THE REHEARSAL.
By this time the band, which had given its midday parade through the
town at the regular hour, was gathered before the stage, ready to
practice the pieces to be played that evening.
Ephraim Gallup had managed to retain his position in the band, as he was
a remarkably good baritone player, and he had a way of making his horn
“talk” so that it pleased the ear of the average countryman mightily.
Hans Dunnerwurst, the Dutch boy, had developed a knack for playing the
bass drum, so he was retained by Manager Haley. Hans played the drum and
cymbals at the same time, beating the drum with his right hand and
playing the cymbals with his left, one of the brass discs being attached
to the drum so that the other could be struck against it.
The leader of the band had a great idea of the proper music for a street
parade and for an inclosure like the interior of a hall or theater. On
the street the little band of eight pieces roared and thundered in an
amazing manner, making enough noise for four times their number. It was
not noise without harmony, either; and it was the kind of music that
pleased all small boys and most men and women.
In the band was a quartet of fine singers. Each night the band played in
front of the theater just before the doors were opened. The final piece
in the open air was one that always pleased the fancy of the listeners,
as it was replete with all kinds of musical tricks. It contained a
cornet solo, into which some imitation bugle calls were worked, a snare
drum solo, during which, for a few seconds, the drummer rattled away on
the side of his drum, instead of the head; a trombone solo, giving the
trombone player a chance to do some fancy flourishing, and, at one point
in the piece, every other instrument stopped for the bass drum and
cymbals to rattle, and bang, and thunder, and crash. But the real
catching features of the piece came toward the end. Of a sudden every
instrument stopped, and the entire band whistled a strain of the piece.
Then it was that Hans Dunnerwurst made his great hit, for he was a
marvelous whistler, and he warbled and trilled in a way that made it
seem a whole flock of mocking-birds had broken loose, and caused the
spectators to stand on their toes and crane their necks to see who was
producing all those amazing sounds. The final feature of this piece was
singing by the quartet, and when it was all over the crowd almost
invariably broke into a tumult of applause, and the astute Mr. Haley
rushed the band off the scene, knowing anything more would be too much,
as the crowd had been worked up to just the proper pitch to part with
its quarters and halves.
The music provided by the band inside the hall was of quite a different
character. It was soft and subdued, full of rippling melody, and quite
suited to the situation. Of course, the medley was given in the evening,
as it was almost always called for by the audience, and some new
features were introduced, such as sleighbells, tinkling cymbals and the
shuffleboard to imitate dancing.
Some of the musicians acted as accompanists for the singing given at
each performance, and furnished music for the dancing, so they were
required to rehearse with the company regularly. Indeed, Havener was
quite a stickler about the matter of rehearsals, no one being excused
from them without good cause.
The band played through one of its new pieces, and then, in order to
give Merriwell more time to run over his part, Havener had the singers
go through with their songs for the evening performance.
And Frank was so utterly absorbed in his effort to commit as many lines
as possible that he did not even notice when the rehearsal began.
At last, the time for him to go on arrived, and Havener appeared at his
elbow, saying:
“If you can get along at the start without the manuscript, Merriwell, it
will be better. I’ll take it and help you along. We’ve managed to go
this far without a prompter.”
Frank did not stir. He sat with his eyes fastened on the page before
him.
Havener touched his shoulder.
“Come, Merriwell,” he said, sharply.
Then Frank was aroused, and he got up quickly.
“All right,” he spoke. “I’m ready.”
He handed the manuscript to Havener.
“Think you can do anything without reading?” asked the stage-manager.
“I believe I can remember a part of the first act.”
“All right; go ahead.”
Frank went on, and Havener observed that he made the proper entrance. He
had an “enter speech,” and he gave it correctly.
Dunton was standing in the wings, watching and sneering.
Havener went down into the theater in front of the stage, where he could
watch the rehearsing and see that the characters went through their
business properly and grouped themselves to the best advantage.
Ephraim Gallup and Hans Dunnerwurst were astonished, for they had not
known that Frank was to play a part.
“Shimminy Gristmas!” gurgled Hans.
“Gosh all hemlock!” gasped Ephraim.
Frank knew everyone was watching him, which made his position extremely
embarrassing. Indeed, for a professional rehearsals are often far more
trying than performances when the theater is well filled with people. It
is difficult to act before empty seats, with the members of the company
looking on, for then the intensity required at certain times seems
foolish, and makes the performer feel ridiculous.
