TROUBLE FOLLOWS.
Cassie Lee found Frank looking through the peep-hole at the gathering
audience.
"There," she said, "now I guess you'll believe Ross is your friend."
"Yes," Merry nodded; "he certainly did me a good turn in handling
Sargent. I never expected that fellow would be the first to raise a
kick."
"Knew it would be just like him," said the soubrette, leaning wearily
against one of the wings and heaving a sigh.
Frank heard that sigh and faced about quickly.
"Cassie," he said, with anxiety, "you are not feeling well to-night.
Your medicine has not cured you?"
She did not look him straight in the face, as she slowly answered:
"No, Frank, my medicine did not cure me, but it helped me go on and
play. I was afraid I'd not be able to do that much."
"What is the matter, Cassie?"
"Oh, the same old trouble, Frank--just a lack of nerve and life. I'm
discouraged, too."
"About what?"
She hesitated, and then of a sudden she answered:
"I may as well tell you. It's about pop."
"Your father?"
"That's right."
"What's the matter about him?"
"Haven't you noticed?"
"Well, I--that is--I have seen that--that, he----"
"That's he taken to drinking again--that's it."
Now, although old Dan Lee had been drinking for several days, Merry
had fancied Cassie was not aware of the fact, and had done everything
possible to keep the knowledge from her. Frank had hoped the old actor
would stop without getting on one of the "howling sprees" for which he
had made a record.
When he was not drinking, old Dan was one of the kindest and most
loving of parents. He literally adored his daughter, guarding her with
a jealousy that, at times, was rather troublesome to Cassie herself.
For her sake old Dan had done his best to leave off drinking. He had
fought the demon with all his power, but it had fastened its iron grip
upon him in such a manner that he was not able to fling it off entirely.
And now he was drinking again. He was trying to do it on the sly,
promising himself that he would soon straighten up and would not get on
one of the old-time sprees.
"Yes, Cassie," admitted Frank, "I know he has been drinking, but I
don't think it will amount to anything this time."
She shook her head mournfully.
"You don't know him, Frank."
"How did you discover he was drinking?"
"How? Why, I can tell as soon as he takes the first glass. I can always
tell. There is that in his manner, his voice, his eyes, that tells me."
"But he thinks you do not know."
"Yes, yes, he thinks so."
"You have kept it from him."
"Poor pop! I let him think he is fooling me."
"It is better. Perhaps he will straighten up without--without----"
"I know what you mean, but I'm afraid not. I can see that he is getting
worse and worse, although he is doing his best to remain the master.
When the stuff becomes his master, then--oh, Frank!"
She put her thin hands over her face and shuddered. He felt like taking
the poor little soubrette, whose life had been so devoid of sunshine,
in his arms and trying to soothe her.
Cassie was restless beneath Frank's gaze.
"Why do you look at me like that?" she asked, almost petulantly. "You
look so queer, Frank! You almost seem to be accusing me with your eyes."
"Don't misunderstand me, Cassie," he quickly implored. "I would not
accuse you. Don't think that--don't!"
"But----"
"What should I accuse you of, Cassie?"
"Oh, you might think--that I--you might think something," she answered,
evasively.
Those words aroused a suspicion within him. He started, and the thought
that flashed through his brain gave him a shock.
She noticed that start, and she turned away. He reached out quickly,
gently grasping her arm.
"Wait a moment more, Cassie," he urged. "I want to talk with you a
little longer."
She looked back at him with those sad eyes.
"Don't, Frank!" she entreated. "I'm afraid I know what you are going to
say. I--I couldn't help it, Frank--indeed, I couldn't! It was for you
that I did it!"
"For me!"
He actually staggered. Now his suspicion was swiftly becoming an
assurance.
"Yes," she whispered, "for you. It was my duty to go on--my duty to
play, no matter how I felt. I had to do it somehow. If I didn't feel
like it, then I had to make myself feel like it, and so----"
"And so you--you----"
"I had to do it, I tell you!" she exclaimed, with something like real
spirit. "I didn't think you--would--reproach me!"
