CHAPTER I.
"NEVER SAY DIE!"
It is not a pleasant experience to wake up on a beautiful morning to therealization that one has failed. There seems a relentless irony innature herself that the day that dawns on a night when our glitteringhopes have become dead, dull ashes of despair and ruin should be brightand warm with the sun's genial rays.
So Frank Merriwell felt this fine morning in Puelbo, Colorado. The nightbefore, with high hopes, he had produced his new play, "For Old Eli." Herecalled the events of that first production with almost a shudder. "ForOld Eli" had been a failure, a flat, appalling, stupefying failure. Fromthe rise of the curtain everything and everybody had gone wrong; lineswere forgotten, Ephraim Gallup had had stage fright, his own bestsituations had been marred.
How much of this was due to the lying handbills which had been scatteredbroadcast, asserting that he was not the real Frank Merriwell, but animpostor, a deadbeat and a thorough scoundrel, Frank could not tell. Hebelieved that these efforts to ruin him had little effect, for when, atthe close of the performance, he had made a speech from the stage,assuring the audience that he would bring his play back and give asatisfactory performance, his reception had been cordial.
But the play had failed. Parker Folansbee, his backer, had actedqueerly, and Frank knew that, after the company had reached Denver, therelations between him and his backer would cease. "For Old Eli" had beenwell-nigh ruinous, and when they got back to Denver, Merry and hisfriends would be without funds.
Then the thought came to him of the prejudice expressed against a poorblack cat he had allowed to travel with the company. He could notrestrain a smile as he perceived that the superstitious members of thecompany would feel that the cat had hoodooed them. As if a cat couldaffect the fortunes of men!
The thought of the cat gave a pleasant turn to his reflections, and hecheered up immensely.
He had failed?
No!
He would not acknowledge failure, defeat, disaster. He would not liedown and abandon the struggle, for he was not built of such weakmaterial.
Where was the fault? Was it in the piece, or in the way it had beenplayed?
He realized that, although the piece was well constructed, it was not ofa high, artistic character, such as must appeal by pure literary meritto the best class of theater patrons.
It could not be ranked with the best productions of Pinero, Jones,Howard, Thomas, or even Clyde Fitch. He had not written it with the hopeof reaching such a level. His aim had been to make a "popular" piece,such as would appeal to the masses.
He fell to thinking over what had happened, and trying to understand thecause of it all. He did not lay the blame entirely on the actors.
It was not long before he decided that something about his play had ledthe spectators to expect more than they had received.
What was it they had expected?
While he was thinking of this alone in his room at the hotel, BartHodge, his old friend and a member of his company, came in. Hodge lookeddisgruntled, disappointed, disgusted. He sat down on the bed withoutspeaking.
"Hello, old man," said Frank, cheerfully. "What's the matter with yourface? It would sour new milk."
"And you ought to have a face that would sour honey!" growled Bart. "Ishould if I were in your place."
"What's the use? That wouldn't improve things."
"If I were in your place, I'd take a gun and go forth and kill a fewstiffs."
"I always supposed a 'stiff' was dead. Didn't know one could be killedover again."
"Oh, you can joke if you want to, but I don't see how you can feel likejoking now. Anybody else would swear."
"And that would be foolish."
"Perhaps so; but you know, as well as I do, that your play was murderedand mangled last night."
"That's so, b'gosh!" drawled a doleful voice, and Ephraim Gallup,another of the company, Frank's boy friend from Vermont, came stalkinginto the room, looking quite as disgusted and dejected as Hodge. "An'I'm one of the murderers!"
Frank looked Ephraim over and burst out laughing.
"Why," he cried, "your face is so long that you'll be hitting your toesagainst your chin when you walk, if you're not careful."
"Whut I need is somebuddy to hit their toes against my pants jest whereI set down, an' do it real hard," said Ephraim. "I wisht I'd stayed tohum on the farm when I went back there and giv up the idee that I was anactor. I kin dig 'taters an' saw wood a darn sight better'n I kin act!"
"You're all right, Ephraim," assured Merry. "You had to fill that partin a hurry, and you were not sure on your lines. That worried you andbroke you up. If you had been sure of your lines, so that you would havefelt easy, I don't think there would have been any trouble as far as youwere concerned."
