CHAPTER IX.

FRANK’S UNPLEASANT DISCOVERY.

A week later Frank had become pretty familiar with his duties. Besides being “manager of properties,” he was the prompter, and he found plenty of work.

He took hold of the new work readily, and Barnaby Haley soon became satisfied that he had made no mistake in engaging him.

The company was “on the road,” playing one-night stands, having abandoned the larger cities.

It was a case of hustle day after day. The moment the show was over at night everything had to be picked up and packed for the morning train.

Frank soon became familiar with all the stuff, so that he knew just where everything belonged, and this enabled him to do the packing swiftly.

A certain amount of special scenery was carried for the piece, and that was the most difficult to handle.

As soon as Merry had taken care of the properties, he was expected to lend his aid in getting the scenery ready for shipment, and thus it came about that he seldom got to bed before one or two o’clock in the morning.

Then it was necessary for him to be up early to see that everything got off right, and, immediately on arriving at a destination, he had to attend to the getting of the baggage to the theater.

Arriving at the theater, he was required to have the trunks placed in the proper dressing rooms, the people who played the leading parts always being allotted by the stage-manager to the most convenient, commodious and handy rooms.

Sometimes the assignment of dressing rooms caused no small amount of ill feeling, but Frank tried to keep things as pleasant as possible.

He soon showed he was not afraid of work, for which reason a large amount of work it was not his duty to perform was thrust upon him.

But he started in at this business, as he had at railroading, to learn everything possible about it in the shortest possible time. Thus it came about that, having assisted in the work of making the stage ready, in one week’s time there was not a scene of the play that he could not set properly.

It was not long before the stage-manager discovered this, and he began to take a still greater interest in Frank.

“Say,” he broke out one night, as Frank was assisting in the setting of the stage, “what are you trying to do?”

“Helping,” was the laconic answer.

“Yes, but you are helping differently from any novice I ever saw before. You take hold as if you were trying to do all there is to be done.”

“I want to do my part.”

“You want to do more than that, and I fancy you know it, for you are no fool. What’s the object?”

“If I’m going to follow this business any length of time, I am going to know all I can about it.”

“So that’s it! Well, that’s all right as far as it goes, but you will get tired of it. Fellow who is willing to do his work and everybody else’s work is pretty sure to get crowded. Better let up on it.”

“Thank you. I don’t believe anybody will crowd me.”

“All right; do as you like. I’m willing you should as long as you don’t attempt to get in front of me.”

This was said with a laugh, but Merriwell caught the significance of the words.

“Don’t be afraid, Mr. Havener,” he said. “I am not seeking anybody’s chance in this company.”

Frank had become acquainted with the different members of the company, and the personality of each interested him.

Arthur Sargent, the new man, who filled the place of Errol Storms, playing “Simon Legree,” was a man quite unlike Storms. He was a jolly, good-natured fellow off the stage, always joking and telling stories. But he did make a fierce “Legree,” and he was detested and hissed by the small boy in the gallery quite as much as Storms had been.

Cassie Lee, the “leading Topsy,” for there were two “Topsys” in the play, interested Frank more than anybody else. Off the stage, she was a thin, frail, sad-faced little girl, with a hollow, hacking cough. On the stage, she was a supple, bright-eyed, lively, vivacious creature, dancing and singing, as if she had not a care in the world.

Cassie’s father, old Dan Lee, played small parts, making many changes. In fact, his skill at making quick changes was something marvelous, and it was astonishing how many different parts he could fill.

It was said that old Dan knew every line in the piece, and could play any male part. Some even insisted that the old man in his palmy days had played “Little Eva,” but Dan himself denied the accusation.

Old Dan’s one failing was his strong liking for liquor. But for Cassie’s watchful eyes, he would have been “loaded” the greater part of the time, and lost his engagement a dozen times a month. Cassie could handle him unless he was crazed by liquor, and he was humble and pliant in her hands.

But there were stories that on occasions old Dan took too much and became like a maniac. Then even Cassie could do nothing with him, and it was said that he had once beaten her so severely while madly intoxicated that she had been taken to the hospital, where she remained six weeks.