"Oh, Cassie, Cassie! I am not reproaching you, my dear girl! But I
thought you had gained strength through prayer--such strength that you
no longer needed the dreadful drug, for I am led to believe you are
using it again."
"Yes, I'm using it," she confessed, almost sullenly.
"Since when?"
"Since you gave me the money in Hartland."
Frank fell back.
"Was that it?" he gasped. "Was that why you wanted the money? You
wanted it not to enable you to buy medicine, but----"
"Morphine's medicine for me now. I tell you I had to have it. I
couldn't go on that night without it. I knew I'd ruin the play if I
did. Don't look at me like that! Why, you look as if I'd committed a
crime! I'm not hurting anyone but myself. What if I do hurt myself! I'm
no good anyway! I'm only the daughter of a drunken actor, and I might
as well be dead as alive! I wish I were dead--I do! I do!"
Then she buried her face in her hands and fell to sobbing, her small
body quivering with emotion.
Every sob cut Frank Merriwell through and through.
"Don't, Cassie--please don't!" he entreated. "You hurt me! The others
will see you, little girl!"
"I don't care!"
"Oh, yes, you do! What'll they think? They will get an idea that----"
"I tell you I don't care!"
"----there is something wrong between us," continued Frank, on the
broken sentence. "They will think queer of me, and----"
Cassie braced up wonderfully.
"I didn't think of that," she said, trying to wipe her tears away
without wiping off her make-up. "I don't want them to get a wrong idea
of you, Frank."
For herself she did not care; but for him it was different.
"I am awfully sorry about it, Cassie," said Merriwell, soothingly; "but
perhaps it is not so bad. You must try again to get rid of the habit."
"No use!"
"Why do you say that?"
"I can't do it a second time."
"I believe you can. Remember what prayer did for you. What it did once,
it can do again."
"I shall never pray again!"
"What's that? Why, Cassie! you don't mean that----"
"That I am the wickedest girl in the world!" came passionately from her
lips.
"What nonsense! How did you come to get such an idea into your silly
little head?"
"It's not nonsense, Frank. I have done something that makes me a bad,
bad girl--something that will prevent all my prayers from being heard
and answered. Oh, it is dreadful!"
What in the world did the girl mean? What had she done? Frank was
appalled by her words and manner. All sorts of conjectures ran riot
through his head.
"What is this dreadful thing you have done?" he finally asked. "Tell
me, Cassie. You know I am your friend, and you can trust me. Tell me.
If it is a secret, you may be sure I'll never breathe it to a living
being."
"Oh, I know that, Frank. I would trust you with any secret. But it is
so terrible that I--I'm ashamed to tell you."
She turned her head away, and the curly hair of her blond wig fell
across her cheek and hid her painted face.
"Tell me!" he urged.
"Frank," she said, "I prayed for pop--prayed that he might stop
drinking."
"Yes, Cassie, that was a good prayer."
"But he did not stop."
"He hasn't yet. He may."
"He will not till he has had his spree. When I found my prayer was not
answered I did a dreadful thing."
A shiver ran over her.
"Tell me," urged Frank's gentle voice.
"Oh, how can I! You--you'll despise me!"
"Never, Cassie."
"I'll tell you, Frank! I wonder if I can ever, ever be forgiven! It
is horrible! I lost my temper--I lost my head--Frank--oh, Frank! I--I
swore at God!"
Those words were spoken in a manner that told the tale of the horror
that possessed her when she fully realized what she had done. She wrung
her thin hands, and her distress was pitiful to witness.
For a moment Frank Merriwell was dumb and speechless. She did not look
at him, but she panted:
"Now you see--now you know--now you understand! You don't speak! I know
you despise me now! I can feel your eyes on me! I can feel that you
are shrinking from me! I am a thing accursed! Oh, do you wonder I was
forced to take the fiendish drug after doing that? All the strength God
has given me left me in a moment! I felt as if His curse was on me! I
have felt so ever since! I am lost--lost! Now you will turn from me!"
