AMY HOLMES CONFESSES.
"You say that you have seen Mamie Rutger at the theater," began the
unwilling narrator, rather ungraciously, "and so I should think you
wouldn't need to be told why she ran away from home. She wanted to go on
the stage, and so did Nellie Ewing. Every country girl in christendom
wants to be an actress, and if she has a pretty face and a decent voice
she feels sure that she can succeed. The girls had both been told that
they were pretty, and they could both sing, so they ran away to come out
at the Little Adelphi.
"Mamie took to the business like a duck to water. Nellie got sick and
blue and whimsical, and has not appeared at the theater for several
weeks. They live at 349 B---- place."
I made a careful note of the address, and then said:
"Well, proceed."
"Proceed! what more do you want to know? I have told you why they ran
away and where to find them."
This was too much. My wrath must have manifested itself in face and
voice, for she winced under my gaze and made no further attempt to
baffle or evade me.
"I want to know who devised the villainous plot to allure two innocent
country girls away from home and friends! Who set you on as decoy and
temptress, and what reward did you receive? There are men or scoundrels
connected with this affair; who are they; and what means have they used
to bring about such a misfortune to the girls and their friends? Tell
the _whole_ truth, and remember what I have said. If you evade, omit,
equivocate, _I shall know it_!"
"Will you give me time?" she faltered.
"Not ten minutes. Do you want time to telegraph to Arch Brookhouse? It
will be useless; he is in the hands of the detectives, and no message
can reach him."
"What has Arch done?" she cried, excitedly. "He is not the one to be
blamed."
"He has done enough to put him out of the way of mischief. You have seen
the last of Arch Brookhouse."
"But Fred is the man who set this thing going!"
"Very likely. And Arch and Louis Brookhouse were the brothers to help
him. What about Johnny La Porte and Ed. Dwight? You see I know too much.
There are two officers down-stairs. If you have not finished your story,
and told it to my satisfaction, before half-past four, I will call them
up and hand you over to them. It is _now_ ten minutes to four."
She favored me with a glance full of impotent hatred, sat quite silent
for a long moment, during which I sat before her with a careless glance
fixed on my watch.
Then she began:
"I worked at the Little Adelphi over a year ago. There was a hot rivalry
between us, the Gayety, and the 'Frolique.' Fred Brookhouse was managing
alone then; _Storms_--only came into partnership in the Spring.
"During the winter the Gayety brought out some new attractions,--I mean
new to the profession; no old names that had been billed and billed, but
young girls with fresh faces and pretty voices. They were new in the
business, and the 'old stagers,' especially the faded and cracked-voiced
ones, said that they would fail, they would hurt the business. But the
managers knew better. They knew that pretty, youthful faces were the
things most thought of in the varieties. And the 'freshness' of the new
performers was only another attraction to green-room visitors. Nobody
knew where these new girls came from, and nobody could find out; but
they _drew_, and the Little Adelphi lost customers, who went over to the
'Gayety.'
"Fred Brookhouse was angry, and he began to study how he should outdo
the 'Gayety,' and 'put out' the new attractions.
"At the carnival season, Arch and Louis Brookhouse came down; and we
got to be very good friends. Do you mean to use anything that I say to
make me trouble?" she broke off, abruptly.
"Not if you tell the entire truth and spare nobody."
"Then I will tell it just as it happened. Arch and Fred and I were
together one day after rehearsal. I was a favorite at the theater, and
Fred consulted me sometimes. Fred wanted some fresh attractions, and
wondered how they got the new girls at the 'Gayety.' And I told him that
I thought they might have been 'recruited.' He did not seem to
understand, and I explained that there were managers who paid a
commission to persons who would get them young, pretty, bright girls,
who could sing a little, for the first part, and for green-room talent.
"I told him that I knew of an old variety actress who went into the
country for a few weeks in the Summer, and picked up girls for the
variety business. They were sometimes poor girls who 'worked out,' and
were glad of a chance to earn an easier living, and sometimes daughters
of well-to-do people; girls who were romantic or ambitious,
stage-struck, and easily flattered.
"Fred asked me how I knew all this, and I told him that I was roped into
the business in just that way."
"Was that true?"
"Yes; it was true," a dark shade crossing her face. "But never mind me.
Fred asked me if I knew where to go to find three or four pretty girls.
He said he did not want '_biddies_;' they must be young and pretty; must
be fair singers, and have nice manners. He could get gawks in plenty. He
wanted lively young girls who would be interesting and attractive. Some
new idea seemed to strike Arch Brookhouse. He took Fred aside, and
by-and-by they called Louis, and the three talked a long time.
"The next day, Arch and Louis came to me. They knew where to find just
the girls that would suit Fred, but it would be some trouble to get
them. Then they told me all about the Groveland girls; Nellie and her
sister, Mamie, Grace Ballou and one or two others. Arch knew Nellie and
Grace. Louis seemed particularly interested in Mamie.
"Fred is a reckless fellow, and he would spend any amount to outdo the
'Gayety,' and he seemed infatuated with the new scheme for getting
talent. Besides, he knew that he could pay them what he liked; they
would not be clamoring for high salaries. He agreed to pay my expenses
North if I would get the girls for him.
"Arch and Louis went home, and we corresponded about the business.
Finally, Arch wrote that three of the girls would attend school at
Amora, the Spring term, and it was settled that I should attend also.
"I rather liked the prospect. Fred fitted me out in good style, and I
went.
