CHAPTER XI.

TWO “ANGELS.”

The “All-Star Combination” struck bad business and a run of all-around hard luck. The “ghost” did not “walk,” and distrust, dissension and rebellion arose. Barnaby Haley had all he could do to hold the company together. He did so, hoping that the “streak” would pass and good business would come.

The part of the country through which they were playing had been surfeited with “Uncle Tom,” and the people were tired of the old piece, so they refused to be aroused and inveigled into giving up their hard-earned money, for all of the glaring paper, the donkey, the “fierce bloodhounds,” and the “gold band.”

One night there was a “council of war” among the members of the company, and demands were made on Haley. He could not meet the demands, and the entire company threatened to “quit.”

The following morning several members of the company were missing, and the show was forced to go on without them, or suspend.

That night old Dan Lee filled more parts than he had ever before attempted on one occasion.

In order to get through with the piece, it was necessary for almost every actor to “fake,” and Frank was obliged to fill in by assuming a small part. He did it very well, saving the piece from complete disaster, although the thin audience went away far from satisfied.

When the next town was reached, it was found that their reputation had reached there in advance of them.

“We’ll be lucky if we take ten dollars to-night,” declared Havener, after discovering the true state of affairs.

Then one of the actresses “struck,” adding to the complications. It seemed doubtful if they could play that night at all, but, as a last, dying gasp, they resolved to make a bluff at it.

The actress had been required each night to ascend into the flies as the spirit of “Little Eva” after the death scene, and it was necessary for some other person to take her place.

That night it was arranged that Hans should dress in the flowing white robes, and be hoisted into the flies when the proper time came. The stage would be in semidarkness, and it was hoped that the audience would not catch on.

This struck Frank as very ludicrous. Merry believed the dissolution of the company must come on the following day, and so he was ready to play any sort of a practical joke. He resolved to have some sport at the Dutch lad’s expense.

To the astonishment of everybody, the theater filled surprisingly with spectators. Barnaby Haley rubbed his hands together with satisfaction and congratulated himself.

But the audience was there for sport, and they began almost as soon as the curtain went up to guy the players. As the play progressed, this “jollying” became more and more offensive and hard to bear.

Frank decided that, before the play was over, the audience would break out all together.

When the death scene came, Hans Dunnerwurst, arrayed in white robes, with wings attached to his shoulders, was crouching behind the couch on which “Little Eva” was supposed to be gasping her last.

Frank had arranged the tackle that was to hoist Hans, and he was waiting eagerly for the climax that was to come.

It came.

The footlights refused to grow dim, although a desperate attempt was made to lower them, and there was a hitch in the play.

At last, thoroughly desperate, Havener gave the signal for the men at the windlass to hoist away.

Something white rose swiftly into the air over the couch.

The “spirit of Little Eva” was ascending.

But such a spirit!

The hook of the tackle was attached to the seat of the Dutch lad’s trousers, so that he was held limply “amidships,” while his flowing robes had fallen away in such a manner that his clothing was exposed beneath.

Probably never before in the history of “Uncle Tom’s Cabin” on the stage had such a “spirit” ascended before the eyes of a staring, astounded audience.

“Hell-up!” howled Hans, kicking and squawking, as he sailed toward the flies. “Come und safe me pefore you vos a deat man!”

Then there was a hitch, for the windlass refused to work, and there the struggling Dutch lad hung in full view of the now laughing spectators.

Missiles began to whizz through the air.

Spat!—a stale egg struck Hans behind the ear.

Whizz—plunk!

A small cabbage sent him spinning round and round like a top.

“Nail him!”

“Soak him!”

“Give it to him!”

“Hooray!”

The audience was in an uproar, and it seemed as if every person there had brought something to throw.

“Hel-lup!” bellowed the unfortunate lad. “I vos peing kilt alretty yet!”

With the band, Ephraim Gallup roared with laughter. He knew a practical joke had been perpetrated, and somehow it had the flavor of Frank Merriwell’s old-time larks, so he was immensely amused.

As Hans stopped revolving for a moment, he shook his fist at Ephraim, gurgling:

“Vait, vait! Uf I aind’t kilt pefore I die, I vill got efen mit you! You vos a——”

Swat!—a rotten apple struck him fairly in the mouth, stopping his flow of speech.

“This is the funniest show I ever seen!” shouted a man in the audience. “Ain’t I glad I come!”

Some boys began to sing “I Want to Be an Angel.”

Then the windlass began to work again, and the pelted youth was drawn up out of sight, just as Havener succeeded in arousing the curtain boy to let the curtain down.

It was not necessary to finish the play. The audience did not expect it, and the theater was emptied.

Hans Dunnerwurst was so angry that he couldn’t talk.

Havener did not have much to say, for he decided that it would be a waste of words, for the company was pretty sure to disband on the following day.

That night the stage-manager accompanied Cassie Lee when she left the theater. It was dark on the side street, and a man sprang on them almost as soon as they came out by the stage entrance.

“Now I’ve caught ye together!” snarled a familiar voice. “I’ll finish you both this time!”

“Storms!” screamed the girl.

“Yes, Storms!” grated the man. “Take that!”

“That” was a bullet from a revolver aimed straight at Cassie.

But the bullet did not touch her.

Frank Merriwell had followed them from the building, and he leaped on their assailant, bearing Storms to the ground.

The revolver was discharged again, and Frank felt the powder singe his wrist.

Then Havener came to Frank’s aid, and, between them, they disarmed and captured the ruffian, beating him into a stunned condition with the butt of his own revolver.

That night Storms lay in the town’s “cooler,” and on the following day he was tried for murderous assault and held for the grand jury.

Havener and Cassie promised to appear against him.

The stage-manager went to Frank, like a man, and said:

“Merriwell, I don’t know what the secret is between you and Cassie, and I don’t want to know till you get ready to tell me, but I want to ask your pardon for making a fool of myself over it.”

“That’s all right,” assured Frank. “I had forgotten it.”

“I hadn’t. I could hate you even if you did save my life, but since you saved Cassie’s, I can hate you no longer. I believe Storms’ first shot would have killed her.”

“Perhaps so.”

“You bore him down just in time. Keep the secret, and be my friend.”

He held out his hand, which Frank grasped.

“All right,” said Merry; “I am glad to be your friend. As for the secret, some day Cassie will tell you that herself. We may part here, but I wish you good fortune.”

“Part?” said Havener. “I hope not. Haley has struck an angel.”

“A what?”

“An angel—a chap with money who will back the show. We are going to reorganize and go on.”

“Hurrah!” cried Frank. “That is good news!”