"I dunno abaout that. I never felt so gosh-darn scat as I did larstnight. Why, I jest shook all over, an' one spell I didn't think mylaigs'd hold me up till I got off ther stage. It was awful!"
"You had an attack of stage fright. They say all great actors have itonce in their lives."
"Waal, I never want to feel that air way ag'in! An' I spoilt that scenein the dressin' room of the clubhaouse. Oh, jeewhillikins! I'm goin'aout of the show business, Frank, an' git a job paoundin' sand. It don'ttake no brains to do that."
"Cheer up! You are going to play that same part in this play, and you'llplay it well, too."
"Whut? Then be yeou goin' to keep right on with the play?" asked theVermonter, in astonishment.
"No," said Merry, "I am not going to keep right on with it. I am goingto put it into shape to win, and then I'm going out with it again. Mymotto is, 'Never say die.' You heard what I told the audience lastnight. I promised them that I would play in this town and would make asuccess. I shall keep that promise."
Hodge shook his head.
"You are smart, Frank, but there's a limit. I'm afraid your luck hasturned. You are hoodooed."
Just then a coal-black cat came out from under the bed and walked acrossthe room.
"And I suppose you think this is my hoodoo?" smiled Merry, as the catcame over and rubbed against his leg. "That's where you are away off.This cat is my mascot, and she shall travel with me till the piece wins.She has stuck to me close enough since she walked onto the stage wherewe were rehearsing in Denver."
"The cat is not the hoodoo," said Bart, shaking his head. "I know whatis."
"You do?"
"Sure."
"Name it."
"I am!"
"You?"
"Yes."
Frank stared at Bart in surprise, and then burst out laughing.
"Well, how in the world did you happen to get such a foolish notion intoyour head?" he cried.
"It's not foolish," declared Bart, stubbornly. "It's straight, I knowit, and you can't make me think differently."
Frank rose and walked over to Hodge, putting a hand on his shoulder.
"Now you are talking silly, old man," he said. "You never were bad luckto me in the past; why should you be now. You're blue. You are down inthe mouth and your head is filled with ridiculous fancies. Things wouldhave happened just as they have if you had not joined the company."
"I don't believe it."
"You always were superstitious, but I believe you are worse than evernow. You have been playing poker too much. That's what ails you. Thegame makes every man superstitious. He may not believe in luck at thebeginning, but he will after he has stuck to that game a while. He willsee all the odd things that happen with cards, and the conviction thatthere is such a thing as luck must grow upon him. He will becomewhimsical and full of notions. That's what's the matter with you, Hodge.Forget it, forget it!"
"I think you are likely to forget some things altogether too early,Merriwell. For instance, some of your enemies."
"What's the use to remember unpleasant things?"
"They remember you. One of them did so to an extent that he helped ruinthe first presentation of your play."
"How?"
&nb
sp; "It isn't possible that you have forgotten the lying notices circulatedall over this city, stating that you were not the real Frank Merriwell,accusing you of being a fake and a thief?"
Something like a shadow settled on Merry's strong face.
"No, I have not forgotten," he declared, "I remember all that, and I'dlike to know just who worked the game."
"It was a gol-dinged measly trick!" exploded Ephraim.
"You thought it would not hurt you, Frank," said Hodge. "You fancied itwould serve to advertise you, if anything. It may have advertised you,but it did you damage at the same time. When the audience saw everythingwas going wrong, it grew angry and became convinced that it was beingdefrauded. Then you had trouble with that big ruffian who climbed overthe footlights with the avowed purpose of breaking up the show."
"Oh, well," smiled Merry, in a peculiar way, "that fellow went rightback over the footlights."
"Yes, you threw him back. That quieted the audience more than anythingelse, for it showed that you were no slouch, even if you were a fake."
"Oh, I suppose I'll find out some time just who did that little piece ofadvertising for me."
"Perhaps so; perhaps not."
Tap, tap, tap--a knock on the door.
"Come!" Frank called.
The door opened, and Billy Wynne, the property man, looked in.
"Letter for you, Mr. Merriwell," he said.
