THE FRUITS OF EFFORT.
“Permit me to return your hose to you, sir,” said Merry, smilingly, as
he gave the hose back to the man from whom he had snatched it. “I trust
you will pardon me for my rudeness in taking it thus abruptly, but there
did not seem to be time enough to ask in a polite manner.”
The man was holding onto his sides and shouting with laughter.
“O-ho! o-ho! o-ho!” he bellowed. “Funniest—thing—I—ever—saw! Oh-ho!
a-haw! a-haw!”
He wiped his eyes, literally gasping with laughter.
“I am glad I was able to provide you with amusement, sir,” said Merry,
quietly. “And I trust I have caused you no inconvenience.”
“Hey?”
The man suddenly grew sober.
“By gosh!” he exclaimed.
He looked alarmed.
“What is it?” asked Frank.
“Never thought of it before.”
“Thought of what?”
“What Sam Hooker may think about my lettin’ you have the hose.”
“But you didn’t let me have it. I took it.”
“I know you did, but Sam may not look at it that way.”
“You fear he’ll make trouble for you?”
“Yep.”
“If he does, I’ll hunt him up and give him the worst thrashing of his
life,” said Merry, with the utmost coolness, speaking loudly enough for
the staring roughs to hear. “I have been very gentle with him thus far,
but the limit is reached. Next time I have trouble with him I think I
shall break his back.”
“Gosh!”
“Wow!”
“Hear him talk!”
“Bet he kin do it!”
“He’s hot stuff!”
These muttered exclamations came from the lips of the toughs.
“Didn’t I tell ye he could do up all the Hookers in Missouri!”
triumphantly cried the village boy. “I’ve read all about him, and he is
the warmest biscuit in the pan.”
“I reckon I’d better git away afore Sam Hooker comes back lookin’ fer
me,” said the man who had been using the hose.
He shut off the water, made haste to detach the hose, and hustled into
the store, without saying another word.
“Come on, gentlemen,” said Merry, speaking to his friends. “The Hookers
seem to have hooked it.”
Then he turned to the staring toughs, saying:
“If it should happen that Sam Hooker wishes to see me again, tell him to
come round to the hotel and call for me. If he hasn’t had enough, I’ll
finish him next time.”
With that he walked away, accompanied by Ephraim, Havener and Dunton.
Dunton was breathing easier.
“Merriwell,” he said, “I don’t know how you do it.”
“It wasn’t half as hard as it looked,” declared Frank.
“But that fellow was a most desperate-looking ruffian.”
“He seemed pretty desperate, but there’s not much behind his outward
appearance. I saw that in the first place.”
“How could you see it?”
“Well, I will explain. He is masquerading here in cowboy rig, and he is
doing that to impress the people of this place. He makes himself look as
fierce and terrible as possible. That is for the purpose of terrifying
people and making them stand in awe of him. He has a way of swaggering
and bragging. Now, a real desperado seldom makes such an effort to
convince people that he is desperate. Very often it is the case that the
genuine desperado, the real dangerous man, is peaceful and mild in
appearance, seeking to avoid rather than to attract attention. One of
the most desperate ruffians the West ever produced—Slade—was as
mild-mannered as a woman. Wild Bill, who was a ‘killer’ all his life,
never swaggered and boasted of what he could do. Jesse James was not a
boaster. I might name many others. In nine cases out of ten, the
desperado who boasts and brags, who swaggers and tries to frighten
everybody by his terrible appearance, is a craven at heart, and he may
be handled with ease once he realizes he has met his master.”
“Merriwell,” said Havener, “it is a wonder to me how you read human
character so well. Do you ever make a mistake?”
“Oh, yes!” laughed Frank, honestly. “I have made lots of mistakes.”
“How?”
“By trusting men who were rascals. By giving them too much chance at
me.”
“It’s alwus in that way that he makes mistakes, by thutter!” put in
Gallup. “He never makes um any other way, an’ I guess by jee! that
sometimes when he does trust a feller, he knows the chap’s crooked, but
kainder hopes he won’t prove that way.”
“Yes,” smiled Merry, “I have trusted many chaps, while I felt in my
heart that they were crooked, but I hoped I might be mistaken. I do not
like to condemn a man before he has been given a show to display what
there is in him.”
