CHAPTER XVII.

FRANK’S FIRST APPEARANCE.

Frank stood behind the scenes, ready to make his first entrance. Outwardly he was as calm as a clock, but inwardly he was not so calm. Anyone looking at him closely must have observed that his eyes shone with a strange light. Whether his face was pale or not could not be told, for the make up concealed that.

The play had started off all right, and already the audience was giving it close attention.

The house was good.

Cassie had found an opportunity to whisper to Frank:

“Keep a stiff upper lip, my boy. I’ll bet on you. You’re a winner, and I know it.”

“Thank you, Cassie,” he smiled, quietly.

“Dunton’s the one that’s liable to go to pieces to-night, for he’s in a deuce of a state. He’s been drinking, too. I’ll bet he gets stiff after the show. That fellow hates you so he’d like to kill you now. Look out for him.”

“All right.”

“So long, and good luck.”

“So long.”

He saw by her appearance that she had resorted to her regular stimulant, and again he thought:

“Poor Cassie!”

Even in that moment when his own affairs weighed on him so heavily he thought of another.

What was that? One of the actors was speaking, and it was the speech that preceded his entrance.

The moment had arrived at last!

Frank nerved himself, and then he—entered.

For a single instant it seemed that his tongue was numb in his mouth and he would not be able to speak, and then, with grace and dignity he advanced down the center, smiling and delivering his first speech.

The moment he gave utterance to the first words his embarrassment left him and he was quite at ease. He made a fine appearance and impressed the audience favorably.

Frank went through the scene splendidly, for it was the one he had rehearsed most, barring the duel scene. He had the air and bearing of a professional actor, and no one in the audience could have imagined him a novice.

As Dunton was not on the stage at the time, he had a chance to stand in the first entrance at the left and watch everything. His heart was swelling with rage, and he did his best to attract Merriwell’s attention, hoping to break Frank up by a sneering look.

But Frank gave strict attention to the people on the stage, and neither glanced toward the wings nor the audience. In fact, when he left the stage he had not seen a single person besides those with whom he had had business before the footlights.

His exit was effective, and there was a ripple of applause as he delivered the final speech of the scene and retired from the stage.

Dunton was chewing his tongue viciously, and swearing beneath his breath.

“Oh, the fellow shall have a tumble before the piece is over!” the stage villain muttered. “I’ll see to it that his light is dimmed. He shall not triumph to-night.”

Havener received Frank as he came off.

“You did first rate that time, Merriwell,” he said, encouragingly. “If you can keep that up, you will make a hit, but you know the hardest is to come.”

“I know,” came quietly from Frank’s lips.

“Do you feel shaky?”

“Not a bit.”

“That’s good! You will do it!”

Frank saw that the stage-manager was giving him all the encouragement possible.

Havener himself was playing a part, but he had very little business on the stage with Merriwell.

Cassie soon came round and congratulated Frank.

“Merriwell, my boy, you did it great!” declared the little soubrette. “I was proud of you. You made a splendid appearance. If I wasn’t stuck on Ross, I’d be head over heels in love with you this minute.”

“Don’t make me blush, Cassie!” protested Frank, embarrassed.

“Oh, I ain’t giving you taffy; this is straight goods. I saw Dunton watching you. His face was like a thundercloud, and he glared as if he longed to kill you. Didn’t you see him?”

“No.”

“He was standing in the first entrance on the other side. I know he tried to catch your eye.”

“What for?”

“Thought he could break you up.”

“Well, he didn’t succeed.”

“And I was mighty glad. He’s a bad egg. Some day he’ll hit you a slam in the back that will hurt you.”

“Oh, I rather think he’ll drop it after a while.”

“He won’t drop it, for he ain’t that kind. He’s a snake. But I must go on in a minute. See you later. Keep the good work up.”

She skipped away.

When Frank next went on, many of his lines were with Dunton.

Then it was that Dunton did his best to break Merry up. He transposed his speeches, getting everything in, but failing to give Frank more than a third of the cues, and often the continuity of the conversation depended entirely on the cues.

Of course, Frank was placed at a disadvantage, but he faked as well as he could and covered the breaks as far as possible. Indeed, he astonished and disgusted Dunton by his skill in carrying the scene along.

And when Dunton left the stage Havener was waiting for him, looking decidedly ugly.

“Look here, man!” came harshly from the stage-manager; “what do you mean by this kind of work?”

Dunton pretended to be astonished.

“What kind of work?” he asked, with pretended innocence.

“You know what kind of work!”

“I do not, sir. I am sure——”

“That will do! You did your best to rattle Merriwell!”

“Nothing of the sort. I——”

“Don’t lie about it, Dunton! I have been in this business too long not to see through such tricks.”

“Mr. Havener, this is the third time to-day——”

“It is the third time I have been forced to tell you something you do not like to hear, and it will be the last time. If I have to make any further talk to you this day it will be to tell you that you are discharged.”

This was straight talk, and Dunton could not misunderstand it.

“You dare not discharge me without good cause. I have a contract with Barnaby Haley, and you cannot give me any release.”

Havener snapped his fingers.

“That for your contract!” he said. “It was with the old ‘All-Star Combination,’ and does not hold with the new company. You have no contract with Haley and Hawkins, I know that, and, if I see fit to release you, out you go. So now be careful.”

“Such threats are uncalled for, Mr. Havener.”

“I am talking business to you, for there is no other way to handle you. You are so sore on Merriwell that you seem crazy to do him some sort of injury. If you keep it up, you will injure yourself—nobody else.”

“I shall appeal to Mr. Haley.”

“Do so.”

“I shall.”

“I hope you will. The next time you have lines with Merriwell, however, give him his proper cues. If you don’t——”

Havener stopped of his own accord, and the look he gave Dunton was more significant than words. Then he turned away.

Thoroughly sore and heartsick, Dunton watched the climax of the first act, which was worked out splendidly and received a burst of applause as the curtain descended.

Then, behind the scenes, Dunton saw the members of the company gather around Merriwell and congratulate him.

“Gods!” grated Frank’s new enemy. “I can’t stand that!”

He rushed away to one of the dressing rooms, where he raved like a mad person.

Having worked himself up to this pitch in his hatred for Merriwell, Dunton was ready for almost anything. He felt that he must ease his mind by talking to somebody, and he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction when Sargent came in to make a change in his costume and make up.

“What do you think of it?” he hissed.

“Of what?” asked Sargent, as he went about making the necessary change.

“Of what!” snarled Dunton. “Why, curse it! of this Merriwell business, of course!”

“I think he did remarkably well,” said Sargent, shifting his collar and tie.

Dunton caught his breath and looked dazed.

“Did well?” he muttered.

“I should say so,” murmured Sargent, looking in the glass as he adjusted the knot in his tie. “I think it was about the best job I ever saw, considering the circumstances. I don’t understand how he did it so well on such short notice. The fact that he committed the lines and was able to speak them on the stage is something beyond my understanding.”

Dunton made a rush, caught his chum by the collar, swung him round and glared into his face.

“Have you got it, too?” he snarled.

“Eh? Got what?” asked Sargent.

“This foolishness over that fellow. Everybody else seems to have it, and now, by the eternal skies! you’ve caught it. It’s too much! Now I will kill him!”

“Better not,” said Sargent, calmly.

“What do you mean? Are you going back on me?”

“No.”

“Well, then, what——”

“I’m simply going to let Merriwell alone in the future, and I advise you as a friend to do the same.”

“To blazes with your advice—and you, too! You’re a squealer! That’s what’s the matter with you!”

Sargent simply shrugged his shoulders and went on making the necessary changes.

“A squealer!” repeated Dunton, grinding the words derisively through his teeth. “You are scared of Merriwell, and so you are going to quit. I hate a quitter!”

“Now you are getting very excited, Dug,” murmured Sargent, applying some powder to his neck. “What you need just now is a good, cold shower bath.”

“What you need is a good thumping!”

“That’s what you said Merriwell needed, and I went up to his room with you to watch you give it to him,” reminded Sargent.

“Bah!” Dunton almost howled. “So you fling about that! I didn’t think this of you! You’ve gone back on me.”

“No, dear fellow.”

“Yes, you have! You’re afraid of Merriwell! You are a blamed coward!”

“In your excitement, Dug, you are saying a number of unpleasant things. I have found out a few things about Merriwell, and I know he is a bad man to fool with.”

“Rot!”

“All right; but take my advice and let him alone.”

“I’ll let him alone when I’ve done him up.”

“And you’ll get done up yourself, old man. Why, this Merriwell was in Yale less than a year ago, and was called the champion all-around athlete of the college. He was a great oarsman, football player, sprinter and jumper. As for scrapping, they say he whipped the bully of the college without getting a mark.”

“Lies—all lies!” palpitated Dunton. “I don’t believe the fellow ever saw Yale College.”

“The trouble with you is that you won’t believe anything you don’t want to believe; but I guess this stuff about Merriwell is straight goods.”

“Lies, lies!” Frank’s enemy snarled. “How do people know so much about him all at once?”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“He’s been telling such stories, and that is enough to stamp them as lies.”

“I guess not. I remember seeing his name in the papers. Frank Merriwell was often spoken of in connection with Yale sports and athletics.”

“What of that?”

“Isn’t that enough to prove what I’ve been telling you has some foundation, at least?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“The Frank Merriwell spoken of may have been quite another fellow. I know it was not this chap.”

“How do you know?”

“Why, didn’t we pick him up on the road, and hadn’t he been working on a railroad! Such a famous Yale man wouldn’t be shoveling coal on a railroad.”

“I don’t know. I’ve heard he lost his fortune and was forced to leave college and go to work.”

“I don’t take any stock in such a fairy story, and you are a fool to believe it. He’s just a common upstart, and I am going to take the starch out of him.”

“Well, I’ve warned you. I am your friend, Dug; but I’m not monkeying with Merriwell any more. You’ve had bad luck at it. Havener is sore on you, and——”

“I’m sore on him.”

“He’s the stage-manager, and he stands in with Haley. He can get you fired if he wants to do so.”

“They can’t get along without me.”

“That’s where you make a mistake. They’d find a way to get along without you.”

Dunton looked thoroughly disgusted.

“I see you have gone back on me, even though you say not,” he said, dejectedly. “I didn’t think it of you, Art!”

He turned away, and Sargent quickly stepped to his side, saying:

“I am still your friend, Dug, but I can’t afford to get into trouble and lose my engagement. You know I’ve got a mother——”

Dunton flung off the hand his friend had placed on his arm.

“The same old mother cry!” he sneered. “You pretend you send all your money to your mother, and that’s why you’re forever broke. That mother of yours is in a Tenderloin flat in New York, I’ll bet, and it’s ten to one she’s drinking fizz with another popper to-night. I’ve sized you up as a good, soft thing. You’ve had your leg pulled till it’s a wonder you can walk without crutches. Soft things always make me tired!”

He left the dressing room, with Sargent standing in the middle of the floor.

“All right!” muttered the latter; “all right, Dunton! I have been your friend, but I rather think this ends it. My conscience won’t trouble me if I quit you after this.”