It was said that through her father’s ill-treatment and neglect Cassie’s health had been broken down.

Frank wondered at the change that came over her every night just before she went onto the stage. She suddenly seemed to become quite a different creature. The lackluster departed from her eyes, her step became elastic and buoyant, and even her voice seemed to change.

All this was a mystery to Merry at first, but, one night, when she sent him to her dressing room for some article she had forgotten, he made a discovery that enlightened and horrified him.

A small needle syringe lay on the shelf beside the square mirror.

“Morphine!” gasped Frank. “That is the secret of the change!”

Little Cassie was a morphine fiend!

The knowledge preyed on Frank’s mind. He pitied the girl, and longed to do something for her, but he knew that when the dreaded habit had once fairly fastened itself on a victim that person was almost surely doomed.

Frank was very considerate with Cassie. He showed her many favors, and he never minded her freaks and whims when she was in a bad humor. As a result, after a time, the girl began to take a great interest in Frank.

“Look here, Merriwell,” she said, one night as she was “laying on” the burnt cork, “I cotton to you. You are the right stuff, but you never ought to be in this business.”

“What business?”

“Show.”

“Why?” asked Frank, surprised.

“’Cause you ain’t the same grade as the rest of us. That’s plain enough.”

“I don’t think I quite understand you. Am I not good enough to become an actor, if I wish?”

Cassie laughed unmusically.

“That’s the matter with yer,” she declared. “You’re too good. This kind of a life will ruin you.”

“I guess not.”

“I guess yes, and I know what I’m talking about. I hate to see a nice young man like you spoiled.”

“Don’t let that worry you.”

“You think I’m jollying you, but I ain’t. I mean what I say. Common actors are poor associates for such a fellow as you are. You don’t drink, smoke or swear now, but, if you stick to the road, I’ll bet a month’s salary you are doing all three within a year.”

“I will not take your bet, for it would be robbing you, Miss Lee.”

“Don’t you believe yourself. I’d win. I know, for I’ve seen what it all leads to.”

“I don’t suppose you mean to say the life depraves everybody who follows it?”

“No, not that; but it’s a hard strain on a fellow. This knocking around just kills a person’s conscience. You’re the kind that’ll be a soft thing for every bum who wants to hit you up for a fiver. You will think they all mean to pay when they can, but by the time you have been beat right and left you’ll begin to get onto the game, and think you may just as well play it in order to get even. That’s what hurts. Borrow a five, and fail to pay it once, and you’ve got your start on the wrong road. The keen edge is taken off your conscience, and, before long, it gets pretty dull. Oh, I know what I’m givin’ yer!”

“Well, well!” exclaimed Frank, surprised. “Never thought I’d hear you preaching, Miss Lee.”

“Don’t call me Miss Lee! Don’t like it. I’m just plain Cassie, or Cass, to all the boys.”

“All right, I’ll call you Cassie, then.”

“Do. Don’t tell the other fellers I lectured yer. They’d say I’s getting soft. I don’t want Havener to know I take enough interest in you to say anything like I did to yer.”

“Don’t want Havener to know it?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Well—because—you see him and me are—are—pretty friendly.”

She blurted out the last two words, as if they cost her a great effort.

“Why,” said Frank, “I never noticed.”

“Course you didn’t. We’re keeping it quiet, for Havener’s got a wife.”

Then, seeing the look that came over Frank’s face, Cassie hastened to explain:

“They ain’t lived together or ever heard from each other for four years, and Havener’s going to get a divorce as soon as he can for desertion. We couldn’t help gittin’ struck on each other, but I don’t want pop to know it till Havener is free to marry me. That’s why we’re keeping shady. But Storms was onto it.”

“Storms.”

“Yep. Feller you kept from knocking the head offen Havener.”

“Oh! He——”

“Was jealous.”

“Ah! Then that——”

“That was his real reason for cracking Ross that way, though the others didn’t know it. He wanted me to marry him.”

“Storms did?”

“Sure thing.”

“And you refused?”

“I should guess yes! Roscoe Havener suits me. Him and I’ll get along all right, and I’m glad Errol Storms is out of the comp’ny. I was afraid of him.”

“Then I——”

“Done me a good turn—yes. It was a good thing when you jumped on that night and nipped Storms. I was down in my dressin’ room when I heard Havener holler, and I knew something was wrong, for that cry was too real. I ran upstairs and got into the wings just in time to see you and Storms have it. Then I came nigh giving the whole thing away by getting sloppy over Ross, but I pulled myself up just in time, and nobody got onto the real reason why that business happened. I don’t know why I told you, ’less it was ’cause I have been dying to tell somebody about it, and I reckon you’ll keep your mouth shut.”

“You may be sure I’ll not give you away, Miss—Cassie.”

“All right; but I’ve got something to tell you, too.”

“Something more?”

“Yes.”

“About——”

“You.”

“About me?”

“Sure thing.”

“What is it?”

“You want to look out not to let Ross get an idea you take any particular interest in me.”

“Why?”

“He’s jealous of you now.”

“Jealous of me?”

“Yes.”

“Why—why should he be?”

“Well, there ain’t no real reason, but he don’t know. You’ve always been trying to do me favors, and his eyes are sharp. He liked you at first, but now he is beginning to growl to me. Says you are trying to know too much. Says you’re fresh. Quizzes me about what I think of you, and all that. I can read him, and I know he’s jealous, so look out.”

“I am sure I thank you for the warning,” said Frank, embarrassed.

“Oh, that’s all right. He’ll get over it.”

“Aren’t you afraid of a jealous man?”

“No; I like him all the better for it. If you was some chaps, I’d pretend to like you pretty well, just to see how much he’d stand; but I don’t know what he’d do, and I don’t want to get you into trouble. He has a pull with Haley, and he might get you fired. I shouldn’t like that.”

Cassie had a frank way of speaking out that was decidedly embarrassing, but she did not seem to imagine that she had said something about which other girls would have hesitated to speak.

This revelation opened Frank’s eyes to a great extent. He understood thoroughly the real cause of the trouble between Storms and Havener, and also why the latter’s manner toward him had changed within a day or two.

“I must be careful,” Merry decided.

After this talk with Cassie, Frank liked her and pitied her more than ever. He wondered if Havener knew anything of the terrible habit that had fastened itself on the girl, and if he would marry her just the same should he discover it.

Havener’s first venture in marriage had not proved a success, and his second one might result disastrously unless Cassie could be cured of her liking for the fatal drug.

Although Merry felt certain the girl used morphine, sometimes he would long to find that it was all a mistake.

One night, however, it was all settled in his mind.

Some of the theaters on the road contained but a few small, dirty dressing rooms, so that it was necessary for a number of persons to dress together in the same room.

Cassie was put in with two other girls at one place. She did not “kick,” for she was used to everything on the road.

But she was not given much chance to be by herself.

Just as the curtain was going up on the first act, Frank was sent down to the dressing room to get something for one of the girls.

The door was just a bit ajar, and Merry bolted in quickly.

There was an exclamation of consternation, echoed by Frank.

Cassie was there. The sleeve of her left arm was thrust back, showing white above the line of black at her wrist. She was in the very act of using the little syringe.

The tiny instrument dropped from her fingers, and she staggered back a step.

“Merriwell!” she gasped.

Frank started to turn away, then hastily explained why he had come to the room. His manner told her he had seen and understood.

“Look here!” she hoarsely said, springing forward and clutching him by the arm; “I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“That you’ll keep mum.”

“I will.”

“Sure thing?”

“You can trust me.”

“You won’t tell Havener?”

“No.”

“Don’t you do it on your life! I’m going to stop it—some time. I want to see you after the play to-night. I want to talk to you. I’ll tell you all about it. Go on, now.”

He secured the article he was after, and she pushed him out of the room, closing and fastening the door behind him.

Then the little syringe was recharged and used.