his pocketbook.
“Stop that, you chump!” he roared, and grabbed the billposter by the
arm.
“Stop nothin’!” growled the man of the brush and paste kettle. “Let
go my arm.”
“Those are our bills, and they are to stay up!” ordered Bindley.
“Not on your life,” was the reply. “I’m going to put the Wood-Hinkley
Company’s bills up here.”
“Indeed! I paid for this board, and our bills stay up until
Saturday,” returned Bindley, firmly.
One word brought on another, and finally the knight of the paste
attempted to hit Bindley over the head with his brush.
A lively scuffle ensued, Bindley dodged the blow, and threw the
billposter down.
When the man arose, he was in a thunderous rage. He threatened
Bindley with arrest and prosecution. Bindley told him to go ahead.
Then the fellow attempted to tear down more of the bills and
substitute those of the rival concern.
Bindley kept on arguing, and once again the billposter aimed a blow
at him. This time the brush, full of paste, struck Neka’s manager on
the ear.
The billposter began to roar with laughter, for Bindley’s organ of
hearing was partly filled with the paste. But he didn’t laugh long.
Rushing in, Bindley struck the brush from the billposter’s hand. Then
he caught the man around the waist and lifted him from the ground.
“Le’me go!” howled the billposter, in affright.
“I’ll let you go fast enough,” rejoined Bindley, sarcastically, and
turning the man heels up, he let him drop plump into his own kettle
of paste.
The billposter went down up to his neck, and could not arise until
he had brought up kettle, paste and all. The floury stuff entered
his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and a large quantity of it ran down
inside of his collar. The crowd that saw the scene nearly split
their sides laughing at him.
“Throw yourself up on the board and stick there for a living picture!”
“That’s right; don’t let him pull down your bills.”
And so the talk ran on.
The billposter was such a sight that he did not remain on the scene
long.
Yet before he left, Bindley gave him fair warning about the remaining
bills.
“If you want to avoid trouble, leave those bills alone. I’ll let you
off easy now, but I want you to remember I’m from the West, and I
carry a seven-shooter with me.”
And the billposter thought this statement true; so not a bill was
molested after that until the Neka-Wadsworth Company had left
Harrisburg.
After a prosperous week in St. Louis, the company started for
Springfield, Illinois, where it was to remain three nights.
The start was made on Saturday night, Bindley wishing to get to
Springfield to remain there over Sunday.
It was nearly twelve o’clock when the company crossed the river to
East St. Louis and boarded the cars for Springfield. Although the
ride would occupy less than three hours, a sleeper was engaged,
which was to switch from the train on arriving at Springfield, thus
allowing the members to remain in their berths until morning.
The start was made all right, and, being thoroughly tired after a
hard week’s performances, all the members of the company, Bindley
included, were soon fast asleep.
As was usual, Neka was one of the first to wake up, and he lost no
time in dressing himself, hopping out of his berth and making his way
to the lavatory to indulge in a good Sunday morning’s wash.
While he was at his toilet, he noticed that the car was at a
standstill, but not in any depot. He thought this odd, but gave it no
serious consideration.
But presently Bindley rushed in in a state of excitement.
“Well, if this don’t beat the Dutch!” cried the manager.
“What?” asked Neka.
“Look where we are!”
“Where are we, Bindley?”
“We’re out on the prairie, that’s where we are!” answered the
manager. “We’re about a hundred miles from nowhere, so far as I can
see!”
Soon the whole company was aroused, and one after another went
outside to view the situation.
Bindley was more than half right, so far as appearances went. The
sleeping car stood on a side track near a patch of woods, and nothing
else was in sight, but a broad stretch of level fields, dotted here
and there with bushes, all dazzling with snow in the rising sun.
“Where’s the conductor or brakeman?” asked Longfellow Wadsworth.
All hands looked around. Neither conductor nor brakeman could be
found, nor was there even a porter about to give them any information.