Dunton had been walking along in silence after his first remark. Now he
observed:
“I rather believe that sometimes, by trusting such fellows, you put them
on their honor so that they are ashamed to do you a dirty turn.”
“That is my object—it is my hope,” said Merry. “The moment a man knows
he is mistrusted, if his character is weak, he begins to mistrust
himself. Let him feel that others have confidence in him, and his
conscience in many cases makes him ashamed of being crooked.”
“I don’t suppose I’m any too good,” admitted Dunton. “In fact, I realize
I’m not. It was not so long ago that I tried to do you a bad turn,
Merriwell. That was when you first joined the company to which I
belonged. I was no match for you. You did me up, but then, instead of
exposing me and causing my release in disgrace from the company, you
kept still and gave me a show. When I understood the full extent of your
generosity, I began to compare myself with you, and the comparison was
odious. I was disgusted with myself. I said, ‘Frank Merriwell is square,
white and generous. What are you?’ Then I came to you, Merriwell, and
owned up.”
“That’s right,” nodded Frank. “And I do not believe to this day Havener
knows anything about it, although he was witness of the whole affair as
it originally happened.”
“I knew there was some trouble between you and Dunton,” said the stage
manager, “and I saw that it came out all right, for both of you dropped
all hard feelings, or seemed to.”
“But you never knew,” said Dunton, “that I tried to kill Merriwell.”
“Kill him?” gasped Havener.
“Yes.”
“Great gosh!” gurgled Ephraim.
“No,” admitted the stage manager, “I never knew that.”
“Well, it’s a fact,” admitted the actor. “It was in the time when we
were playing in repertoire just after the wind up of poor old ‘Uncle
Tom.’ You remember that Merriwell was run into the leading part in a
hurry, to fill the place of Leslie Lawrence, who was ill.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“And I wanted that part.”
“I remember that.”
“I thought it a shame to run in a rank amateur like Merriwell on a
lead.”
“You said so.”
“Well, I was hot because I could not have the part, and I did not
rehearse very well.”
Havener nodded. He remembered all this perfectly.
“In my heart,” Dunton went on, “was a perfect hell of fury. I don’t
think I ever felt that way before. My hatred for Merriwell knew no
bounds. I resolved to show him up. I am something of a fencer and there
was a sword duel in the play. I was the villain in the piece, and I
fought with the hero. It was necessary for Merriwell to do the duel with
me. In the piece I should seem to have the best of it at first, and then
he should show superior skill and disarm me.”
“I remember all about that,” said Havener. “Go on.”
“It was in that duel that I determined to make a monkey of him. I would
show the audience what a stick he was.”
Ephraim Gallup chuckled.
“I’ve known other folks to git fooled in a real duel with him,” said the
Vermonter.
“This turned out a real duel,” said Dunton. “When the time came, I
insulted Merriwell by adding venom to the regular lines of the part. I
called him a crawling cur. I did my best to make him feel my real
contempt for him.”
Frank was smiling, but he said nothing.
“The duel began,” Dunton continued. “I started to play with Mr.
Merriwell, who had rehearsed awkwardly in the afternoon. To my surprise,
I found his awkwardness was gone. He met me with the touch and skill of
an expert. At first I could not realize that he had fooled me. When I
did, I was infuriated beyond measure. My first thought was to wound him,
if I could.”
Havener uttered a low exclamation.
“I fought with all the skill and fury I knew,” said Dunton; “but he met
all my attacks, and held me at bay with ease. My rage increased till I
lost my head entirely. I longed to kill him, I swore I would kill him—I
made a desperate attempt to do it!”
“Gosh!” gasped the Vermont youth, staring at the speaker.
“I remember that the duel was the finest I ever saw on the stage,” said
Havener, “but I was afraid something would happen. I didn’t dream it was
a real duel.”
“It was,” nodded Dunton. “I lunged straight for Merriwell’s body, trying
to run him through.”
“Waal, darn my pertaturs!” palpitated Ephraim Gallup.
“I know that he understood my purpose. I do not think I deceived Mr.
Merriwell for a moment. He met me fairly. Then, before I knew it, my
weapon was wrenched from my hand and sent spinning into the air.”
“Hooray!” exclaimed the Vermont youth, with satisfaction.
“Merriwell caught it when it came down, and immediately offered it to
me, hilt first.”
“Thutteration!” gurgled Gallup.
