Frank Merriwell's New Comedian; Or, The Rise of a Star

CHAPTER XXI.—GALLUP MEETS THE MYSTERIOUS WOMAN.

The mechanical arrangements and special scenery had arrived and were moved into the theater. Supers had been engaged to attend rehearsal in the afternoon, so that they might know their business when evening came.

Frank attended to the details of much of the work of making ready, although he had full confidence in Havener and Hodge, who assisted him. He saw that the mechanical effect representing the boat race was put up and tested, making sure it worked perfectly. He was anxious about this, for any hitch in that scene was certain to ruin the whole play.

Gallup proved valuable. He worked about the stage, and he was of great assistance to Havener, who wished Merriwell to appoint him assistant stage manager.

Of course, everybody was anxious about the result, but the majority of the company had confidence in Merriwell and his play. Cassie Lee, perhaps, was the only one who was never assailed by a doubt concerning the outcome.

“I shall do my best to-night—at any cost,” she told Frank.

At that moment he did not pause to consider the real meaning of her words. Afterward he knew what she meant. She still carried a tiny needle syringe and a phial that contained a certain dangerous drug that had so nearly wrought her ruin.

The various members of the company drifted into the theater by the stage entrance, looked over their dressing rooms and the stage and drifted out again. They had been engaged to act, and they did not propose to work when it was not necessary.

Gallup whistled as he hustled about the work Havener directed him to do. He made his long legs carry him about swiftly, although he sometimes tripped over his own feet.

Ephraim was arranging a mass of scenery so that every piece would be handy for use that night when the time came to use it. While doing this, he was surprised to see one of the dressing-room doors cautiously open and a person peer out.

“Gosh!” exclaimed the Vermonter, stepping back out of sight. “Who’s that?”

Again the person peered out of the dressing room, as if to make sure the coast was clear.

“I must be dreamin’!” thought the Vermont youth, rubbing his eyes. “I’ve got ’em jest from hearin’ Frank and Hodge talk so much about her.”

A moment later he changed his mind.

“No, by ginger!” he hissed, as the person slipped out of the dressing room. “It’s her!”

It was “her,” and that means that it was the mysterious veiled woman!

Recovering instantly from the shock of his surprise, Gallup sprang out from behind the scenery and made a rush for the unknown.

“Hold on!” he cried. “B’gosh! yeou’ve gotter give a ’count of yerself, an’ don’t yeou fergit it!”

She started, turned on him, dodged. He flung out his hand and clutched at her, catching hold of the chain that encircled her neck and suspended her purse.

“I want yeou!” palpitated the Yankee youth. “Yeou’re jest the——”

Flirt!—the woman made a quick motion toward him. Something struck Ephraim in his eyes, burning like fire. He was nearly knocked down by the shock, and a yell of pain escaped his lips.

“I’m blinded!” he groaned.

It was true; he could not see.

With something like a scornful laugh, the woman flitted away and disappeared, leaving poor Ephraim bellowing with pain and clawing at his eyes, as if he would dig them out of his head.

“Murder!” he howled. “Oh, I’m dyin’! Somebody come quick! My eyes hev been put aout! Oh, wow-wow! Oh, I wisht I’d staid to hum on the farm!”

Down on the floor he fell, and over and over he rolled in the greatest agony.

Havener and some of the regular theater hands heard his wild cries and came rushing to the spot. They found him on the floor, kicking and thrashing about.

“What’s the matter?” demanded the stage manager.

Gallup did not hear him.

“I’m dyin’!” he blubbered. “Oh, it’s an awful way ter die! My eyes are gone! Ow-yow!”

“What is the matter?” Havener again cried, getting hold of the thrashing youth. “What has happened?”

“Stop her!” roared Ephraim, realizing that some person had come and thinking instantly that the woman must be detained. “Don’t let her git erway!”

“Don’t let who get away?”

“The woman! Ow-wow! Bring a pail of warter an’ let me git my head inter it! I must do somethin’ ter put aout the fire! Oh, my eyes! my eyes!”

