FRANK'S NEW COMEDIAN.
The day came for the great dress rehearsal of "True Blue," to which the
theatrical people of Denver, the newspaper men, and a great number of
prominent people had been invited.
Frank had determined on this course at great expense, but he believed he
would be repaid for the outlay.
His chief object was to secure good newspaper notices and
recommendations from the theater managers in the city.
It was to be an afternoon performance, so that it would not interfere
with any of the regular theatrical attractions to play in town that
night.
Early in the day Hodge advised Frank to keep a sharp watch on Burns.
"Don't let him have any money, Merry. He fancies he will have to go
through a terrible ordeal this afternoon, and he wishes to brace up for
it. If he gets all he wants to drink, he will be loaded to the muzzle
when the time comes to play."
Frank feared this, and so, when Burns appealed to him for money, he
refused the old man, telling him he could have some after the
performance.
Then Merry set Gallup to watch the tragedian.
Frank was at work in the theater, where various members of the company
were practicing specialties, and the stage hands were arranging
everything so that there would be no hitch about the performance.
Within thirty minutes after Gallup was set to watch the old actor, he
came to Frank in a hurry, saying:
"If you want to keep Mr. Burns sober, I advise yeou to come with me an'
git him aout of a grog shop daown the street, Merry."
"What's that?" exclaimed Frank. "Why, he hasn't the money to buy liquor,
even if he has gone into a saloon."
"He won't hev to buy it, I guess."
"Why not?"
"Well, I saw two men pick him up an' take him inter the gin mill. They
axed him would he come in an' have somethin' with them."
"Did he know them?"
"Didn't seem ter. He looked kainder s'prised, but he accepted the invite
in a hurry."
"Then it is time that we looked after him," nodded Merry, grimly. "Show
me where he has gone, Ephraim."
Hodge followed them. They left the theater and hurried along the street
to a saloon.
"He went in here," said Ephraim.
Without a word, Frank entered.
The moment Merry was within the place he saw Burns standing near the
bar, while a crowd had gathered around him. The old man had placed his
hat on the bar, tossed back his long, black hair, which was streaked
with gray, struck a pose, and was just beginning to declaim from
Shakespeare.
"Go it, old chap!" cried a half-intoxicated man. "We'll put up the red
eye for you as long as you will spout."
The old man's voice rang out clear and strong. His pronunciation was
perfect, and his enunciation clear and distinct. Involuntarily Merry
paused a moment to listen. At that moment it came to Frank that Burns
might, beyond a doubt, have been an actor of no small merit had he
eschewed drink and followed his ambition with unswerving purpose. For
the first time Merry fully appreciated the outraged feelings of the old
fellow who was compelled to burlesque the tragedian on the stage.
Frank strode forward into the crowd, followed by his friends.
"Burns," he said, quietly, interrupting the old man, "I want you to come
with me."
The aged actor stopped speaking, all the dignity seemed to melt from him
in a moment, and he reached for his hat, murmuring:
"I merely came in for one small bracer. I needed it, and the gentlemen
were good enough to invite me."
"Here!" coarsely cried a man. "What's this mean? Who's this that's
comin' here to spoil our fun?"
"Throw the feller out!" cried another.
Growls of anger came from the others gathered about, and they crowded
nearer.
"Look out for trouble!" whispered Hodge, in Frank's ear.
"Get out of here," ordered the first speaker, confronting Merry. "We're
bein' entertained."
"I beg your pardon--gentlemen," said Merry, smoothly, hesitating
slightly before the final word. "There are reasons why I come here to
take Mr. Burns with me. I am sorry to spoil your entertainment, but it
is necessary."
"Is the old fellow bound out to you?" sneeringly, asked one. "Do you own
him?"
"No man owns me!" cried the tragedian, drawing himself up and staring
round. "I am my own master."
"I'll bet you don't dare take another drink," said the man, quickly
thrusting a brimming glass of whisky toward Burns. "You're afraid of the
young gent."
"I'm afraid of nobody," declared Burns, eagerly reaching for the glass.
"I have drunk all I could get, and I always shall, for all of anybody."
"That's the talk!"
"Down with it!"
"Take your medicine!"
"You're the boy!"
The crowd shouted its approval.
Burns lifted the glass.
Frank's hand fell gently on his arm.
"Mr. Burns," he said, swiftly, "I ask you as a particular favor not to
drink that liquor. I ask you as a gentleman not to do it."
Merry knew how to appeal to the old man in a manner that would touch the
right spot. Burns looked straight into Frank's eyes an instant, and then
he placed the glass on the bar.
"If you ask me that way," he said, "ten thousand fiends cannot force me
to touch the stuff!"