Frank caught her hand again and held it fast with a warm pressure.
"My poor little girl!" he whispered; "I understand your feelings now.
It is terrible, but you must not give up hope."
"What have I to hope for now? It's no use, Frank--no use!"
"Do you read your Bible?"
"I did till--till then. I haven't since. I have not dared to look at
it. I have hidden it in the bottom of my trunk. If I were to open it, I
am sure I would read something that would curse me."
"Instead of that, I truly believe you would read something that would
comfort you. Try it, Cassie--try it."
"What's the use! God will never forgive me for cursing Him after all He
has done to help me!"
"You cannot limit His power of forgiveness. You are making a mistake,
little girl."
She caught her breath, looking up eagerly.
"Then do you think it possible for Him to forgive me after--after that?"
"I do."
"Oh, Frank!"
"I am sure of it. Cassie, you are not as wicked as you think. You must
try again and again. Have faith! Don't use that drug! Cast it away! It
will ruin you!"
"Just to-night, Frank--I must use it to-night! See, we have a good
house! I must do my best to-night--for your sake! This is your company,
you know, and everything may depend on to-night."
"No, Cassie, not to-night. I had rather make a failure of this, my
first venture on the road, than have you yield in the least to the
tempter. I had rather lose everything I have in the world, which is
precious little, than to let that habit get another atom of power over
you. Even though you make a failure of your part to-night, do not touch
the stuff. You deceived me when you said it was medicine you wished to
buy with the money. Now I have a right to order you to throw the stuff
away. I do order you to do that, Cassie, for your own good."
His earnestness impressed her, swayed her.
"If you--say--so----"
"I do!"
"All right, Frank! For you--for you!"
At that moment there was a cry, and Roscoe Havener came rushing out of
the dressing room into which he had sent Sargent. He was enraged, and
he showed it.
"Something has happened!" exclaimed Cassie, darting out through the
wings, followed closely by Frank.
"What's the matter, Mr. Havener?" asked Merry.
"That confounded scoundrel!" grated the stage manager.
"Who?"
"Sargent."
"What of him?"
"Gone!"
"What?"
"That's what!"
"Why, I thought he was in there dressing."
"So did I, but he slipped into the other dressing room and got out that
way. He has gone, and here it is time to---- Listen!"
There was a stamping of feet and burst of catcalls from the audience in
the building.
"They're growing impatient," said Frank. "What are we going to do?"
The other members of the company gathered about in their various
costumes.
"I'll shoot Sargent when I meet him!" grated Havener. "He deserves it!"
"And I left him dressing when I came out," said Dunton. "Hadn't any
idea but he intended to play, although he was fearfully angry."
"We'll have to send out a man for him," suggested Basil Holt, who
played "heavies."
"It's ten to one we don't find him," declared Dunton. "He'll lay low."
"We'll have to fill his place," said Frank, grimly.
"Fill his place!" gasped several. "How?"
"With another man, of course."
"What man?"
"There's only one man who can do it. The part is that of a hayseed
visiting the city. I believe Ephraim Gallup can do it if he tries."
"It's possible," admitted Havener.
"Gallup's on the door. I'll send for him. He has prompted on this piece
a number of times, and it is possible he can get through with Sargent's
part somehow. It must be done."
The stage manager looked the company over quickly.
"Where's Cates?" he suddenly demanded.
Several had seen him making up, but no one knew where he was just then,
nor could he be found. However, it was thought he would turn up all
right in a few seconds, and a messenger was sent out for Ephraim Gallup.
While they were waiting for Gallup to appear, they excitedly
discussed the situation. All seemed agreed that Sargent had acted in
a reprehensible manner in leaving thus just when they had found their
first good house in two weeks.
But another shock was coming.
In by the side door came rushing the tall Vermonter.
"Gosh all thutter, Frank!" cried Ephraim, the moment he saw Merry, "the
Old Nick is up! The sheriff has attached the box-office receipts, by
gum!"