FRANK SPEAKS HIS MIND.
At the stage door he saw Douglas Dunton talking to a very pretty,
blue-eyed girl, who started and blushed when she beheld Frank, quickly
exclaiming in a low tone:
“Oh, there is Mr. Merriwell!”
“Never mind him,” laughed Dunton. “He’s not the only pebble on the
beach.”
Frank said not a word, but entered the theater, apparently to the
disappointment of the girl.
A short time later, Dunton came in. Frank called him aside.
“I beg your pardon, Mr. Dunton,” he said, “but there is a matter I wish
to speak about.”
“Oh, it’s all right,” grinned Douglas. “I knew you didn’t want to catch
on there, old man. Elsie Bellwood or Inza Burrage is your style. This
girl——”
“How did you know I mean to speak of the girl?”
“Oh, that wasn’t so hard to guess! She’s all broken up over you, but I
think she can be induced to forget you. She is a little beauty, only
she’s rather light-headed and thinks she’d like to be an actress.”
“Foolish child!” said Merry, scowling. “She needs somebody to look after
her closely.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t mind taking the job of looking after her.”
“In what way, Dunton? How did you meet the girl?”
“Oh, she was walking around outside the theater, and I simply walked up
and spoke to her.”
“You never saw her before?”
“Of course not. It was a case of mash.”
Frank scowled still more.
“Dunton,” he said, “I hope you are not a masher. I hope you do not make
it a practice of trying to mash pretty girls in the places where we
play.”
“Oh, of course not; but when——”
“Mashing actors I detest,” declared Frank, plainly. “They have done no
end of harm. They have given the profession a bad name. I would like a
company who did not make a business of mashing.”
“Oh, I don’t make a business of it!” protested Douglas. “But when a
fellow sees a nice little thing like this, he doesn’t feel like letting
it go by—especially when it is easy.”
“I am sorry you spoke to the girl. She has an innocent face. Dunton, I
wish you would let such girls alone.”
“What? Why, you wouldn’t want the members of your company running around
with fly girls in the places where we go, would you?”
“No! I want them to mind their own business. I hope you will understand
me, my dear fellow, and will not be offended. I do not wish my people to
get a bad name by associating with those who are bad; nor do I wish them
to get bad names by misleading those who are weak and foolish. It is
likely that little girl has a mother who——”
“No; her mother is dead.”
“So much the worse. She has no one to look out for her and restrain her.
She can easily be influenced in the wrong direction. No man who is a man
will mislead such a girl.”
Dunton was restless.
“Oh, you’re putting it too strong, Mr. Merriwell,” he said. “There is no
harm in a little flirtation with a pretty girl. Don’t be jealous because
I happened to catch on to her before you came along.”
He tried to turn this remark with a laugh, but Frank said:
“You know very well that is not why I am speaking to you. There was
something about that girl’s innocent face that made me sorry for her.
She is trembling on the brink of a downward path, I am sure of it. She
is a girl not naturally bad, but she has her head filled with false
notions, and she needs somebody to look out for her till she gets old
enough to become aware that those ideas are false.”
“Oh, you are making too much of this, Mr. Merriwell. Don’t worry about
girls like that. There are thousands of them. They are everywhere.”
“All the more reason why a man should take an interest in them. If one
of them can be prevented from making the fatal mistake, it is a great
thing.”
“If they are bound to be gay, they’ll be so, and you may lecture to them
all you like.”
“But I hope no one in my company will help any girl to become ‘gay,’ as
you call it. That is all I have to say, Dunton. I trust you will
understand me. I don’t wish to meddle with your business.”
Frank knew it was useless to say anything more or talk plainer. Dunton
understood him, and all he might add to what he had said would make no
deeper impression.
That night the theater was packed to the doors. The “S. R. O.” sign was
put out some time before the curtain went up, and several hundred more
seats might have been sold. More than ever was the manager of the house
delighted. He declared “True Blue” the greatest drawing card of the
season, and he offered all kinds of bookings for next season.
The performance went off smoothly. The splendid climaxes in each act
received tumultuous applause, and at the end of the third act the
audience was worked up to a pitch of great excitement. There were
repeated curtain calls.
“Merriwell,” said Hodge, his dark face flushed with excitement, “this
play beats your first one out of sight. I’ve never acknowledged it
before, but I do now. ‘John Smith’ was not in it with this piece. Oh,
but you wouldn’t do a thing with this in New Haven! Can’t you play
there, Frank?”
“Perhaps,” smiled Merry, in a singular way. “I am going to put the play
to the test in Chicago. We’ll be there the first of next week, and then
we jump to New York.”
“What?” cried Hodge. “And you have never told me before?”
“Because I have been working for those engagements, but did not know
that I’d get them. We play a week in New York. It’s make or break, old
man. I started out on that plan, and I’m going to stick to it. I’ve been
aiming for the top notch, and I’ll get there if it is possible.”
“You’ll get there!” exclaimed Bart.