Merry’s face was flushed, and he stammered somewhat at first. Then he
heard a low, sneering laugh, and he saw Dunton regarding him derisively.
Instantly Frank stiffened up. He was on his mettle in a moment, resolved
to do his best, and he got through the scene fairly well. Of course,
Havener had to prompt him several times and give him directions about
certain business.
But the stage-manager observed with satisfaction that Merriwell made a
good appearance and did not assume any awkward positions, get back to
the footlights, or turn in the wrong direction when it was necessary to
cross, go up or walk away from another person.
When Frank came off, Cassie was waiting for him.
“Good stuff!” she declared, approvingly. “You did that all right.”
“I think it was pretty bad,” confessed Frank.
“I tell you it was all right. Surely you did remember those lines well.
Got any more?”
“I believe I can remember nearly all of the first act.”
“If you can do that, you’re a wonder!”
Frank did it. In fact, when he went on again, he was almost letter
perfect. This time much of his business was with Dunton, who continued
to wear a sneering expression on his face and did whatever he could to
break Merry up. In this the young rascal failed, for Frank acquitted
himself splendidly.
The instant the end of the act was reached, Havener said:
“We’ll go through that again.”
“The third act is the heavy one,” said Dunton. “I think we’ll have to go
over that more than once, and we won’t have time if we repeat the first
act.”
The stage-manager gave the fellow a withering stare.
“Look here, Dunton,” he exclaimed, “if you are managing this business,
I’ll quit; if you are not, kindly permit me to give directions. That’s
all. We will repeat the first act.”
The angry actor ground his teeth together and stalked off. Behind the
scenes he found his especial chum, Arthur Sargent, and gave vent to his
feelings.
“This is too much!” he snarled, guardedly. “Havener gives that upstart
Merriwell the leading part in the piece, and then he calls me down twice
before the fellow. I feel like punching somebody.”
“Punch Merriwell,” suggested Sargent.
“All I want is a good opportunity,” declared Dunton. “I’d like to get at
him. I’d do him up in a hurry.”
The fellow had a reputation as a “scrapper,” and he fully believed he
could whip Merriwell easily.
“You can find an opportunity,” said Sargent. “I’d like to see you spoil
his face. He thinks he’s handsome, and a pair of black eyes would break
his heart.”
“I’ll give them to him,” promised Frank’s new enemy.
“Oh, he’ll make an awful mess of the whole play! Just think of him in
the duel scene with me! And I’ve got to let him disarm me and get the
best of the duel! Gods! it’s enough to make a man daffy!”
“The whole business will be a farce,” Sargent consolingly declared.
“Havener will be to blame for it.”
“That’s right. I’d like to tell Havener what I think of him.”
“Then why don’t you do it!” exclaimed another voice, and Cassie Lee
suddenly appeared from behind some loose scenery. “I’d like to see you!
I’ll bet you don’t dare peep to him, but you raise a big blow behind his
back. You’re a stiff! That’s my opinion of you, Dug Dunton!”
The soubrette was aroused now, and her accustomed languid, weary air had
vanished completely. Her eyes, generally dull and heavy, except when she
had resorted to the stimulation of morphine, were full of fire and
scorn.
Sargent gasped and seemed to feel like sneaking away, but Dunton
brazened it out.
“So you were playing eavesdropper, hey?” he hissed. “Well, I don’t care!
If you blow on me to Havener, I’ll give you away to your old man.”
Cassie threw back her head, and her thin nostrils dilated.
“Give me away?” she panted. “About what?”
“Oh, you know,” asserted Dunton, with insolent significance.
“Tell me what you mean!” commanded the little soubrette, bracing up to
him, her small fists clinched. “Tell me what you mean, Dug Dunton, or
I’ll light onto you myself, and I’ll bet a dollar I can make you look
pretty sick!”
He saw she really meant what she threatened, and he backed off a step,
putting up his hands.
“Easy now!” he fluttered. “Don’t make a fool of yourself, Cassie!”
“Tell me what you meant by your words. What will you give away?”
“Oh, I meant that I’d tell Dan about you being so thick with Havener.
That’s all.”
“That’s enough! What do you mean by ‘so thick’? What do you know,
anyway?”
“Oh, I know a few things.”
“Then you’ve been rubber-necking. Well, it’s just like you. I believe I
have a right to be friendly with Mr. Havener?”
