Frank Merriwell's New Comedian Part 17

She knew not that the man had been swallowed beneath the quicksands of the Big Sandy.

The tragic occurrences of the night hastened the departure of Frank and his friends from Twin Star Ranch, although Kent Carson urged them to remain. Frank had, however, finished his play, which, thanks to the prompt act of Ephraim, had been only slightly injured by its fiery experience, and was anxious to put it in rehearsal.

So, a day or so later, Frank, Bart and Ephraim were once more in Denver.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE OLD ACTOR'S CHAMPIONS.

Along a street of Denver walked a man whose appearance was such as to attract attention wherever seen. That he had once been an actor could be told at a glance, and that he had essayed great roles was also apparent.

But, alas! it was also evident that the time when this Thespian trod the boards had departed forever, and with that time his glory had vanished.

His ancient silk hat, although carefully brushed, was shabby and grotesque in appearance. His Prince Albert coat, b.u.t.toned tight at the waist, and left open at the bosom, was shabby and shining, although it also betokened that, with much effort, he had kept it clean. His trousers bagged at the knees, and there were signs of mannish sewing where two or three rents and breaks had been mended. The legs of the trousers were very small, setting tightly about his thin calves. His shoes were in the worst condition of all. Although they had been carefully blackened and industriously polished, it was plain that they could not hold together much longer. The soles were almost completely worn away, and the uppers were breaking and ripping. The "linen" of this frayed gentleman seemed spotlessly white. His black silk necktie was knotted in a broad bow.

The man's face was rather striking in appearance. The eyes had once been clear and piercing, the mouth firm and well formed; but there was that about the chin which belied the firmness of the mouth, for this feature showed weakness. The head was broad at the top, with a high, wide brow.

The eyes were set so far back beneath the bushy, grayish eyebrows that they seemed like red coals glowing in dark caverns--for red they were and bloodshot. The man's long hair fell upon the collar of his coat.

And on his face was set the betraying marks of the vice that had wrought his downfall. The bloodshot eyes alone did not reveal it, but the purplish, unhealthy flush of the entire face and neck plainly indicated that the demon drink had fastened its death clutch upon him and dragged him down from the path that led to the consummation of all his hopes and aspirations.

He had been drinking now. His unsteady step told that. He needed the aid of his cane in order to keep on his feet. He slipped, his hat fell off, rolled over and over, dropped into the gutter, and lay there.

The unfortunate man looked round for the hat, but it was some time before he found it. When he did, in attempting to pick it up, he fell over in the gutter and rolled upon it, soiling his clothes. At last, with a great effort, he gathered himself up, and rose unsteadily to his feet with his hat and cane.

"What, ho!" he muttered, thickly. "It seems the world hath grown strangely unsteady, but, perchance, it may be my feet."

Some boys who had seen him fall shouted and laughed at him. He looked toward them sadly.

"Mock! mock! mock!" he cried. "Some of you thoughtless brats may fall even lower than I have fallen!"

"Well, I like that--I don't think!" exclaimed one of the boys. "I don't 'low no jagged stiff to call me a brat!"

Then he threw a stone at the old actor, striking the man on the cheek and cutting him slightly.

The unfortunate placed his crushed and soiled hat on his head, took out a handkerchief, and slowly wiped a little blood from his cheek, all the while swaying a bit, as if the ground beneath his feet were tossing like a ship.

"'Now let it work,'" he quoted. "'Mischief, thou art afoot; take thou what course thou wilt. How now, fellow?'"

The thoughtless young ruffians shouted with laughter.

"Looker the old duffer!" cried one. "Ain't that a picture fer yer!"

"Look!" exclaimed the actor. "Behold me with thy eyes! Even lower than I have fallen may thou descend; but I have aspired to heights of which thy sordid soul may never dream. Out upon you, dog!"

With these words he reached the walk and turned down the street.

"Let's foller him!" cried one of the gang. "We can have heaps of fun with him."

"Come on! come on!"

With a wild whoop, they rushed after the man. They reached him, danced around him, pulled his coat tails, jostled him, crushed his hat over his eyes.

"Give the old duffer fits!" cried the leader, who was a tough young thug of about eighteen.

There were seven boys in the gang, and four or five others came up on the run, eager to have a hand in the "racket."

The old actor pushed his hat back from his eyes, folded his arms over his out-thrown breast and gazed with his red, sunken eyes at the leader.

As if declaiming on the stage he spoke:

"'You have done that you should be sorry for.

There is no terror, Ca.s.sius, in your threats; For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pa.s.s me by as the idle wind, Which I respect not.'"

This caused the boys to shout with laughter.

"Git onter ther guy!"

"What ails him?"

"He's locoed."

"Loaded, you mean."

"He's cracked in the nut."

"And he needs another crack on the nut," shouted the leader, dancing up, and again knocking the hat over the old man's eyes.

Once more pushing it back, the aged actor spoke in his deep voice, made somewhat husky by drink:

"Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen and lovers! hear me for my cause; and be silent that you may hear; believe me for mine honor; and have respect to mine honor, that you may believe; censure me in your wisdom, and awaken your senses, that you may----"

"Oh, that's too much!" cried the ruffianly young leader. "We can't stand that kind of guy. What're yer givin' us, anyway?"

"He's drunk!" shouted several.

"Alas and alack!" sighed the old man. "I fear thou speakest the truth.

"'Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And the fall of many kings.'"

"That's what causes your fall," declared the ruffianly leader, as he tripped the actor, causing him to fall heavily.

"What's this?" exclaimed Frank Merriwell, who, with Hodge for a companion, just returned from Twin Star Ranch, at this moment came into view round a corner. "What are those fellows doing to that poor man?"

"Raising hob with him," said Bart, quickly. "The old fellow is drunk and they are abusing him."