FINAL DAYS
"Fire! Fire!" yelled some foolish ones in the audience.
"Keep still!" shouted Tom Hatfield, who well knew the danger of a panic
in a hall with few exits. "Keep still! Play something!" he called to the
orchestra leader, who was staring at Andy, dazed at the flying leap of
the lad over his head. "Play any old tune!"
It was this that saved the day. The leader tapped with his violin bow on
the tin shade over his electric light and the dazed musicians came to
attention. They began on the number the girl had been singing. It was
like the irony of fate to hear the strains of a sentimental song when
the poor girl was in danger of death. But the music quieted the
audience. Men and women sank back in their seats, watching with
fear-widened eyes the actions of Andy Blair.
And while Tom had thus effectively stopped the incipient panic, Andy had
not been idle. Working with feverish haste, he had wrapped his heavy
coat about the girl, smothering the flames. She was sobbing and
screaming by turns.
"There! There!" cried Andy. "Keep quiet. I have the fire out. You're in
no danger!"
"Oh--oh! But--but the fire----"
"It's out, I tell you!" insisted Andy. "It was only a little blaze!"
He could see tiny tongues of flame where his coat did not quite reach,
and with swift, quick pats of his bare hands he beat them out, burning
himself slightly. He took good care not to let the flames shoot up, so
that the frantic girl would inhale them. That meant death, and her
escape had been narrow enough as it was.
As Andy held the coat closely about her he glanced over toward the box
whence the match had come. He saw the horror-stricken young men looking
at him and the girl in fascination, but they had not been quick to act.
After all, it was an accident and the fault of no one in particular.
The stage was now occupied by several other performers, and the frantic
manager. But it was all over. Andy patted out the last of the
smouldering sparks. The girl was swaying and he looked up in time to see
that she was going to faint.
"Look out!" he cried, and caught her in his arms.
"Back this way! Carry her back here!" ordered the manager, motioning to
the wings. "Keep that music going!" he added to the orchestra leader.
They carried the unfortunate little singer to a dressing room, and a
doctor was summoned. One of the stage hands brought Andy's coat to him.
The garment was seared and scorched, and rank with the odor of smoke.
"If you don't want to wear it I'll see Mr. Wallack, and get another for
you," offered the man.
"Oh, this isn't so bad," said Andy, slipping it on. "It's an old one,
anyhow."
He looked curiously about him. It was the first time he had been behind
the scenes, though there was not as much to observe in this little
theatre as in a larger one. Beyond the dropped curtain he could hear the
strains of the music and the murmur in the audience. The show had come
to a sudden ending, and many were departing.
As Andy was leaving, to go back to his chums, the doctor came in
hastily, and hurried to the room of the performer.
"Say, some little hero act, eh, Andy?" exclaimed Chet, as Andy rejoined
his friends.
"Forget it!" was the retort. "Tom, here, had his wits about him."
"All right, old man. But you never got down the field after a football
punt any quicker than you hurdled that orchestra leader, and made a
flying tackle of that singer!" exclaimed Tom, admiringly. "My hat off to
you, Andy, old boy!"
"Same here!" cried Chet.
The young men in the box were talking to the manager, and the one who
had knocked the lighted match on the stage came over to speak to Andy,
who was standing with his chums in the aisle near their seats.
"Thanks, very much, old man!" exclaimed the chap whose impulsive act had
so nearly caused a tragedy. "It was mighty fine of you to do that. I had
heart failure when I saw her on fire."
"You couldn't help it," replied Andy. "They ought not to allow smoking
in places like this."
"That's right. Next time I throw a rose at a girl I'll look to see
what's going to happen."
The theatre was almost deserted by now. All that remained to tell of the
accident was the smell of smoke, and a few bits of charred cloth on the
stage.
A man came out in front of the curtain.
"Miss Fuller wants to see the young fellow who put out the fire," he
announced.
"That's you, Andy!" cried his chums.
"Aw, I'm not going back there."
"Yes, she would like to see you. She wants to thank you," put in the
stage manager. "Come along."
Rather bashfully Andy went back. He found the singer--a mere
girl--propped up on a couch. Her arms and hands were in bandages, but
she did not seem to have been much burned.