Frank was almost the last one of the company to leave the theater that
night. He had remained to see that everything was properly cared for,
being anxious that there should be no further hitches in the performance
of “True Blue.” The company carried quite a lot of special scenery and
mechanical “effects,” the most striking of which were those used in the
great boat race scene which concluded the third act of the play, and
Frank wished to be certain that everything was properly handled in
getting it ready for shipment.
Well satisfied, Merry was walking swiftly toward his hotel when he
noticed two persons entering a restaurant. He paused instantly,
whistling softly to himself.
“Dunton and the blue-eyed girl!” he exclaimed. “He made a date with her,
and she met him after the performance. I’m sorry she did it.”
He went forward till he could look into the front window of the
restaurant, and he saw the actor and girl pass behind a screen down the
room.
“I suppose the tables reserved for ladies must be down there,” muttered
Frank. “Well, I don’t like the idea of playing the spy on anybody, and
so I think I will let them alone.”
He walked on, but his sense of satisfaction had passed, and he was
depressed. Although he tried to forget the actor and the girl, he found
he could not do so.
Before the hotel was reached, he stopped short and stood in deep thought
for some minutes. The blue eyes and innocent face of the girl haunted
him.
“I can’t abandon her to what may happen!” he muttered. “No, even though
I hate to play the spy. It is my duty to see that no harm comes to that
foolish girl.”
He turned squarely about and retraced his steps.
Reaching the restaurant, he entered and walked down the room till he
reached a table near the screen. There he took a seat, for, just as he
reached that place he noticed a mirror set against the wall in such a
position that it reflected a certain portion of the room beyond the
screen, and that mirror showed him Dunton and the blue-eyed girl sitting
at a table. Frank sat down where he could watch their every movement by
aid of the mirror.
There were a number of couples in the room beyond the screen, and the
sound of talk and laughter came plainly to Merry’s ears. Three men
besides himself had taken seats in his part of the room.
Merry had sized up the place quickly. He decided that it was a
second-rate restaurant, catering to the class of people who kept late
hours.
A waiter came for his order, and Frank realized that he was hungry, so
he ran over the bill of fare and ordered something he fancied would
satisfy his appetite.
“What will you drink?” asked the waiter.
“Water,” was Frank’s answer.
“Wouldn’t you like beer?”
“No.”
“Tea or coffee?”
“No.”
The waiter lifted his eyebrows in surprise and departed.
While waiting for the order to be served Merry watched the reflections
of Dunton and the blue-eyed girl. The actor was doing his best to make
her feel at ease, but it was evident that the experience of dining with
a man in a restaurant at that hour of the night was novel to her, and
she was nervous and excited, although she made efforts to appear at
ease.
The popping of corks and clinking of glasses came from beyond the
screen. The laughter of the men and women was of the strained and
artificial kind. One man was talking rather loudly in a manner that
plainly indicated his tongue felt thick and unwieldy. Occasionally a
woman would begin to sing, but her companions cut her off.
“A bad place for the blue-eyed girl!” thought Merry. “I doubt if she
ever saw anything like it before.”
Dunton was talking earnestly to the girl. He seemed to be telling her
some sort of story, and he was using every fascination of which he was
capable. On the stage, Dunton usually played heavies and villains; in
everyday life Dunton was something of a comedian. Now he was able to
bring fleeting smiles and nervous laughter to the lips of his companion.
A waiter brought them an addition to their order. Dunton told a funny
story that seemed to amuse and startle the girl, for she looked at him
reprovingly, even while she laughed.
“But they are not drinking!” muttered Frank, with no small satisfaction.
His own order was filled after a time, and he fell to eating. He had
begun to wonder if he had not made a mistake in thinking the girl in any
serious danger. Perhaps Dunton had not known the real character of the
restaurant when he took her in there. Still, Frank was sorry she had
been brought into a place where such people could sit near her and she
could hear the sounds and see hints of the false pleasures which lure so
many girls to waywardness.
For some little time Merry did not pay much attention to what was taking
place behind the screen. At length, he observed that Dunton was leaning
over the narrow table and talking in a low tone to the girl, his eyes
looking into hers. The actor had secured one of her hands. As she
listened, the color in her cheeks came and went. She seemed confused and
abashed, yet fascinated.
Now, Frank knew she was in real danger. He thrilled all over, and half
started from his seat, but dropped back, muttering:
“Not yet!”
A waiter came with two bottles, buried to their necks in cracked ice. He
stopped at their table and prepared to open the bottles.
Frank felt that the time for action was close at hand.
One bottle was opened and glasses were filled.
Frank was astounded that Dunton should think of “blowing himself” on
champagne, for that was what, beyond a doubt, the bottles contained. It
was a most remarkable thing for an actor to open anything so expensive
for a stranger.
When the wine was placed before the girl, she hesitated and drew back.
Frank was watching her closely, and that movement, that hesitation,
settled him in the resolve to act.
Dunton leaned over the table, laughing and coaxing her. In a
good-natured way, he was ridiculing her into drinking the wine.