Frank took the letter, and Wynne disappeared, after being thanked forbringing it.
"Excuse me," said Merry, and he tore open the envelope.
A moment later, having glanced over the letter, he whistled.
"News?" asked Bart.
"Just a note from the gentleman we were speaking of just now," answeredFrank. "It's from the party who gave me the free advertising."
"Waal, I'll be kicked by a blind kaow!" exploded Gallup. "An' did he hevther gall to write to ye?"
"Yes," said Frank. "Listen to this."
Then he read the letter aloud.
"Mr. Frank Merriwell.
"Dear Sir: By this time you must be aware that you are not the greatest thing that ever happened. You received it in the neck last night, and I aided in the good work of knocking you out, for I circulated the 'warning' notice which denounced you as an impostor, a deadbeat and a thief. The public swallowed it all, and, in disguise, I was at the theater to witness your downfall. It was even greater than I had dared hope it would be. I understand the managers in other towns have canceled with you, Folansbee has declined to back your old show any longer, and you are on the beach. Ha! ha! ha! This is revenge indeed. You are knocked out at last, and I did it. You'll never appear again as the marvelous young actor-playwright, and the name of Frank Merriwell will sink into oblivion. It is well. Yours with satisfaction,
LESLIE LAWRENCE."
"I knew well enough it was that dirty rascal who did the job!" criedHodge, springing up. "The cur!"
"Waal, dinged if he hadn't oughter be shot!" burst from Gallup. "An' heknows Folansbee's gone back on ye."
"It's no use, Frank," said Hodge, disconsolately; "you are done for. Thestory is out. Folansbee has skipped us, and----"
"He has not skipped us. He's simply decided to go out of the theatricalbusiness. It was a fad with him, anyhow. As long as everything was goingwell, he liked it; but I see he is a man who cannot stand hard luck. Heis changeable and that makes him a mighty poor man to back a venture. Ittakes a man with determination and a fixed purpose to win at anything.Changing around, jumping from one thing to another, never having anyclear ideas is enough to make a failure of any man. Folansbee doesn'tneed to follow the show business for a living. He went into it becauseit fascinated him. The glamour is all worn off now, and he is ready toget out if it. Let him go."
"It's all right to say let him go, but what are you going to do withouthim? You are talking about putting your play out again, but how will youdo it?"
"I'll find a way."
"That is easier said than done. You have been lucky, Frank, there is noquestion about that. You can't be that lucky all the time."
"There are more ways than one to catch an angel."
"I rather think you'll find that angels are not so thick. Once in awhile there is a soft thing who is ready to gamble with his money byputting it behind a traveling theatrical company, but those soft thingsare growing scarcer and scarcer. Too many of them have been bitten."
"Still, I have a feeling that I'll find a way to succeed."
"Of course you can advertise for a partner to invest in a 'sure thing,'and all that, but those games are too near fraud. Rascals have workedthose schemes so much that honest men avoid them."
"I shall not resort to any trickery or deception. If I catch an 'angel'I shall get one just as I obtained Folansbee, by telling him all therisks and chances of failure."
"Well, you'll not get another that way."
"Darned if I ain't afraid now!" nodded Ephraim. "But Mr. Folansbee'sgoin' to take keer of this comp'ny, ain't he? He's goin' to take it backto Denver?"
"He has agreed to do so."
At this moment there was another sharp rap on the door, which, happeningto be near, Frank opened.
Cassie Lee walked in, followed by Roscoe Havener, the soubrette and thestage manager of "For Old Eli," Cassie showed excitement.
"Well, what do you think of him?" she cried.
"Of whom--Havener?" asked Merry,
"No, Folansbee."
"What about him?"
"He's skipped."
"Skipped?"
"Sure thing. Run away."
"Impossible!"
"It's a straight fact," declared the little soubrette.
"There's no doubt of it," corroborated Havener.
"Waal, may I be tickled to death by grasshoppers!" ejaculated Gallup.
"This caps the whole business!" burst from Hodge.
"I can't believe that," said Merriwell, slowly. "How do you know,Havener?"
"His baggage is gone. Garland and Dunton traced him to the station. Theywere just in time to see him board an eastbound train as it pulled out.He has deserted us."