“A single moment I hesitated,” the actor continued, “and then I was
seized by such rage as I never felt before and never expect to feel
again. I snatched the weapon and made one mad lunge to drive it straight
through the heart of my antagonist.”
The Yankee lad nearly lost his breath.
“Mr. Merriwell was on guard for me. He was not taken unawares, and he
foiled my attempt. Then he attacked me with such fury that I could not
stand before him. I was driven back and back. I saw a terrible light in
his eyes, even though he laughed in my face. His sword was flashing and
glittering everywhere. I realized that I was completely at his mercy,
and I believed he intended to kill me. Then I dropped my sword and cried
for mercy.”
“Whoop!” exploded Gallup. “That’s ther way Frank Merriwell serves ’em!
Oh, he is the boy ter do it!”
“Well,” finished Dunton, “I more than half expected to be cut down, but
nothing of the kind happened. I remember with what scorn Mr. Merriwell
said he would not stain his sword with my treacherous blood. I remember
how I felt after that. No person can understand the tumult of feelings
in my heart. I thought of running away. You complimented us on the duel
after the curtain had fallen, Mr. Havener, but you warned us that we
were far too reckless, and we must not do it that way again. I believed
Mr. Merriwell would expose me then. He did not. Then I was sure he would
do so very soon. He did not. I waited in suspense as long as I could
stand it, and then I came and asked him when he was going to blow the
whole thing. He said he was going to wait and see how I behaved in the
future, and that he had no thought of blowing if I didn’t try it again.
Well, I haven’t tried it. Have I, Mr. Merriwell?”
“No,” answered Frank, “we haven’t had much trouble since then.”
“And to think I never knew a thing about this before!” exclaimed the
stage manager. “Mr. Merriwell never breathed a word of it to me—not a
word.”
“Of course he didn’t!” exclaimed Ephraim. “He never blows anything.”
“Mr. Dunton kept his word to me,” said Frank. “I am sure it was my place
to keep mine to him.”
“And you engaged him for your own company!”
“Yes; he was too good a man to let slip. I had a place for him, and he
has filled it.”
“And I think,” said Douglas Dunton, seriously, “that my association with
Frank Merriwell has improved me in various ways. Anyone who takes him
for a model is bound to improve.”
“That’s right, b’gosh!” nodded Gallup.
Hodge came rushing into Merriwell’s room almost as soon as Frank
arrived. He waved two papers over his head in a triumphant way, crying:
“Great stuff, Frank—great stuff!”
Merry was astounded, for such a demonstration on the part of Hodge was
almost unprecedented.
“What is it?” asked Frank.
“The dramatic papers from the East.”
“Well, what about them?”
“Got full reports of ‘True Blue’ in ’em. Great stuff, I tell you!”
“Well, this is interesting. The papers must have given the play a good
send off?”
“Great—simply great! Here’s the _Dramatic Reflector_, the leading New
York paper, and it has almost a quarter of a column about the production
of your piece in Puleob.”
“As much as that?”
“Yes. And the _Snipper_ gives you a good long notice, too. The
_Reflector_ says ‘True Blue’ is a winner from the start, and you are a
dandy in your part. The _Snipper_ does not give the cast, same as the
other paper, but its notice is just as complimentary. Here, read ’em,
read ’em!”
Frank took the papers and read the notices. His face showed his
satisfaction.
“It is better than I expected,” he said. “Now I understand how it
happened that I received notice in St. Jo that there was an opening in
New York for the week that I desired. The manager of the theater had
seen these notices.”
“That’s about the size of it,” nodded Hodge. “Oh, you are on the
straight road to success—you are forging to the front.”
“Well, I have hopes of getting there,” smiled Frank.
“You will. I know that. Just think of the houses we had in St. Jo. And
the advance sale here is remarkable. The manager says he never knew such
a sale but once before. The house will be jammed to-night. We could play
here three nights to paying business, and this is a small place. What’ll
we do when we hit Chicago?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Chicago will be the test.”
“How?”
“I think I shall be able to tell in Chicago whether the piece will be a
success or not.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. You can’t be sure. The taste of Chicago
sometimes varies from that of New York. What is a success in one place
is sometimes a failure in the other.”
“But that happens so seldom that it is an exception. If ‘True Blue’
catches on in Chicago, it will go in New York.”
“Well, I believe it is bound to go anywhere. It took me some time to
realize you had written a better play than your first one, but I know it
now.”
