by Fred Thorpe
CHAPTER XXII.
AN AWFUL CATASTROPHE.
A telegram, carefully worded so that Mrs. Allston's maternal alarmsmight not be aroused, was sent. In it Al requested her to come toRockton by a certain train, and promised to be at the depot to meet her.
A reply came within an hour:
"Yours received. Shall be there. Hope nothing has happened."
"I should say something had happened," laughed Al, when he and hisnew-found sister had read the message.
"Poor mother!" sighed the girl. "She fears that you have met with someaccident."
"In a very few hours that fear will be dispelled. What will she say whenshe learns the truth?"
"Ah, what?" responded Miss March. "I dread almost as much as I long forthe meeting."
The anxious mother arrived on time. It is not our purpose to chroniclethe first meeting between the long-separated couple. Such scenes defythe skill of the storyteller's pen or the artist's brush. Suffice it tosay that the proofs of her identity presented by the young girl wereperfectly satisfactory to Mrs. Allston, and that the reunion of motherand daughter was all that the fancy of either had ever pictured it.
True, the somewhat Puritanical old lady was a little shocked at findingher daughter a member of the theatrical profession; she had alwaysregarded player folk as far beneath herself, both socially and morally,and her own daughter was probably the first actress she had ever seenoff the stage.
"I wish, my dear," she said, "that you would give up this dreadfulbusiness and go home with me. To think of my child, my daughter, a playactress! It is dreadful!"
"Not quite as dreadful as you think, mother," the girl replied, quietly."I could not conscientiously leave Mr. Wattles until he had secured someone else to play the part. Then, however, if you wish me to give up thestage, I shall do so. We will talk it all over after the performanceto-night."
"Yes, we will talk it over after the performance," echoed the mother.
The house was crowded to the doors that night. Not a seat was to be hadat eight o'clock; even standing room was at a premium.
Again Al had demonstrated his ability as a hustler.
Everyone in town had read and re-read his strange advertisement; manyeyes were bent on the third row of the orchestra, in search of the"queer old man." And Mr. Marmaduke Merry was there, too, not a whitabashed, a huge bouquet in his withered hand.
A good many people had heard of his attempt to have Al arrested in themorning--such news travels fast--and he was the unconscious butt of manya covert jest.
Some one--it will never be known who, though there may be reason tosuspect Mr. Augustus Wattles--had caused the report to be spread thatthe pretty actress, Miss Gladys March, was the long-lost sister of theyoung press agent, Al Allston, and that they had been reunited throughthe article in the _Banner_. That more than one person knew about it wasevident when Al made his appearance in a box, with his mother on hisarm; the applause that greeted him was as unexpected as it wasembarrassing.
At first the boy did not realize that he was the object of these unusualdemonstrations.
"What are they making all that noise about?" he said.
"Why, they are applauding you," his mother said.
"Nonsense!"
"Don't you see that every eye is fixed on this box?"
"I don't know but you are right," gasped Al, feeling symptoms of areturn of the "stage fright" with which he had been seized on theoccasion of the first performance in Boomville.
"Of course I am."
"Of course she is," added Mr. Wattles, suddenly appearing upon thescene. "Bow, my boy, bow! And couldn't you make a little impromptuspeech?"
"Not much!" replied Al, very emphatically. "I tell you, Mr. Wattles, ifI had had any idea that the duties of a press agent included so manypublic appearances, I should not have gone into the business."
He bowed; then some one--probably under the manager's direction--calledout:
"Speech! speech!"
But Al shook his head so emphatically that the audience saw he meant hisrefusal, and the applause soon subsided.
A few moments later the curtain rose.
There was very little applause until Miss March made her entrance; herappearance was the signal for another demonstration of enthusiasm.Probably seven-eighths of the audience did not know why they wereapplauding, but the other eighth did, and its enthusiasm was, as amatter of course, contagious. The applause was literally deafening. Inits midst Mr. Merry hurled his bouquet upon the stage. It fell at thefeet of the young actress, who picked it up, smiling and blushing, tothe evident delight of the elderly "masher."
Mrs. Allston shuddered.
"This life of feverish excitement will kill my child," she said. "Shemust abandon it."
"Wait till you see her play, mother," said Al.
"That will not alter my determination."
"Wait," added the boy, quietly.
He was not wrong in the conclusion he had reached. Miss March's part wassmall, but it was a strong one. It was that of a persecuted young girlwho had been driven from home because of a misunderstanding. It was apathetic role, and before the actress had been on the stage five minutesthe entire female portion of the audience were in tears, and there was asuspicious moisture in the eyes of more than one of the sterner sex.
"Isn't she fine?" whispered Al in his mother's ear, as the girl left thestage, after her first scene.
"It is wonderful! I am amazed."
"You did not think there was so much talent in the family, did you? Now,wouldn't it be a pity to rob the stage of such an ornament?"
"Yes."
"I thought you would say so. I believe she has a great future. But letus leave the decision to her."
"We will do so, my boy."
At this moment there came a shrill cry from the gallery.
"Fire!"
For one instant there was a dead silence; then three-quarters of theaudience sprang to their feet.
Then came a mad rush for the exits.
It was a scene of indescribable confusion. Women and children weretrampled beneath the feet of those who should have been theirprotectors, but whose only thought now was to save their cowardlyselves.
The shrieks of the terrified women, the groans of the injured, thecurses of the rougher element, who, though face to face with death, didnot fear to blaspheme--these added to the horror of the scene.
It was evident that the alarm had not been a false one, for the housewas rapidly filling with smoke, and the crackling of flames could beplainly heard.
The doors soon became blocked. It seemed certain that many must perishin the flames.
Al quickly led his mother through the door that connected the box withthe stage, and conducted her in safety out of the building through thestage entrance.
As he passed Mr. Wattles at the door he uttered one word:
"Gladys?"
"She is safe," the manager replied. "She went out but a moment ago."
"Thank Heaven! Mother, are you afraid to go back to the hotel alone?"
"No, no; it is but a very short distance. But what are you going to do,my boy?"
"I think I can be of some assistance in getting the people out. Good-by!I shall be with you again soon."
And he rushed around to the front of the house, where the confusion wasgreater than ever.