There was a groan from the crowd.
"The old duffer caves!" sneered one man. "He hasn't any backbone."
"Oh, say!" sibilated Hodge, in Merry's ear; "get him out of here in a
hurry! I can't stand much of this! I feel like thumping a few of these
ruffians."
"Steady!" cautioned Frank. "We do not want to get into a barroom brawl
if we can avoid it."
"They're a purty darn tough-lookin' craowd," muttered Ephraim.
"Why wouldn't it be a purty good thing fer ther young chaps all ter take
a drink?" suggested somebody.
"That's right!" cried the leader. "I'll stand for them all, and the
actor shall drink with them."
"Don't let them git out, gents, till they've taken their bitters."
The rough men hemmed them in.
"I fear you are in an unfortunate predicament," said Burns. "You will
have to drink with them."
"I never drink," said Merry, quietly.
"Yer can't refuse here," declared the man who had offered to buy the
drinks. "It's a mortal insult ter refuse ter drink hyar."
"I never took a drink in my life, gentlemen," said Merriwell, speaking
calmly, and distinctly, "and I shall not begin now. You will have to
excuse me."
He started to force his way through the crowd. A hand reached out to
clutch him, and he wheeled like a flash toward the man, at whom he
pointed squarely, crying:
"Take off that false beard! If you are a man, show your face! You are in
disguise! I believe you are a criminal who does not dare show his face!"
His ringing words drew the attention of the crowd to the man whom he
accused.
Merry improved the opportunity and hurried his friends and Burns toward
the door. Before the gang was aware of it, they were out of the saloon,
and Frank breathed his relief.
Not till they had reached the theater did a thought come to Frank that
made him regret his hasty departure from the saloon.
"Heavens!" he exclaimed. "I believe the man who wore the false beard was
the same one who entered my room at the hotel by means of the rope!"
He dashed back to the saloon, followed by Hodge and Gallup; but when he
reached the place nearly all the crowd had left, the man he sought
having departed with the others.
Frank was disappointed. He learned at the saloon that the accused man
had not removed the beard, but had sneaked out in a hurry after Frank
was gone.
Returning to the theater, Merry was informed that Burns was behaving
strangely.
"He seems to be doped," declared Hodge. "I think he has been drugged."
Burns was in a dressing room, and Havener was working to keep the man
awake, although the old actor was begging to be allowed to sleep.
As soon as Frank saw him he dispatched one of the supers for a
physician.
The doctor came and gave Burns a powerful emetic, following that with a
dose of medicine that seemed to brace the man up. Thus Burns was pulled
into shape for the afternoon performance, although Frank realized that
he had very nearly wrecked everything.
Burns remained in the theater, and lunch was brought him there.
"Mr. Merriwell," he said, "I will surprise you by the manner in which
I'll play my part this afternoon. It shall be burlesque of a kind
that'll satisfy you."
The performance was to begin at two o'clock. Some time before that
people began to arrive, and they came fast. At two o'clock there were
nearly five hundred persons in the auditorium.
The company was all made up and waiting behind the scenes.
Cassie Lee started to find Frank to ask him how he liked her make-up. In
a corner behind the scenes she saw a man stopping near a mass of
piled-up scenery. Something about the man's appearance and his actions
attracted her attention. She saw him pick up a can and pour some of the
contents on the scenery. Then he crouched down there, taking a match
safe from his pocket.
In a moment it dawned on Cassie that the fellow was up to deviltry. He
had saturated the scenery with oil, and he was about to set it on fire!
Cassie screamed, and Frank Merriwell, who was near at hand, heard her.
He came bounding to the spot, just as the startled man lighted his
match.
"Quick, Frank!" cried Cassie. "He's setting the scenery afire!"
Frank saw the fellow and leaped at him. The scenery flared up where the
match had touched it. Then the fire bug turned to run.
Merriwell was on him, had him, hurled him down.
"No, you don't, you dog!" grated Frank. "You shall pay for this
dastardly trick!"
Cassie, with rare presence of mind, caught up a rug, which happened to
be near, and beat out the fire before it had gained much headway.
A terrible struggle was going on between Frank and the man he had
captured. The fellow was fighting with all his strength to hurry off and
escape.
"No, you don't!" came through Merriwell's teeth. "I know you! You are
the chap who entered my room! You it was who attempted to drug Burns so
that this performance would be ruined! And now you have made a fatal
mistake by attempting to fire the theater. I have you, and I shall hold
you. You will be safely lodged behind prison bars for this trick."
"Curse you!" panted the man.
"That does not hurt me," said Merry. "Now, be quiet."
