Frank Merriwell's New Comedian Part 19

"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Did you say you were at liberty?"

"Just at present, yes."

"Then, if I can get you, you are the very man I want."

The old man shook his head.

"Your play can contain no part I would care to interpret," he said, with apparent regret.

"But I think it is possible that you might be induced to play the part.

I had a man for it, but I lost him. I was on my way to the Orpheum, to see if I could not find another to fill his place."

"What sort of a part is it?" asked Burns, plainly endeavoring to conceal his eagerness.

"It is comedy."

"What!" cried the old actor, aghast and horrified. "Wouldst offer me such a part? Dost think I--I who have played _Hamlet_, _Brutus_, _Lear_ and _Oth.e.l.lo_--would stoop so low? 'This is the most unkindest cut of all!'"

"But there is money in it--good, sure money. I have several thousand dollars to back me, and I am going out with my piece to make or break. I shall keep it on the road several weeks, at any cost."

The old actor shook his head.

"It cannot be," he sadly said. "I am no comedian. I could not play the part."

"If you will but dress as you are, if you will add a little that is fantastic to your natural acting, you can play the part. It is that of a would-be tragedian--a Shakespearian actor."

"Worse and worse!" moaned the old man. "You would have me burlesque myself! Out upon you!"

"I will pay you thirty-five dollars a week and railroad expenses. How can you do better?"

"Thirty-fi----"

The old actor gasped for breath. He seemed unable for some moments to speak. It was plain that the sum seemed like a small fortune to him. At last his dignity and his old nature rea.s.serted itself.

"Young man," he said, "dost know what thou hast done? I--I am William Shakespeare Burns! A paltry thirty-five per week! Bah! Go to!"

"Well, I'll make it forty, and I can get a hundred good men for that at this time of the season."

The aged Thespian bowed his head. Slowly he spoke, again quoting:

"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would play upon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck to the heart of my mystery."

"But the money, you seem to need that. Money is a good thing to have."

"'Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.' It is true. Ah! but how can I thus lower myself?"

"As you have said, the good old days are past. It is useless to live for them. Live for the present--and the future. Money is base stuff, but we must have it. Come, come; I know you can do the part. We'll get along splendidly."

"'Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.' As Ca.s.sius saith, 'Men at some time in their lives are masters of their fates;' but I think for me that time is past. But forty dollars--ye G.o.ds!"

"It is better than reading to a scant dozen listeners at crossroads schoolhouses."

"Ah, well! You take advantage of my needs. I accept. But I must have a dollar at once, with which to purchase that which will drown the shame my heart doth feel."

"You shall have the dollar," a.s.sured Frank. "Come along with us, and we will complete arrangements."

So the old actor was borne away, outwardly sad, but inwardly congratulating himself on the greatest streak of luck he had come upon in many moons.

CHAPTER IX.

WELCOME LETTERS.

Frank Merriwell was determined to give a performance of his revised play in Denver for advertising purposes. He had the utmost confidence in "True Blue," as he had rechristened the piece, but the report of his failure in Puelbo had spread afar in dramatic circles, being carried broadcast by the Eastern dramatic papers, and managers were shy of booking the revised version.

Some time before, after receiving the fortune from the Carson City Bank, Merry had made a fair and equal division, sending checks for their share to Browning, Diamond and Rattleton. Toots' share he had been unable to forward, not knowing the address of the faithful darky, who had been forced to go forth into the world to win his way when Frank met with the misfortune that caused him to leave Yale.

And now came three letters from three Yale men. Diamond's was brief.

"Dear Old Comrade: It is plain you are still a practical joker. Your very valuable (?) check on the First National of Denver received. I really do not know what to do with so much money! But I am afraid you are making a mistake by using a check on an existing bank. Why didn't you draw one on 'The First Sand Bank of Denver'? It would have served your purpose just as well.

"Can't write much now, as I am making preparations for vacation, which is only a month away. I'm afraid it will be a sorry vacation for me this year; not much like the last one. Then we were all together, and what times we did have at Fardale and in Maine! I'm blue to-night, old friend, and do not feel like writing. I fancy it has made me feel bluer than ever to read in the _Dramatic Reflector_ of your unfortunate failure in Puelbo and the disbanding of your company after your backer deserted you. Hard luck, Frank--hard luck! All the fellows have been hoping you would make money enough to come back here in the fall, but all that is over now.

"What are you doing? Can't you find time to write to us and let us know? We are very anxious about you. I will write you again when I am more in the mood. Hoping your fortune may turn for the better, I remain,

"Always your friend,

"Jack Diamond."

Frank read this aloud to Hodge and Gallup in his room at the Metropole Hotel.

"Waal, by ginger!" exploded Ephraim. "What do yeou think of that?"

"Now you see what your reputation as a practical joker is doing for you, Merry," said Hodge.

"Well, I'll be hanged if I don't believe Diamond considers it a joke!"

laughed Frank.

"Of course he does," nodded Bart.

"Well, he is putting a joke on himself. He'll be somewhat surprised when he discovers that."

Ephraim began to grin.

"That's so, by thutter!" he cried.