The door was standing ajar. Cassie Lee appeared outside.
“May I come in?” she called.
“Come right in, Cassie,” invited Frank. “Who’s that following you? Tell
him to come in.”
The soubrette entered, followed by Havener.
“I—I came to tell you something,” she said, but hesitated, as she saw
Bart sitting there.
“If it’s anything private, I’ll disappear,” said Hodge.
“It’s nothing private,” declared Havener. “There is no reason for being
secret about it, Cassie. The entire company knows we’re engaged.”
“But I don’t feel just like—like——”
“Oh, I know,” smiled Havener, who looked decidedly happy. “But I’ll
tell. We’re going to be married in Chicago, Mr. Merriwell. We have
settled on that. I’ve induced Cassie to agree to it at last.”
“I congratulate you, Havener!” exclaimed Frank, grasping his hand and
shaking it warmly. “I believe you will be happy together, and surely you
deserve happiness, if any man deserves it, for fortune was rather hard
on you in your other venture.”
Bart rose and extended his hand to the stage manager.
“Permit me to add my congratulations,” he said.
Havener accepted Bart’s hand.
“And Cassie,” said Frank, looking into the eyes of the girl. “Why, she’s
changed remarkably in the last few weeks. The sad look has gone from her
face, and there is color coming to her cheeks and luster to her eyes.”
“I owe you everything, Frank!” she murmured. “Everything!”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“You gave me courage to fight my terrible habit. You encouraged me to
pray. Heaven gave me strength. I believe I have won at last; but not
until I was reasonably sure of that would I again consent to the
marriage after that woman interfered with the other. The shock of that
nearly sent me back into my old ways again.”
“But it has ended well at last.”
“Yes, yes.”
“I am very glad, Cassie—glad for both you and Havener. I knew how much
depended on it.”
“The happiness of our lives depended on it—yes, our very lives!”
asserted the man.
“Well,” said Frank, “I presume I am to be best man?”
“Of course!” cried Havener and Cassie together.
“Then that is settled.”
“I have satisfied myself beyond a doubt, and Cassie also, that the woman
I believed my wife was the lawful wife of another at the time we were
living together. She committed bigamy. That clears me of her, and I am
free.”
Frank showed Havener and Cassie the notices in the dramatic papers, and
they took their turn to congratulate him.
“The sun of happiness and prosperity is shining brightly on all of us
just now,” said Merry. “I see my way clear to get back to college,
and——”
“Leave the rest of us in the lurch,” laughed Havener. “Well, I guess we
can take care of ourselves.”
“But I don’t propose to leave the rest of you in the lurch, Havener.”
“What are you going to do about it?”
“This play will go on the road again next season.”
“Yes; who will manage it?”
“Roscoe Havener.”
“What?”
Havener was astounded.
“I have resolved on that, if you care to take it out.”
The stage manager was dazed for the moment.
“Oh, that is so good of you!” cried Cassie. “Just think of it, Ross! You
were saying yesterday that you’d give anything if you had a piece like
this for me to play in!”
“I know it,” said Havener; “but I never dreamed of——”
“Nor did I!” cried the little soubrette. “Oh, how can we thank Frank!”
“I don’t know,” said Havener. “Words can’t seem to express what I want
to say.”
“Same here!” chirped Cassie.
“Don’t say anything,” laughed Frank.
“But how are we to get all the money to back the piece?” asked Havener.
“I’ll back it myself,” said Frank. “That is, I’ll do it if Chicago and
New York does not break me. Of course, I may run against snags in those
places. If I get broken, I believe you should be able to find an angel,
Havener, in case I do not keep in the business.”
“It’s a shame that you are thinking of leaving just as you’re getting
such a start!” cried Cassie.
“I want to get back to college,” said Frank. “I feel something drawing
me back there. If I wait longer, my old classmates and chums will be
gone. Of course I can go back and finish my course, but it will not be
the same. I have made up my mind to return to Yale somehow in the fall.”
“Well,” said Cassie, “whatever you do, I wish you good fortune and
happiness, for I am sure you deserve it.”
“Thank you. A man deserves what he wins. I have worked hard to win out,
and prosperity seems coming my way at last.”
Havener and Cassie departed pretty soon, and Frank turned to find Bart
seated on a chair, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face hidden
in his hands.