CHAPTER VIII.
THE OLD ACTOR'S CHAMPIONS.
Along a street of Denver walked a man whose appearance was such as toattract attention wherever seen. That he had once been an actor could betold at a glance, and that he had essayed great roles was also apparent.But, alas! it was also evident that the time when this Thespian trod theboards had departed forever, and with that time his glory had vanished.
His ancient silk hat, although carefully brushed, was shabby andgrotesque in appearance. His Prince Albert coat, buttoned tight at thewaist, and left open at the bosom, was shabby and shining, although italso betokened that, with much effort, he had kept it clean. Histrousers bagged at the knees, and there were signs of mannish sewingwhere two or three rents and breaks had been mended. The legs of thetrousers were very small, setting tightly about his thin calves. Hisshoes were in the worst condition of all. Although they had beencarefully blackened and industriously polished, it was plain that theycould not hold together much longer. The soles were almost completelyworn away, and the uppers were breaking and ripping. The "linen" of thisfrayed gentleman seemed spotlessly white. His black silk necktie wasknotted in a broad bow.
The man's face was rather striking in appearance. The eyes had once beenclear and piercing, the mouth firm and well formed; but there was thatabout the chin which belied the firmness of the mouth, for this featureshowed weakness. The head was broad at the top, with a high, wide brow.The eyes were set so far back beneath the bushy, grayish eyebrows thatthey seemed like red coals glowing in dark caverns--for red they wereand bloodshot. The man's long hair fell upon the collar of his coat.
And on his face was set the betraying marks of the vice that had wroughthis downfall. The bloodshot eyes alone did not reveal it, but thepurplish, unhealthy flush of the entire face and neck plainly indicatedthat the demon drink had fastened its death clutch upon him and draggedhim down from the path that led to the consummation of all his hopes andaspirations.
He had been drinking now. His unsteady step told that. He needed the aidof his cane in order to keep on his feet. He slipped, his hat fell off,rolled over and over, dropped into the gutter, and lay there.
The unfortunate man looked round for the hat, but it was some timebefore he found it. When he did, in attempting to pick it up, he fellover in the gutter and rolled upon it, soiling his clothes. At last,with a great effort, he gathered himself up, and rose unsteadily to hisfeet with his hat and cane.
"What, ho!" he muttered, thickly. "It seems the world hath grownstrangely unsteady, but, perchance, it may be my feet."
Some boys who had seen him fall shouted and laughed at him. He lookedtoward them sadly.
"Mock! mock! mock!" he cried. "Some of you thoughtless brats may falleven lower than I have fallen!"
"Well, I like that--I don't think!" exclaimed one of the boys. "I don't'low no jagged stiff to call me a brat!"
Then he threw a stone at the old actor, striking the man on the cheekand cutting him slightly.
The unfortunate placed his crushed and soiled hat on his head, took outa handkerchief, and slowly wiped a little blood from his cheek, all thewhile swaying a bit, as if the ground beneath his feet were tossing likea ship.
"'Now let it work,'" he quoted. "'Mischief, thou art afoot; take thouwhat course thou wilt. How now, fellow?'"
The thoughtless young ruffians shouted with laughter.
"Looker the old duffer!" cried one. "Ain't that a picture fer yer!"
"Look!" exclaimed the actor. "Behold me with thy eyes! Even lower than Ihave fallen may thou descend; but I have aspired to heights of which thysordid soul may never dream. Out upon you, dog!"
With these words he reached the walk and turned down the street.
"Let's foller him!" cried one of the gang. "We can have heaps of funwith him."
"Come on! come on!"
With a wild whoop, they rushed after the man. They reached him, dancedaround him, pulled his coat tails, jostled him, crushed his hat over hiseyes.
"Give the old duffer fits!" cried the leader, who was a tough young thugof about eighteen.
There were seven boys in the gang, and four or five others came up onthe run, eager to have a hand in the "racket."
The old actor pushed his hat back from his eyes, folded his arms overhis out-thrown breast and gazed with his red, sunken eyes at the leader.As if declaiming on the stage he spoke:
"'You have done that you should be sorry for. There is no terror, Cassius, in your threats; For I am armed so strong in honesty That they pass me by as the idle wind, Which I respect not.'"
This caused the boys to shout with laughter.
"Git onter ther guy!"
"What ails him?"
"He's locoed."
"Loaded, you mean."
"He's cracked in the nut."
"And he needs another crack on the nut," shouted the leader, dancing up,and again knocking the hat over the old man's eyes.
Once more pushing it back, the aged actor spoke in his deep voice, madesomewhat husky by drink:
"Be patient till the last. Romans, countrymen and lovers! hear me for mycause; and be silent that you may hear; believe me for mine honor; andhave respect to mine honor, that you may believe; censure me in yourwisdom, and awaken your senses, that you may----"
"Oh, that's too much!" cried the ruffianly young leader. "We can't standthat kind of guy. What're yer givin' us, anyway?"
"He's drunk!" shouted several.
"Alas and alack!" sighed the old man. "I fear thou speakest the truth.
"'Boundless intemperance In nature is a tyranny; it hath been The untimely emptying of the happy throne, And the fall of many kings.'"
