ROBERT IS GIVEN A MISSION.
"Well, what luck?" asked Livingston Palmer, when he and Robert met
again.
"No luck at all," answered Robert.
"That's bad."
"One man said he might have an opening in the near future."
"That's all right, but a fellow can't live on promises."
"Exactly my idea."
"Why don't you try the stage, as I am going to do."
"I don't believe I can act."
"No one knows what is in him until he tries. Didn't you ever recite?"
"In school, yes. But I don't think I ever made a hit, as actors call
it."
"If you managed to get in with Jack Dixon I might be able to coach you
in your part," said Livingston Palmer loftily.
"Have you had a part assigned to you yet?" asked Robert curiously.
"Yes. We are to play two plays, 'The Homeless Sister,' and 'All for
Love.' In 'The Homeless Sister' I am to take the part of a heartless
landlord, and in 'All for Love' I am a butler in a Fifth Avenue mansion
in New York."
"Are they leading parts?"
"Well--er--hardly. Dixon says he can't put me in leading parts yet, for
it would make the older actors jealous."
"I see."
"He says he will shove me ahead as soon as I've made a hit."
"Then I trust you make a hit on the opening night."
"Oh, I certainly shall. I have my lines down fine, and Dixon says my
make-up is just what it ought to be."
"Aren't you afraid of being nervous?"
"Nervous? Not a bit. Did you ever see me nervous, Frost?"
"No--excepting----" Robert was going to mention the time when the
adorable Alameda's husband had called at the ticket office, but cut
himself short.
"Excepting when?"
"It's of no consequence, Palmer."
"But I demand to know when I was ever nervous," insisted the would-be
actor.
"Well, you were rather put out when the husband of that variety actress
called upon you."
"Oh! Well--er--I'll admit it. But that was an unusual case, wasn't it?"
"I presume so. Does she know you are going on the stage?"
"Yes; I took particular pains to let her hear of it, through one of the
ladies of our combination."
"And did you hear what she said?"
"The lady says she laughed and said I would ruin Dixon. But I'll show
her that she is mistaken," added Livingston Palmer, drawing himself
up to his full height and inflating his chest. "Robert, I am a born
actor--I feel it in my bones."
"Do your bones ache?"
"You know what I mean. Shall I give you a sample of what I am to do?"
"If you get through by the time the supper bell rings. My walk has made
me tremendously hungry."
"The part of the landlord is not a long one--in fact it contains but
six speeches each about thirty words in length. At first I come into
the parlor where the guests have arrived. I make a low bow and turn
to the gentleman and say: 'What, it is my father's friend, Roger
Brockbury, as I live! Thrice welcome to the Lion Inn, sir. And what is
the matter with the lady, sir?'"
As Palmer began to recite he strutted around in grand style, ending by
elevating his eyebrows, clenching his fists and throwing his head so
far back that he nearly lost his balance.
"Is that what you have to say?" questioned Robert, who could scarcely
keep from laughing outright.
"Yes. How do you like it?"
"You'll certainly make them take notice of you?"
"I knew you would say that. Why, Robert, it won't be a month before I'm
the star of the combination."
"You have my best wishes."
"Shall I take you to see Jack Dixon?"
"No--at least, not for the present."
"But you may be missing the chance of your life."
"No, I'm no actor. I believe I was cut out for some office business and
nothing else."
"Do you mean to say you would be content to sit on a high stool
keeping books all your life? That wouldn't suit me."
"No, I don't mean that exactly. I would like to manage some large
office business--after I had learned it thoroughly."
"Of course that is somewhat better."
At that moment the supper bell rang, and Palmer took his leave, to go
to the theater for rehearsal. As Robert went down to the dining room of
the boarding house he could not help but utter a short sigh.
"Poor Palmer," he mused. "He means well, but I'm afraid he will make an
awful mess of it."
The evening was spent in his room reading a paper, for Robert was in no
humor to go anywhere, even if he had felt like spending any money.
"I must try my luck again to-morrow," was his resolve. "And I must get
around early, too."
He was up before seven o'clock, and dressing hastily, went out and
purchased several newspapers. At the house he sat down in the sitting
room to examine the Help Wanted columns, as he had done the day before.
Presently he heard the postman's whistle and ring. Soon after one of
the servant girls came in with a letter for him.
It was from Timberville, as he could see by the postmark, and he tore
it open eagerly, feeling it must have been sent by Dick Marden.
The communication interested Robert deeply. It ran as follows:
"My Dear Robert:
"I have just learned by the newspapers that Peter Gray's office was
burnt out last Sunday. I see that the loss was heavy, and in an
interview Gray says he may not resume.
"This will, of course, throw you out of a position. In one way I am
sorry of it; in another, I am glad.
"I hate to have you compelled to make a change, yet, as matters
have turned, I would like to have a smart boy like you up here
to help me, since my uncle is worse than before and those
swindlers--for such they are--are determined to get the lumber
lands away from him.
"In the crowd are two men, a French Canadian Le Fevre and an
Englishman named Hammerditch. They want to get hold of an old map
which was in the possession of a certain lumberman named Herman
Wenrich. This lumberman used to live in upper Michigan but now
resides in Chicago.
"If you can do so, I would like you to find Herman Wenrich and
get the map from him, even if you have to pay fifty or a hundred
dollars for it. The map will be valuable in showing up the actual
grants which belong to my uncle.
"In case Wenrich cannot be found in the course of two or three days
you can drop the matter and come on to here without further delay.
I send you some money in case the fire has left you short, and in
case you have a chance to buy the map.
"Yours truly,
"Richard Marden."
Enclosed in the letter were money orders amounting to one hundred and
fifty dollars.
"I'm glad I didn't get a job now," thought Robert. "If I had I would
only had to have thrown it up. I'll go down to the post-office at
once, get those money orders cashed, and then go on a hunt for Herman
Wenrich."