“What is the matter with your eyes?”

“She threw somethin’ inter ’em.”

“She?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“The woman.”

“What woman?”

“The veiled woman—the one that has made all the trouble fer Merry! Oh, this is jest awful!”

“What are you talking about?” demanded Havener, impatiently. “There is no veiled woman here! Have you lost your senses?”

Then, realizing that they were doing nothing to prevent her from making her escape, Gallup sat up and howled:

“She was here! I saw her comin’ aout of a dressin’ room. Oh, dear! Yow! I tried to ketch her! Oh, my eyes! She flung somethin’ inter my face an’ put both my eyes out!”

“Something has been thrown into his eyes!” exclaimed Havener. “It’s red pepper! He is telling the truth! Somebody get some water! Somebody run to a drug store and get something for him to use on his eyes!”

“Darn it all!” shouted Gallup. “Let me die, ef I’ve gotter! but don’t let that infarnal woman git erway!”

“I will try to see to that,” said Havener, rushing away.

He dashed down to the stage door, but he was too late, for the doorkeeper told him the veiled woman had gone out.

“Why in the world did you let her in?” angrily demanded the irate stage manager.

“She said she belonged to the company.”

“She lied! She has half killed one of the company!”

“I heard the shouts,” said the doorkeeper, “and I thought somebody was hurt. But it wasn’t my fault.”

“If she tries to come in here again, seize and hold her. I’ll give you five dollars if you hold her till I can reach her! She is a female tiger!”

Then Havener rushed back to see what could be done for Gallup.

Groaning and crying, Gallup was washing the pepper from his eyes, which were fearfully inflamed and swollen. He could not see Havener, but heard his voice, and eagerly asked:

“Did ye ketch the dratted critter?”

“No; she got out before I reached the door.”

“Darn her!” grated Ephraim. “I say darn her! Never said ennything as bad as that about a female woman before, but I jest can’t help it this time! I won’t be able to see fer a week!”

“Oh, yes, you will,” assured Havener. “But I rather think your eyes will look bad for some time to come.”

“Here is something he had in his hand,” said one of the supers. “It’s her purse, I reckon; but there ain’t no money in it.”

Havener took it.

“Are you sure there wasn’t any money in it when you examined it?” he asked, sharply.

The super seemed to feel insulted, and he angrily protested that he would not have touched a cent if there had been five hundred dollars in it.

“But I notice you had curiosity enough to examine the contents of it,” came dryly from the stage manager. “I’ll just keep this. It may prove to be a valuable clew to the woman’s identity.”

Everything possible was done for Ephraim’s eyes, but it was a long time before he was much relieved from the agony he was suffering. Then he was taken to the hotel, with a bandage over his eyes, and a doctor came to attend him.

The physician said he would do everything possible to get Ephraim into shape to play that evening, but he did not give a positive assurance that he would be able to do so. As soon as Frank heard of the misfortune which had befallen the Vermont youth, he hastened to the hotel and to the room where Ephraim was lying on the bed.

Gallup heard his step and recognized it when he entered.

“I’m slappin’ glad yeou’ve come, Frank!” he exclaimed.

“And I am terribly sorry you have met with such a misfortune, Ephraim,” declared Merry.

“So be I, Frank—so be I! But I’m goin’ ter play my part ter-night ur bu’st my galluses tryin’! I ain’t goin’ to knock aout the show ef I kin help it.”

“That was not what I meant. I was sorry because of the pain you must have suffered.”

“Waal, it was ruther tough,” the faithful country lad confessed. “By gum! it was jest as ef somebody’d chucked a hull lot of coals right inter my lookers. It jest knocked me silly, same ez if I’d bin hit with a club.”

“How did it happen? Tell me all about it.”

Ephraim told the story of his adventure, finishing with:

“I kainder guess that red pepper warn’t meant fer me, Frank. That was meant fer yeou. That woman was in there ter fix yeou so yeou couldn’t play ter-night.”