"I'm sorry I can't shake hands with you," she said, with a smile. She
was pale, for the "make-up" had been washed from her face.
"Oh, that's all right," responded Andy, a bit embarrassed.
"It was awfully good and brave of you," she went on, with a catch in her
voice. "I don't--I don't know how to thank you. I--I just couldn't seem
to do anything for myself. It was--awful," and her voice broke.
"Oh, it might have been worse," spoke Andy, and he knew that it wasn't
just the thing to say. But, for the life of him, he could not fit proper
words together. "I'm glad you're all right, Miss Fuller," he said. He
had seen her name on the bills--Mazie Fuller. He wondered whether it was
her right one, or a stage cognomen. At any rate, he decided from a
casual glance, she was very pretty.
"You must give me your address," the girl went on. "I want to pay for
the coat you spoiled on my account."
"Oh, that's all right," and Andy was conscious that he was blushing. "It
isn't hurt a bit. I'll have to be going now."
"Oh, you must let me have your name and address," the girl went on.
"Oh, all right," and Andy pulled out a card. "I'm at Milton Prep.," he
added, thinking in a flash that he would not be there much longer. But
then he did not want her to send him a new coat.
"I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to leave now," said the doctor kindly.
"She has had quite a shock, and I want her to be quiet."
"Sure," assented Andy, rather glad, on the whole, that he could make his
escape. One of his hands was blistered and he wanted to get back to his
room and put on some cooling lotion. He would not admit this before Miss
Fuller, for he did not want to cause her any more pain.
The girl sank back on a couch as Andy went out of the dressing room. But
she smiled brightly at him, and murmured:
"I'll see you again, some time."
"Sure," assented the lad. He wondered whether she would.
Then he rejoined his chums and they left the theatre. There was a
little crowd in front, attracted by the rumor that an actress had been
burned. As Andy and his friends made their way through the throng to a
car he heard someone call:
"Dat's de guy what saved her!"
"You're becoming famous, Andy, my boy!" whispered Tom.
"Forget it," advised his chum.
The boys reached their dormitory with a scant minute or so to spare
before locking-up time, for the rules were rather strict at Milton.
There were hasty good-nights, promises to meet on the morrow, and then
quiet settled down over the school.
Andy went to his room, and for a minute, before turning on the light, he
stood at the window looking over the campus. Many thoughts were surging
through his brain.
"It sure has been one full little day," he mused. "The scrap with the
farmer, dousing the sparks on that girl, and--deciding on going to Yale!
"Jove, though, but I'm glad I've made up my mind! Yale! I wonder if I'll
be worthy of it?"
Andy leaned against the window and looked out to where the moonlight
made fantastic shadows through the big maples on the green. Before his
eyes came a picture of the elm-shaded quadrangle at Yale, which once he
had crossed, hardly dreaming then that he would ever go there.
"Yale! Yale!" he whispered to himself. "What a lot it means! What a lot
it might mean! What a lot it often doesn't signify. Oh, if I can only
make good there!"
For some time Andy had been vacillating between two colleges, but
finally he had settled on Yale. His parents had left him his choice, and
now he had made it.
"I must write to dad," he said. "He'll want to know."
It was too late to do it now. They had not come back as early as they
had intended. The bell for "lights out," clanged, and Andy hastily
prepared for bed.
"Only a few more days at old Milton," he whispered to himself. "And then
for Yale!"
The closing days of the term drew nearer. Examinations were the order of
the day, and many were the anxious hearts. There was less fun and more
hard work.
Andy wrote home, detailing briefly his decision and telling of the
affair of the theatre. For it got into the papers, and Andy was made
quite a hero. He wanted his parents to understand the true situation.
A letter of thanks came from the theatre manager, and with it a pass,
good for any time, for Andy and his friends. In the letter it was said
that Miss Fuller was in no danger, and had gone to the home of relatives
to recover from the shock.
Andy was rather surprised when he received, one day, a fine mackinaw
coat, of the latest style. With it was a note which said:
"To replace the one you burned."
There was no name signed, but he knew from whom it came.