He pinned the fellow to the floor and held him till others came up. Then
the man's hands were tied.
"Now, we'll have a look at him," said Merry, rolling the captive over on
his back and pulling the old hat from his head.
Then he gave a cry of amazement, staggering back.
Hodge was there, and he was no less astounded.
Gallup was speechless with astonishment and incredulity.
"The dead alive!" cried Frank.
The man he had captured was the one he believed beneath the quicksands
of Big Sandy River, Leslie Lawrence!
"I'm not dead yet!" grated Lawrence. "Fowler went down in the
quicksands, but I managed to float away. I hid under the river's bank,
and there I stayed, like a hunted wolf, till you gave up looking for me.
I swore to settle the score with you, but----"
"You tried hard enough. You were the one who entered my room at the
hotel."
"Was I? Prove it."
"I don't have to. The job you tried to do here is enough. That will put
you safely away. Somebody call an officer."
An officer was called, and Lawrence was taken away.
The audience in front had heard some of the commotion behind the scenes
and had grown rather restless, but they were soon calmed. An orchestra
was on hand to play, and everything was carried out as if it had been a
regular performance.
The first act went off well, and it received mild applause. The second
act seemed to take full better, but still, the audience had not been
aroused to any great show of enthusiasm.
Then came the third act. The first surprise was Burns. He literally
convulsed the audience by the manner in which he burlesqued the
Shakespearian tragedian. He astonished Frank, for Merry had not dreamed
the old actor could be so intensely funny. Even Hodge was seen to smile
once!
When Burns came off after doing an exceptionally clever piece of work,
which caused the audience to applaud most heartily, Frank met him and
grasped his hand, saying:
"My dear Mr. Burns, you have made the comedy hit of the piece! Your
salary shall be fifty dollars a week, instead of forty."
But William Shakespeare Burns burst into tears, sobbing brokenly:
"The comedy hit of the piece! And I have broken my own heart!"
It was impossible to cheer him up.
The boat race followed swiftly, and it wrought the audience up to a high
pitch of enthusiasm and excitement. When the curtain came down, there
was a perfect shout of applause, such as an enthusiastic Western
audience alone can give.
"Frank Merriwell! Frank Merriwell!" was the cry that went up from all
parts of the house.
Frank was obliged to come before the curtain and make a speech, which he
did gracefully and modestly. When he was behind the curtain again,
Havener had him by the hand, saying:
"You will get some rousing press notices to-morrow, Merriwell! This play
will be the hit of your life!"
A manager of one of the local theaters came behind the scenes and
offered Frank three thousand dollars for the piece. When Frank declined,
the man promptly made it five thousand, but even that sum was not
accepted.
Then came the fourth act, in which Burns again appeared as the burlesque
tragedian. In this he was to repeat a parody on _Hamlet's_ soliloquy,
but, apparently, before he was aware of it, he began to give the
soliloquy itself.
In a moment the man had flung off the air of the clown. He straightened
to his full height, his eyes gleamed with a strange fire, his chest
heaved, and his voice sounded clear as the ring of steel. He electrified
every person who heard him. With all the dramatic fire of a Booth, he
swung into the soliloquy, and a hush fell over the audience. He held
them spellbound, he swayed them at his will, he thrilled them as never
had they been thrilled. At that moment William Shakespeare Burns was the
tragedian sublime, and it is probable that he reached such heights as he
had never before attained.
He finished. It was over, and then, realizing what he had done, he
tottered off the stage.
Then the audience applauded long and loud, trying to call him back
again; but behind the scenes he had fallen into Frank Merriwell's arms,
faintly murmuring:
"It is finished!"
Frank bore the man to a dressing room. The play went on to the end
without a break, but it was not necessary for Burns to enter again.
When the curtain fell on the final act, Havener came hurrying to Merry:
"Burns wants to see you in the dressing room," he said. "You had better
come at once."
Frank went there. The moment he saw the old actor, who was reclining on
some rugs, his face ashen, his eyes looking dim and sunken still deeper
into his head, Frank said:
"Somebody go for a doctor at once!"
He knelt beside the man, and the old actor murmured:
"It is useless to go for a doctor. I heard you tell them, but it is--no
use. I told you--my heart--was broken. I spoke the--truth. It broke my
heart when I--had to--burlesque----"
His words died out in his throat.
"He's going!" somebody whispered, for the company was gathered around.
There was a brief silence, and then the old man seemed to draw himself
up with pride, as they had seen him do in life.
"Yes, sir," he said, distinctly, "my name is Burns--William Shakespeare
Burns--tragedian--at liberty."
The old eyes closed, a faint sigh escaped his bloodless lips, and the
old actor was "at liberty."