“It’s quite likely you may be right, Ephraim; but she had to give it to you in order to escape. But where is this purse you snatched from her?”

“On the stand, there. Havener tuck possession of it, but I got him to leave it here, so yeou might see it right away when yeou came.”

Frank found the purse and opened it. From it he drew forth a crumpled and torn telegram. Smoothing this out, he saw it was dated at Castle Rock the previous day. It read as follows:

Frank jumped when he read that.

“By Jove!” he cried.

“Whut is it?” Ephraim eagerly asked.

“I believe I understand this.”

“Do ye?”

“Sure! This was from the man who fell from the train into the river—the man disguised as a woman, who attacked me on the rear platform!”

“Looks zif yeou might be right.”

“I am sure of it! The fellow escaped with his life! It is marvelous!”

“I sh’u’d say so!”

“He dispatched his accomplice, the woman, to let her know that he was living.”

“Yeou’ve struck it, Frank!”

“And she was the one who got out the accusing flyers, charging me with the crime of murder!”

“I bet!”

“The man is in this city now, and they are working together again.”

“I dunno’d I see whut they’re goin’ to make aout of it, but mebbe yeou do.”

“Not yet. They must be enemies I have made.”

“Who’s Mrs. Hayward Grace?”

“Never heard the name before.”

“Waal, he didn’t sign his name Hayward Grace, so it seems he ain’t her husband; don’t it, Frank?”

“He signed ‘P. F.’ Now, I wonder what one of my enemies can be fitted to those initials?”

“I dunno.”

“Nor do I. But this telegram has given me a feeling of relief, for I am glad to know the man was not drowned.”

“Drownin’s too good fer him! He oughter be hung!”

“Although my conscience was clear in the matter, I am glad to know that I was in no way connected with his death. Hodge will not be so pleased, for he will not stop to reason that the chances of a charge of murder being brought against us are about blotted out. Ephraim, I am very sorry you were hurt, but I’m extremely glad you snatched this purse and brought me this telegram. I shall take care of it. I shall use it to trace my enemies, if possible.”

“Waal, I’m glad I done somethin’, though I’d bin a ’tarnal sight gladder if I hed ketched that woman.”

Frank carefully placed the purse and the telegram in his pocket, where he knew it would be safe.

Assuring Ephraim that everything possible should be done for him, he hastened out.

That afternoon the rehearsal took place, with another person reading Ephraim’s part. It was feared that Gallup would not be able to see to play when it came night, but Frank hoped that he could, and the Vermont youth vowed he’d do it some way.

The rehearsal passed off fairly well, although there were some hitches. Havener looked satisfied.

“I’d rather it would go off this way than to have it go perfectly smooth,” he declared. “I’ve noticed it almost always happens that a good, smooth rehearsal just before a first performance means that the performance will go bad, and vice versa.”

Frank had not been long in the business, but he, also, had observed that it often happened as Havener had said.

The theater orchestra rehearsed with them, getting all the “cue music” arranged, and having everything in readiness for the specialties.

The night came at last, and the company gathered at the theater, wondering what the outcome would be.

Gallup was on hand, but he still had the bandage over his eyes. He was wearing it up to the last minute, so that he would give them as much rest as possible.

“Somebody’ll hev ter make me up ter-night,” he said. “I don’t believe I kin see well enough ter do that.”

Havener agreed to look after that.

While the various members were putting the finishing touches on their toilet and make-up, word came that people were pouring into the theater in a most satisfactory manner. The orchestra tuned up for the overture.

Frank went round to see that everybody was prepared. He had fallen into that habit, not feeling like depending on some one else to do it.

Most of the men were entirely ready. A few were making the last touches. Stella Stanley and Agnes Kirk were all ready to go on.

“Where is Cassie?” asked Merry.

“In the dressing room,” said Stella. “She told us not to wait for her. Said she would be right out.”

