A FRIEND—IN NEED.
The suddenness with which Dean found himself cast adrift, and thrown
upon his own resources, was enough to take away his breath. As
merchants from time to time take account of stock, he felt that it
would be wise now that he was about to set up for himself to ascertain
the extent of his means.
He thrust his hand into his pocket, and drew out a small collection
of silver coins and pennies. All told he found he had but sixty-seven
cents, and he was probably twelve hundred miles from home. The chances
were that it would cost him at least three cents a mile, or thirty-six
dollars, to get back to Waterford. He would have been glad to have the
thirty-six dollars, but he had no intention of going back until he
could carry something with him. He did not want to acknowledge that he
had made a failure.
Dean ascertained that the town in which he was stranded (for he hadn't
money enough to get out of it) was Granville. The village appeared to
be half a mile away, and might at a rough guess contain a thousand
inhabitants. Like most small Western towns, it consisted of one main
street, with short side streets opening out of it. For a place of the
size it seemed to be wide awake, and enterprising, more so than a
village of corresponding population at the East.
After spending a few minutes at the depot Dean took his valise, and
trudged on in the direction of the town. What he should do when he got
there he hardly knew. He was ready for anything that might turn up, and
he did not worry as much as he would if he had been twice as old.
Dean had accomplished about half the distance when a voice hailed him,
"Halloa, youngster!"
Dean turned in the direction of the voice and his glance fell on a man
of perhaps twenty-five, who was stretched comfortably under a tree by
the roadside. He had a knapsack and wore a velveteen suit. Something in
his appearance gave Dean the impression that he was an actor.
Responding to his greeting, which was accompanied by a pleasant smile,
Dean answered "Good day!"
"Where are you traveling, young chap?"
"I don't know," responded Dean. "I suppose I am on my way to the
village."
"Do you live about here?"
"No, I live in New York State."
"So do I, when I'm at home, but I'm not often at home."
"Are you an actor?"
"That's what I call myself. That's what I am styled by admiring
friends, though some of the critics are unkind enough to express
doubts. At present I am in hard luck. I came West with a dramatic
company which has gone to pieces. I am traveling homeward on my uppers.
Permit me to introduce myself," and he doffed a soft hat which he wore,
"as Cecil Montgomery, not wholly unknown to the metropolitan stage."
There was something attractive in his good-humored recklessness that
impressed Dean favorably.
"My name is Dean Dunham," he responded, "not known on any stage."
"Excuse the impertinence, but are you a young man of fortune?"
"Yes, if you call sixty-seven cents a fortune."
"Dean, my boy, you have ten cents the advantage of me. If you have any
plans that with our united capital we may be able to carry out, my
wealth is at your service."
"I have no plans except to get something to eat," said Dean.
"I am with you there," said the actor, rising with alacrity from his
recumbent position. "Know you of a hostelry?"
"If that means a restaurant, I think we may find one in the village."
"Wisely guessed. If you have no objection to my company, we will walk
together."
"I shall be glad of your company, Mr. Montgomery."
"You do me proud, Mr. Dunham," and the actor once more doffed his hat,
and bowed low. "If you don't mind, my boy, suppose you tell me what
brings you out here, so far from home? I came with a combination, as I
have explained."
"I came as private secretary with a gentleman—no, a man named Kirby.
He chose to charge me with stealing his pocket-book, and discharged me
on the train, refusing to pay me back wages."
"Steal—with that honest face! Why, I'd trust you with my entire
wealth—fifty-seven cents—and wouldn't lose a minute's sleep."
"Thank you," said Dean, smiling. "I hope I deserve your confidence."
"So it seems that we are both in very much the same plight. We must
hustle for a living. I wish you were an actor."
"Why?"
"We might give a joint performance, and so pick up a few pennies. Can
you play on any instrument?"
Dean drew a harmonica from his pocket and displayed it.
"I can play a little on this," he said.
"Give us a taste of your quality."
Dean put the harmonica in his mouth and played several popular airs in
very creditable style. He had practiced considerably in Waterford, and
when he left home chanced to bring his favorite instrument with him.
Mr. Montgomery applauded vociferously.
"That's capital!" he said. "I have an idea. Our fortune is made."
"Is it? I'm very glad to hear it."
"Let me explain. I am a dramatic Jack of all trades. I can sing,
dance, recite, and give imitations. Why shouldn't we give a joint
exhibition? I venture to say we can charm and astonish the good people
of Granville, and gather in golden shekels for ourselves."
"But what am I to do?"
"Listen. You are the world-renowned Dean Dunham, the champion player
on the harmonica, who have charmed tens of thousands, and whose name is
a household word from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Do you understand?"
"I shall begin to think I am a humbug."
"So be it! Humbug makes money and rides at ease, while modest merit
goes barefoot and tramps over dusty roads."
"That is complimentary to us, for it happens to be our condition just
at present."
"Then let us abandon it! It doesn't pay. Will you join me, and try your
luck with the good people of Granville?"
Dean hesitated a moment, but only a moment. He must do something, and
nothing else seemed to present itself. If any one chose to pay for the
privilege of hearing him play on the harmonica, he had no objection to
receiving the money. Besides, he would be at no trouble in the matter.
Mr. Montgomery would make all arrangements, and he would only have to
take the part that might be assigned him.
"I am at your service, Mr. Montgomery."
"Your hand on it! We will, we must be successful. In after years, when
fame and money are yours, think that it was I, Cecil Montgomery, who
assisted you to make your début."
"I certainly will, Mr. Montgomery," said Dean, falling into his
companion's humor.
By this time they had reached the village. A sign over a small
one-story building attracted their attention.
RESTAURANT
AND
COFFEE HOUSE.
"Let us enter," said the actor. "It is astonishing what an appetite I
have. If we are to give an entertainment we must be fed."
Fortunately the prices at the restaurant and coffee house were very
moderate, and the two travelers were able to make a plentiful meal,
though it reduced their stock of money almost to nothing. After dinner
Mr. Montgomery indulged in a five cent-cigar, but Dean declined to
smoke.
"Stay here, Dean," said his companion. "I hear there is a weekly paper
published in Granville. I will see the editor, and ask him to join us
in the speculation, sharing the profits. The paper appears to-morrow.
He can give us a big puff that will insure our success."
"Suppose he won't do it?"
"Leave it to me! I have a most persuasive tongue. Granville must not
let such an opportunity slip. It must hear me act and listen to your
melodious strains."
Nearly an hour passed. Then Montgomery came back radiant. "It's all
fixed," he said. "You make your début to-morrow evening. I have engaged
board at the hotel for us both."