Frank Merriwell's New Comedian Part 31

"Mr. Merriwell," he said, "I will surprise you by the manner in which I'll play my part this afternoon. It shall be burlesque of a kind that'll satisfy you."

The performance was to begin at two o'clock. Some time before that people began to arrive, and they came fast. At two o'clock there were nearly five hundred persons in the auditorium.

The company was all made up and waiting behind the scenes.

Ca.s.sie Lee started to find Frank to ask him how he liked her make-up. In a corner behind the scenes she saw a man stopping near a ma.s.s of piled-up scenery. Something about the man's appearance and his actions attracted her attention. She saw him pick up a can and pour some of the contents on the scenery. Then he crouched down there, taking a match safe from his pocket.

In a moment it dawned on Ca.s.sie that the fellow was up to deviltry. He had saturated the scenery with oil, and he was about to set it on fire!

Ca.s.sie screamed, and Frank Merriwell, who was near at hand, heard her.

He came bounding to the spot, just as the startled man lighted his match.

"Quick, Frank!" cried Ca.s.sie. "He's setting the scenery afire!"

Frank saw the fellow and leaped at him. The scenery flared up where the match had touched it. Then the fire bug turned to run.

Merriwell was on him, had him, hurled him down.

"No, you don't, you dog!" grated Frank. "You shall pay for this dastardly trick!"

Ca.s.sie, with rare presence of mind, caught up a rug, which happened to be near, and beat out the fire before it had gained much headway.

A terrible struggle was going on between Frank and the man he had captured. The fellow was fighting with all his strength to hurry off and escape.

"No, you don't!" came through Merriwell's teeth. "I know you! You are the chap who entered my room! You it was who attempted to drug Burns so that this performance would be ruined! And now you have made a fatal mistake by attempting to fire the theater. I have you, and I shall hold you. You will be safely lodged behind prison bars for this trick."

"Curse you!" panted the man.

"That does not hurt me," said Merry. "Now, be quiet."

He pinned the fellow to the floor and held him till others came up. Then the man's hands were tied.

"Now, we'll have a look at him," said Merry, rolling the captive over on his back and pulling the old hat from his head.

Then he gave a cry of amazement, staggering back.

Hodge was there, and he was no less astounded.

Gallup was speechless with astonishment and incredulity.

"The dead alive!" cried Frank.

The man he had captured was the one he believed beneath the quicksands of Big Sandy River, Leslie Lawrence!

"I'm not dead yet!" grated Lawrence. "Fowler went down in the quicksands, but I managed to float away. I hid under the river's bank, and there I stayed, like a hunted wolf, till you gave up looking for me.

I swore to settle the score with you, but----"

"You tried hard enough. You were the one who entered my room at the hotel."

"Was I? Prove it."

"I don't have to. The job you tried to do here is enough. That will put you safely away. Somebody call an officer."

An officer was called, and Lawrence was taken away.

The audience in front had heard some of the commotion behind the scenes and had grown rather restless, but they were soon calmed. An orchestra was on hand to play, and everything was carried out as if it had been a regular performance.

The first act went off well, and it received mild applause. The second act seemed to take full better, but still, the audience had not been aroused to any great show of enthusiasm.

Then came the third act. The first surprise was Burns. He literally convulsed the audience by the manner in which he burlesqued the Shakespearian tragedian. He astonished Frank, for Merry had not dreamed the old actor could be so intensely funny. Even Hodge was seen to smile once!

When Burns came off after doing an exceptionally clever piece of work, which caused the audience to applaud most heartily, Frank met him and grasped his hand, saying:

"My dear Mr. Burns, you have made the comedy hit of the piece! Your salary shall be fifty dollars a week, instead of forty."

But William Shakespeare Burns burst into tears, sobbing brokenly:

"The comedy hit of the piece! And I have broken my own heart!"

It was impossible to cheer him up.

The boat race followed swiftly, and it wrought the audience up to a high pitch of enthusiasm and excitement. When the curtain came down, there was a perfect shout of applause, such as an enthusiastic Western audience alone can give.

"Frank Merriwell! Frank Merriwell!" was the cry that went up from all parts of the house.

Frank was obliged to come before the curtain and make a speech, which he did gracefully and modestly. When he was behind the curtain again, Havener had him by the hand, saying:

"You will get some rousing press notices to-morrow, Merriwell! This play will be the hit of your life!"

A manager of one of the local theaters came behind the scenes and offered Frank three thousand dollars for the piece. When Frank declined, the man promptly made it five thousand, but even that sum was not accepted.

Then came the fourth act, in which Burns again appeared as the burlesque tragedian. In this he was to repeat a parody on _Hamlet's_ soliloquy, but, apparently, before he was aware of it, he began to give the soliloquy itself.

In a moment the man had flung off the air of the clown. He straightened to his full height, his eyes gleamed with a strange fire, his chest heaved, and his voice sounded clear as the ring of steel. He electrified every person who heard him. With all the dramatic fire of a Booth, he swung into the soliloquy, and a hush fell over the audience. He held them spellbound, he swayed them at his will, he thrilled them as never had they been thrilled. At that moment William Shakespeare Burns was the tragedian sublime, and it is probable that he reached such heights as he had never before attained.

He finished. It was over, and then, realizing what he had done, he tottered off the stage.

Then the audience applauded long and loud, trying to call him back again; but behind the scenes he had fallen into Frank Merriwell's arms, faintly murmuring:

"It is finished!"

Frank bore the man to a dressing room. The play went on to the end without a break, but it was not necessary for Burns to enter again.

When the curtain fell on the final act, Havener came hurrying to Merry:

"Burns wants to see you in the dressing room," he said. "You had better come at once."

Frank went there. The moment he saw the old actor, who was reclining on some rugs, his face ashen, his eyes looking dim and sunken still deeper into his head, Frank said: