CHAPTER XX.

BARNABY HALEY RECEIVES A TELEGRAM.

“Barnaby Haley——”

“Here! That’s my name.”

“Telegram, sir.”

“Let’s have it.”

“Thirty cents, collect.”

“Who’s it from?”

“Don’t know. Sign for it here on the book.”

Barnaby Haley hesitated about going down into his pocket and bringing up thirty cents for a message that might be in the interest of the sender far more than himself. The “Empire Theater Comedy Company” had been “up against” bad business for a week, and Haley, who was associate manager with Zenas Hawkins, the “angel,” was not flush with money.

Up to date, the “angel” had seen very little of success, and he was beginning to weary of paying bills on every hand and scarcely getting a chance to count the box office receipts.

Thus it came about that Hawkins was nearing the end of his string, and Haley knew it. Realizing that the time might soon come when the “angel” would refuse to be milked any longer and take himself out of the company entirely, Mr. Haley was holding onto every cent with the grip of grim death.

But the messenger boy who had brought the telegram to the office of the hotel at which the theatrical company was stopping held onto the yellow envelope in a manner that indicated that he was not to be fooled into letting go of it till he had “the price.”

With a sigh, Haley parted with a silver quarter and a nickel and obtained the message, for which he signed on the messenger’s book.

“Any reply, sir?” asked the boy, waiting.

“I’ll see.”

Haley tore it open. A moment later, as he read the message, he started violently and turned pale. Then he said something that would not look well in print.

Several members of the company were sitting around in the office, smoking, chatting and telling stories. Now they were watching the corpulent manager, for all realized that disaster might overtake the company any day, and they dreaded the awful prospect of being stranded so far from New York and the Rialto.

Frank Merriwell had just finished writing a letter at the writing table. As he was sealing it, he heard the exclamation that fell from Haley’s lips.

Ephraim Gallup, sitting near, guardedly drawled:

“It kainder strikes me, b’gosh! the old man’s heerd something he don’t jest like. I’ll bet a dollar the old show goes bu’st inside a week. Yeou don’t darst take me up, Frank.”

“It’s certain there’s trouble in the air,” said Frank, in a low tone. “We’ve been doing a losing business for more than a week.”

“If we bu’st up, I s’pose yeou’ll blame me fer gettin’ yeou inter such a darn scrape?”

“No; you didn’t know what was coming. Besides that, I have had some experiences of value to me.”

“Yeou’ve learnt something abaout the business, anyhaow.”

“Yes, and I have had some experience as an actor.”

“And yeou’ve jest shown ’em that yeou was no slouch. Half the old han’s are jealous of ye, but they don’t say so.”

“Oh, not quite as bad as that, Ephraim.”

“Yes, sur, jest that. I don’t take back a bit of it. They don’t like to see an amatoor do better’n they kin.”

“But Lawrence is with us now, and I shall not get much show in the future. You know they had to run me into his parts when he was ill.”

“I bet yeou git a chance, jest the same. Roscoe Havener ain’t goin’ to keep a stiff on a part when he’s got a good man right handy that he kin run in.”

“Well, if what you are afraid of happens, it’s little good my opportunities will do me. I feel a strange curiosity to know the contents of that message.”

Barnaby Haley had crumpled the yellow sheet in one thick hand, and the look on his phlegmatic face showed he was unusually aroused.

“Answer, sir?” asked the messenger.

“No!” snarled the manager.

The boy dodged.

“Needn’t bite my head off!” he exclaimed.

Then he skipped away.

Havener, the stage-manager, came down from his room and entered the office. Haley saw him, and fanned him to approach.

The stage-manager saw at a glance that something was the matter. Barnaby Haley’s dignity was broken. He was angry, disgusted, desperate.

“What is it?” asked Havener.

“It’s blazes!” growled Haley.

“Trouble?”

“Heaps of it.”

“What?”

“Read that.”

Haley thrust the crumpled telegram into Havener’s hand. The stage-manager smoothed it out and read the message. Then he whistled.

“That’s queer,” he observed.

“It’s a thundering scrape!” grated the corpulent manager. “Collins ought to be shot!”

“Did you hear that name, Frank?” asked Ephraim.

“Yes,” nodded Merry.

“Know what they’re talkin’ abaout?”

“Yes. Collins is the advance man.”

“Sure pop. There’s somethin’ the matter with him, an’ that’ll bu’st the show sure. No show kin run ’thout a corkin’ good man ahead of it, and——”

“Isn’t Collins a good man?”

“He’s all right, but somethin’s happened. All the bad luck is hittin’ us in a heap. There’s a hoodoo with this show, and I know it, b’gosh! If Haley can’t yank any more dollars aout of Hawkins, then there’ll be a reduction of expenses. Know jest whut that means?”

“No, I——”

“I do. It means that the band will be dropped, fer it’s an almighty big expense. Me and Hans will be aout of a job. Mebbe the comp’ny kin hold together anuther week by droppin’ the band, but we pull the craowd, and we’ll be missed. Gol darned if this air show business is jest whut it’s cracked up to be! It’s too blamed oncertain. I wish I was to hum on the farm.”

It sounded like old times to hear Ephraim express such a wish, and Frank smiled a bit.

The other actors in the office were showing anxiety. They had huddled in a little group, and were talking in low tones.

Zenas Hawkins entered. He was tall, thin and ministerial in appearance.

“Just the man we want to see,” said Haley. “Come over here.”

Then he drew Hawkins and Havener into a corner, where the telegram was shown to the thin “manager,” who read it through, puckered up his face and scowled.

A confidential talk between the three men followed. Havener seemed struck by a sudden idea. He turned and looked over the room, his eyes resting on Frank.

“Come here, Merriwell,” he called.

Frank rose and approached the group, wondering what they wanted of him.

Haley pursed his thick lips and stared coldly at Merriwell as Frank came up.

“Too young,” he grunted.

“I think not,” said Havener.

“No experience,” objected the corpulent manager.

“He’s smart,” declared Havener.

“Needs an experienced man.”

“Where can you get one?”

“Give it up.”

“It’s a case of necessity.”

Then Frank stopped and asked:

“What can I do for you, Mr. Havener?”

And the stage-manager answered:

“Mr. Haley and Mr. Hawkins want you to go out in advance of the show in the place of Collins, who has thrown up his job and joined a rival company.”