Frank felt his blood tingling in his body as he watched this.
Merry rose to his feet. A check had been placed on his table, and he
tossed the amount of his bill beside it.
All the while he was watching the girl. He hoped she would refuse to
touch the wine, but he realized she lacked the firmness to do so. Her
face, though pretty, betrayed in its mold the weakness of her character.
Dunton was winning. The girl looked at the wine, while he continued in
his persuasive way to urge her to try it. In hesitation and laughing
confusion she asked him something, and Frank knew he was declaring on
his honor that the wine was harmless.
She reached out her hand, which trembled the least bit, and took up the
glass.
And then, just as Dunton was clinking his glass against that of his
pretty companion, Frank walked round the screen. The girl lifted her
glass to drink.
Merriwell stood beside the table.
“Miss,” he said, quietly, “I wouldn’t do it if I were you.”
She gave a little cry of alarm, and nearly dropped the glass.
Dunton stared at Frank and muttered an exclamation of astonishment.
“Oh, it’s Mr. Merriwell!” cried the girl, in mingled delight, confusion
and shame, as she put the wine down.
“Yes, it is!” said Dunton; “but where the dickens did he come from?”
Frank looked the actor sternly in the eyes.
“I think I wasted my breath when I talked to you to-night, Dunton,” he
said.
The man moved restlessly in his chair, and his face flushed in an angry
way.
“Have you been spying on me, Mr. Merriwell?” he demanded.
“I have been watching you,” said Frank, honestly. “It was purely by
accident that I saw you come in here with this young lady. I came in
also and sat out there beyond the screen. I sat down where, by the aid
of the mirror yonder, I could see everything you did.”
Dunton’s anger threatened to flare forth. He half started up, but
dropped back, grating his teeth together. His look just then reminded
Merry of the time when, infuriated beyond endurance, Dunton had tried to
wound or kill Frank in a sword combat on the stage.
“Why have you done this?” snarled the angry actor.
“Because I was impressed by the innocent appearance of this girl, and I
feared for her safety. I thought it possible I had been mistaken till I
saw this wine brought on, and now——”
“Now—what?” hissed Dunton, in great excitement.
“Now,” said Frank, looking straight into the eyes of the girl, “I’m
going to take this young lady home!”
With a savage exclamation Dunton sprang to his feet, staring at Frank.
“Well, this is the greatest case of nerve!” he exclaimed.
The girl looked frightened and seemed on the verge of bursting into
tears.
“Steady, Dunton!” commanded Merry, turning on him. “Don’t make a scene.
It will do no good.”
“Do you think this is a very nice thing for you to do, Mr. Merriwell!”
panted Dunton. “Don’t you think you are overstepping the bounds?”
“I fancy not.”
“But the young lady will not go with you!”
“On the contrary, I am quite sure she will.”
“Not on your life! She is with me! I believe you are jealous because you
did not catch on with——”
“Stop!”
That word cut the speaker off instantly. Merriwell’s eyes looked
dangerous just then, and Dunton knew Frank could not be trifled with
when he was aroused.
“Oh, very well!” said the actor, with an effort to be mildly sarcastic.
“I presume you will walk in here and take the young lady away from me
without her consent? It is barely possible she may have something to say
about it.”
“It is,” admitted Frank, “and I propose to let her say it, but still I
am sure she will permit me to see her safely home.”
The girl arose at once, but just then two waiters came hurrying up,
demanding to know what the trouble was about.
“No trouble at all,” assured Frank.
“Well, what are you doing bothering this gent and lady?” growled one of
the waiters, who looked like a bouncer.
Frank did not look at him.
“Will you come with me, miss?” he asked.
“Well, that beats!” gasped the bouncer. “He’s tryin’ ter take the gent’s
lady frien’ away from him.”
“T’row him out!” suggested the other.
“All right!”
Now Frank paid some attention to the men.
“Don’t attempt to put your hands on me!” he said, grimly. “If you do, I
shall knock you down!”
“Ho! ho!” laughed the bouncer. “Out yer goes, freshy!”
He endeavored to catch hold of Merry to run him for the door, and the
other offered assistance.
Smash! crack!—two blows stretched one of the waiters on the floor and
sent the other flying over the top of a table.
The girl seemed overcome with terror, but Merry politely offered his
arm, calmly saying:
“If you will accept my protection, I will see you home.”
She took his arm, and they started toward the door.
All this had happened so suddenly that the other patrons of the place
scarcely seemed aware there was any trouble before the waiters had been
knocked down and Frank was leaving with the girl.
Uttering furious exclamations, the waiters scrambled up.
“Give it to him!” snarled the bouncer, starting after Frank.
Then, strangely enough, Douglas Dunton thrust out his foot, and the man
tripped over it, going down with a crash. The other waiter was following
him closely, and he went sprawling over his companion.
Dunton made haste to skip out by a side door, not even stopping to pay
his bill. The waiters saw him escaping, and, remembering he had not
paid, they turned after him, giving Merry an opportunity to get away
without further molestation.