Frank went to the dressing room. The door was slightly open, and, through the opening, he saw Cassie. She had thrust back the sleeve of her left arm, and he saw a tiny instrument in her right hand. He knew in a twinkling what she was about to do.

With a leap, Frank went into that room and caught her by the wrist.

“Cassie!” he cried, guardedly. “You told me you had given it up! You told me you’d never use morphine again!”

“Frank!” she whispered, looking abashed. “I know I told you so! I meant it, but I must use it just once more—just to-night. I am not feeling at my best. I’m dull and heavy. You know how much depends on me. If I don’t do well I shall ruin everything. It won’t hurt me to use it just this once. The success of ‘True Blue’ may depend on it!”

“If the success of ‘True Blue’ depended on it beyond the shadow of a doubt, I would not let you use it, Cassie! Great heavens! girl, you are mad! If you fall again into the clutches of that fiend nothing can save you!”

“But the play——”

“Do you think I would win success with my play at the price of your soul! No, Cassie Lee! If I knew it meant failure I would forbid you to use the stuff in that syringe. Here, give it to me!”

He took it from her and put it into his pocket.

“Now,” he said, “it is out of your reach. You must play without it. There goes the overture. The curtain will go up in a few minutes. All I ask of you is to do your best, Cassie, let it mean success or failure.”

CHAPTER XXII.—THE END OF THE ROPE.

The theater was packed. Under no circumstances had Frank anticipated such an audience on the opening night. He felt sure that the advertising given him through the effort of his enemies to injure him had done much to bring people out. Another thing had brought them there. Curiosity led many of them to the theater. They remembered Merriwell’s first appearance in Puelbo and its outcome, and they had not forgotten how, in a speech from the stage, he had vowed that he would bring the play back there and give a successful performance. He had rewritten the piece, and it had been played in Denver to an invited audience, every member of which went away highly pleased. The Denver papers had pronounced in favor of it.

Puelbo people admired pluck and determination. They could not help feeling admiration for the dogged persistency of Frank Merriwell. And they really hoped he would make good his promise to give a successful performance.

Frank’s first entrance was carefully worked up to in the play, and he was astounded when he came laughing and singing onto the stage, to be greeted by a perfect whirlwind of applause. Nor did the applause cease till he had recognized it by bowing.

Then, as everything quieted down and the play was about to move on again, there came a terrible cry that rang through the house:

“Fire!”

Frank understood in a twinkling that it was a false alarm, given for the purpose of producing a stampede and raising the performance.

After that cry for a moment everybody sat as if turned to stone. It was the calm before the panic.

Then Frank’s voice rang out clear as a bell:

“There is no fire! Keep your seats!”

Some had sprung up, but his clear voice reached every part of the house, and it checked the movement.

“Fire! fire!”

Shrill and piercing was the cry, in the voice of a woman.

“Arrest that woman!” cried Frank. “She is trying to ruin this performance! She is the one who circulated a lying and malicious circular charging me with the crime of murder. It was a part of a plot to ruin me!”

Frank confessed afterward that he did not understand why the audience remained without stampeding after that second alarm. It must have been that there was a magic something in his voice and manner that convinced them and held them. At any rate, there was no rush for the doors.

All at once there was a commotion in the first balcony, from which the cries had come. Two policemen had seized a man and a woman, and the arrested pair were taken from the theater.

Quiet was restored, and Frank made a few soothing remarks to the audience, after which the play proceeded.

And now he had the sympathy of every person in the great audience. When an actor has once fairly won the sympathy of his audience, he is almost sure of success.

The first act went off beautifully. The storm and shipwreck at the close of the act took with the spectators. There was hearty applause when the curtain fell.

Frank had arranged that things should be rushed in making ready for the second act. He wanted no long waits between acts, for long waits weary the patience of the best audiences.

The second act seemed to go even better than the first, if such a thing were possible. The singing of the “Yale Quartet” proved a great hit, and they were obliged to respond to encore after encore. Cassie’s dancing and singing were well appreciated, and Frank, who was watching her, decided that she could not have done better under any circumstances. He did not know how hard she was working for success. He did not know that she had actually prayed that she might do better than she had ever done before in all her life.