“Yes; but you don’t want your father to know just how friendly, and I
don’t fancy you care to have the rest of the company know it. You keep
still about me, for I can hurt you if you don’t.”
“So you’d try to hurt my character, would you? Well, I never thought any
better of you. But you do it if you dare! If you say one word about me
that is bad, I’ll shoot you full of holes! If you blow your mouth to
pop, I’ll have your hide and tan it for shoe leather! Don’t you forgit
it, either! And I advise you to keep away from Frank Merriwell, for he
can lick the stuffing out of you the best day you ever saw.”
Dunton nearly lost his breath.
“Why—why,” he gasped, “you’re crazy!”
“Nope, just mad—blazin’ mad!”
“If Merriwell gives me any guff, you’ll see——”
“He never gives anybody guff, but he’ll give you a thrashing if you get
gay with him.”
“I can whip him.”
“Yes you can—I don’t think!”
“He’s a stiff!”
“He’s too stiff for you. He’s a gentleman, and you ain’t in his class.
You know it, and that’s what ails you. I don’t propose to waste any more
breath on you, for you ain’t worth it.”
And Cassie walked away, leaving Dunton shaking with rage.
“I’d like to wring her neck!” he panted. “I never liked her.”
“Jingoes!” ejaculated Sargent. “Never thought there was so much fire in
that pale-faced, washed-out creature. She always reminded me of
Kipling’s poem, ‘A rag and a bone and a hank of hair.’ You better keep
still about her, Dug, for something makes me think she’d keep her word
and shoot you if you said anything about her character. Such girls as
she are liable to do such things; and you know you actually do not know
anything detrimental to her, except that she is stuck on Havener.”
“Oh, she’s a fool! What makes me the hottest is that she thinks that
upstart Merriwell can do me. I’ll show her about that, if I get a
chance.”
Dunton was still agitated with anger when it was necessary for him to go
on the stage again, and he went through his part in such an indifferent
manner that Havener was obliged to speak to him several times. This the
stage-manager did quietly, for he saw the actor was “broken up,” and he
believed it was because of the calling down he had received.
As for Merriwell, he went through his work with a vim and assurance that
simply amazed everybody. This time he seemed to have his lines almost
perfectly, and the act went off smoothly so far as he was concerned.
Then the second act was taken up and rushed through. As everyone but
Merry had his or her lines almost perfectly, there was no absolute
necessity of prompting, and Frank was given a chance to run over his
speeches when he was not on the stage. When he did go on, he again
astonished them all by the number of lines he could say correctly.
In the third act came the duel scene between Merry and Dunton. In the
duel, Frank was to get the worst of it at first, to be wounded by a foul
thrust, and then to disarm his antagonist and generously decline to
retaliate for his injury.
Just before the duel scene, Frank heard Dunton say to another member of
the company:
“Think of being disarmed by such a stiff as that fellow! It will be
ridiculous, and the chances are that the audience will throw things at
us to-night. Probably he never saw a sword before.”
Merry’s first thought was to show the fellow without delay that he was
greatly mistaken. Then came another thought.
“I’ll let him think away till to-night,” decided Frank; “and then I’ll
try to give him a surprise.”
So he went on for the duel scene and carried it through in a decidedly
awkward manner, so that Havener was obliged to come upon the stage and
try to show him how to handle his sword and follow out the idea of the
duel properly.
Dunton looked disgusted. As they were going through the duel for the
seventh time, he whispered just loud enough for Frank to hear:
“You’re a regular stick! You’ll make a holy show of us both to-night!”
“Oh, I don’t know,” murmured the new actor. “Wait till to-night comes. I
may be able to do it better.”
“Bah! you make me sick!” retorted Dunton, through his white teeth.
“I may make you sicker still,” said Merry, with a soothing smile. “You
are not nearly as many as you imagine you are.”
The fellow looked as if he longed to fly at Merriwell on the instant,
but he simply ground his teeth together and glared, which caused the
stage-manager to compliment him:
“Now you are getting into the part, Dunton,” said Havener. “That
expression on your face is fine. It’s exactly what you want in that
scene.”
Dunton swore under his breath.
“Merriwell, too, has a good expression,” declared the stage-manager.
“That calm, confident smile is all right. I confess that I was afraid of
this scene, but I rather think it will go off all right.”
Then the rehearsal went on to the end, Havener not allowing them to stop
till it was time to go to the hotel for supper.
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