"Of course I soon found how to manage the girls. Mamie Rutger was ripe
for anything new, and she did not like her step-mother. She was easy to
handle.
"Grace was vain and easily influenced. She thought she could run away
and create a sensation at home, and come back after a while to astonish
the natives with her success as an actress.
"Nellie Ewing was more difficult to manage, but I found out that she was
desperately in love with Johnny La Porte. Johnny had begun by being in
love with Nellie, but her silly devotion had tired him, and besides, he
is fickle by nature.
"I told Arch that if we got Nellie, it would have to be through La
Porte. Arch knew how to manage La Porte, who was vain, and prided
himself upon being a 'masher.' He thought to be mixed up in a
sensational love affair, would add to his fame as a dangerous fellow. He
sang a good tenor, and often sang duets with Nellie.
"Louis Brookhouse had a chum named Ed. Dwight; Ed. had been, or claimed
to have been, a song and dance man. _I_ don't think he was ever anything
more than an amateur, but he was perpetually dancing jigs, and singing
comic songs, and went crazy over a minstrel show.
"Louis used to take Grace out for an occasional drive, and one day he
introduced Ed. to Mamie.
"After a time, Arch and Louis thought they could better their original
plan. Arch is a shrewd fellow, with a strong will, and he could just
wind Johnny La Porte around his finger. Johnny took him for a model, for
Arch was a stylish fellow, who knew all the ropes, and had seen a deal
of the world; and Johnny, while he had been a sort of prince among the
Grovelanders, had never had a taste of town life.
"Arch managed Johnny, and _he_ managed Nellie Ewing."
She paused, and something in her face made me say, sternly:
"How did Johnny La Porte manage Nellie Ewing?" and then I glanced
ominously at my watch, which I still held in my hand.
She moved uneasily, and averted her eyes.
"Nellie was conscientious," she resumed, reluctantly. "She had all sorts
of scruples. But Johnny told her that he was to go South and study law
with his mother's cousin, who lived in New Orleans. He said that he
dared not marry until he had finished his studies, but if she would
marry him privately, and keep the marriage a secret, she could go South
and they would not be separated.
"She agreed to this, and the ceremony was performed. After it was over,
he told her that he had just discovered that he would be subject to
arrest under some new marriage law, and that they would be separated if
it became known.
"And then he persuaded her to come here before him and work at the
Little Adelphi; telling her that if her father found her there they
would not suspect him, and as soon as his studies were over he would
claim her openly."
Again she hesitated.
"And was this precious programme carried out?" I demanded.
"Yes. It was a long time before Nellie consented, but a little cool
treatment from Johnny brought her to terms. She got away very nicely. I
presume you know something about that."
"Never mind what I know. How did she get rid of her horse after leaving
Mrs. Ballou's house?"
"Not far from Mrs. Ballou's there is a small piece of timber. Johnny was
there with his team and he had a fellow with him who took charge of the
pony. Johnny drove Nellie ten miles towards Amora, driving at full
speed. There Ed. Dwight, with his machine wagon, waited, and Nellie was
taken by Ed. into Amora. On the way she put on some black clothes and a
big black veil. At Amora, Louis Brookhouse was waiting. They got there
just in time to catch the midnight express, and were almost at their
journey's end before Nellie was missed."
"Stop. You have said that Nellie Ewing has not been at the theater of
late; has been blue, and ill. What has caused all this?"
She colored hotly, and a frightened look crept into her eyes.
"You are not to hold me to blame?"
"Not if you answer me truly."
"One night I had come home from the theater with Nellie, and she began
crying because Johnny did not come as he had promised, and did not write
often enough. I was tired and cross, and I suppose I had taken too much
wine. I forgot myself, and told her that Johnny had hired a man to
personate a parson, and that she was not married at all. She broke down
entirely after that."
I sprang to my feet, for the moment forgetting that the creature before
me was a woman. I wanted to take her by the throat and fling her from
the window.
"Go on!" I almost shouted. "Go on; my patience is nearly exhausted. Is
Nellie Ewing seriously ill?"
"She is fretting and pining; she thinks she is dying, and she loves
Johnny La Porte as much as ever."
"And Mamie Rutger?"
"She was glad to run away. One evening when every body about the farm
was busy, she waited at the front gate for Ed. Dwight. People were used
to the sight of his covered wagon, and it was the last thing to suspect.
But Mamie Rutger went from her father's gate in that wagon, and she and
Dwight drove boldly to Sharon, and both took the midnight train as the
others did at Amora.
"Ed. only went a short distance with Mamie; he came back the next
morning. Mamie was plucky enough to come on alone."
"And then you and Grace Ballou tried to elope?"
"Yes."
"Well, I won't trouble you to tell you that story. I know all about it.
Now, listen to me. I have registered you here as my sister, and you are
going to stay here for one week a prisoner. You are to speak to no one,
write to no one. You will be constantly watched, and if you attempt to
disobey me you know the consequences. As soon as Mr. Rutger and 'Squire
Ewing arrive I will set you at liberty, and no one shall harm you; but
until then you must remain in your own room, and see no one except in my
presence."
"But you promised--"
"I shall keep my promise, but choose my own time."
"But the theater--"
"You can write them a note stating that you are going to leave the city
for a little recreation. You may send a similar note to Mamie and
Nellie."
"You are not treating me fairly."
"I am treating you better than you deserve. Did you deal fairly at
Amora and Groveland? If I were not morally sure that such crimes as
yours must be punished sooner or later, I should not dare set you free."