The discomfiture of Spike Dubad at the close of the second act was relished by all.

At last the curtain rose on the third act, round which the whole plot of the play revolved. Now, the interest of the audience was keyed up to the right pitch, and the anxiety of the actors was intense.

The first scene went off all right, and then came the change to the scene where the boat race was shown on the river. Everything worked perfectly, and there was a tumult in that theater when the stage suddenly grew dark, just as the Yale boat was seen to forge into the lead.

And then, in a few moments, the distant sounds of cheering and the screaming of steam whistles seemed to burst out close at hand, filling the theater with an uproar of sound. Then up flashed the lights, and the open boathouse was shown, with the river beyond. The boats flashed in at the finish, the Yale cheer drowned everything else, and Frank Merriwell was brought onto the stage in the arms of his college friends.

The curtain came down, but the audience was standing and cheering like mad, as if it had just witnessed the success of its favorite in a real college race. The curtain went up for the tableau again and again, but that audience would not be satisfied till Frank Merriwell came out and said something.

Frank came at last, and such an ovation as he received it brought a happy mist to his eyes.

“There he is!” somebody cried. “He said he would come back here with his play and do the trick!”

“Well, he has done it!” cried another. “And he is the real Frank Merriwell, who has shown us the kind of never-say-die pluck that has made Yale famous the world over. Three cheers for Frank Merriwell!”

They were given. Then all Frank could say was a few choking words:

“My friends, I thank you from the bottom of my heart! You cannot know how much was depending on the success or failure of this play. Perhaps all my future career depended on it. I vowed I would win——”

“And you have!” shouted a voice.

“It seems so. Again, I thank you. I am too happy to say more. Words are idle now.”

He retired.

Frank Merriwell had won with his play; “True Blue” was a success. In his happiness he forgot his enemies, he forgot that two persons had been arrested in the balcony. It was not till the next morning when he was invited by a detective to come to the jail to see the prisoners that he thought of them.

The detective accompanied him.

“I have been on this fellow’s track for a long time,” he explained. “Spotted him in the theater last night, but was not going to arrest him till the show was over. The woman with him created the disturbance, and two policemen took them both in. I don’t want her for anything, but I shall take the man back to Chicago, to answer to the charge of forgery. I shall hold him here for requisition papers.”

The jail was reached, and first Frank took a look at the woman. He felt that she would prove to be the mysterious woman of the veil, and he was right. She looked up at him, and laughed.

“Good-morning, Mr. Merriwell,” she said. “Pres and I have made things rather warm for you, you must confess. I reckon we made a mistake last night. We’d both been looking on the wine when it was red, or we’d not attempted to stampede the audience.”

“Why, it is the woman who claimed to be Havener’s wife!” cried Frank.

“Here is the man,” said the detective.

Frank turned to another cell.

He was face to face with Philip Scudder, his old-time enemy, who had reached the end of his rope at last!

But, in the hour of victory, Frank gave little heed to those who had made his path to this present success a hard and stormy one.

He was successful!

As a playwright and as an actor he had won the palm of victory, the future seemed to promise all the rewards his energy and enterprise deserved.

He had started out from college with the determination to win wealth and fame. He had left the scenes of his early triumphs and first misfortunes, with the firm purpose to return honored and enriched by his own labors.

Now he was on the eve of accomplishing that purpose.

And as he looked into the future, the lines of will power and determination that had always marked his handsome countenance grew firmer, as he murmured:

“I will myself be ‘True Blue!’ Come what may, let my paths for the next few months be as untoward as they ever have been, difficulties shall but act as a spur to me in my purpose. For I shall be, soon, I hope, once more a son of ‘Old Eli.’”

THE END.

No. 41 of The Merriwell Series, entitled “Frank Merriwell’s Prosperity,” by Burt L. Standish, shows our hero as a successful playwright, and on a fair way to fame and fortune.

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