"That's what causes your fall," declared the ruffianly leader, as hetripped the actor, causing him to fall heavily.
"What's this?" exclaimed Frank Merriwell, who, with Hodge for acompanion, just returned from Twin Star Ranch, at this moment came intoview round a corner. "What are those fellows doing to that poor man?"
"Raising hob with him," said Bart, quickly. "The old fellow is drunk andthey are abusing him."
"Well, I think it's time for us to take a hand in that!"
"I should say so!"
"Come on!"
Frank sprang forward; Bart followed.
The old actor was just making an effort to get up. The young ruffian wholed the gang kicked him over.
The sight made Frank's blood leap.
"You cowardly young cur!" he cried, and he gave the fellow a crack onthe ear that sent him spinning.
Hodge struck out right and left, quickly sending two of the largestfellows to the ground.
"Permit me to assist you, sir," said Frank, stooping to aid the actor torise.
The leader of the gang had recovered. He uttered a mad howl.
"At 'em fellers! Knock the stuffin's outer them!" he screamed, rushingon Frank.
Merry straightened up instantly. He whirled about and saw the biggesttough coming at him, with the rest of the gang at his back. Then Franklaughed.
"Walk right up, you young terriers!" he cried, in a clear, ringingvoice. "We'll make it rather interesting for you! Give it to them,Hodge!"
Hodge did so. Together the two friends met the onslaught of the gang.Their hard fists cracked on the heads of the young ruffians, and it wasastonishing how these fellows were bowled over. Bart was aroused. Hisintense anger was betrayed by his knotted forehead, his flashing eyes,and his gleaming teeth. He did not speak a word, but he struck swift,strong and sure.
If those chaps had expected an easy thing with the two well-dressedyouths who had interfered with their sport, they met the disappointmentof their lives.
It actually seemed that, at one time, every one of the gang had beenknocked sprawling, and not one was on his feet to face the fightingchampions of the old actor.
It was a terrible surprise for the toughs. One after another, theysprang up and took to their heels.
"What have we st
ruck?" gasped the leader, looking up at Frank.
"Get up!" invited Merry, standing over him--"get up, and I will give youanother dose!"
"Excuse me!" gasped the fellow, as he scrambled away on his hands andknees, sprang up and followed the rest of the young thugs.
It was over; the gang had been put to flight, and it had beenaccomplished in a very few moments.
Hodge stood there, panting, glaring about, looking surprised anddisappointed, as well as angry.
"That was too easy!" he exclaimed. "I thought we were in for a fight."
"Evidently they did not stand for our kind of fighting," smiled Frank."It surprised them so that they threw up the sponge before the fight wasfairly begun."
"I didn't get half enough of it," muttered Bart.
During the fight the old actor had risen to his feet. Now Frank pickedup his hat and restored it to him, after brushing some dirt from it. Theman received it with a profound bow. Placing it on his head, he thrusthis right hand into the bosom of his coat, struck a pose, and cried:
"'Are yet two Romans living such as these? The last of all the Romans!'"
"We saw you were in trouble," said Merry, "and we hastened to give yousuch assistance as we could."
"It was a goodly deed, a deed well done. Thy arms are strong, thy heartsare bold. Methinks I see before me two noble youths, fit to have livedin the days of knighthood."
"You are very complimentary," smiled Frank, amused at the old man'squaint way.
The actor took his hand from his bosom and made a deprecating gesture,saying:
"'Nay, do not think I flatter; for what advancement may I hope fromthee?' I but speak the thoughts my heart bids me speak. I am old, thewreck of a once noble man; yet you did not hesitate to stand by me in myhour of need, even at peril to yourselves. I cannot reward you. I canbut offer the thanks of one whose name it may be you have neverheard--one whose name to-day, but for himself and his own weakness,might be on the tongues of the people of two continents. Gentlemen,accept the thanks of William Shakespeare Burns."
"Mr. Burns," said Frank, "from your words, and your manner, I am led tobelieve that you are an actor."
"Nay, nay. Once I trod the boards and interpreted the characters of theimmortal bard, for whom I was named. That time is past. I am an actor nolonger; I am a 'has been.' My day is past, my sun hath set, and nightdraweth on apace."
"I thought I could not be mistaken," said Frank. "We, too, are actors,although not Shakespearian ones."
"Is this true?" exclaimed the old tragedian. "And I have been befriendedby those who wouldst follow the noble art! Brothers, I greet thee! Butthese are sad, sad days, for the drama hath fallen into a decline. Thelegitimate is scoffed at, the stage is defiled by the ribald jest, theclownish low-comedy star, the dancing and singing comedian, andvaudeville--ah, me! that we should have fallen into such evil ways. Theindecencies now practiced in the name of art and the drama are enough tomake the immortal William turn in his grave. Oh, for the good old days!But they are gone--forever gone!"
"It seems strange to meet an actor like you 'at liberty,' and so farfrom the Rialto," declared Merry.
"I have been touring the country, giving readings," Burns hastened toexplain. "Ah, it is sad, sad! Once I might have packed the largesttheater of the metropolis; to-day I am doing well if I bring out a rounddozen to listen to my readings at some crossroad schoolhouse in thecountry. Thus have the mighty fallen!"
"I presume you are thinking of getting back to New York?"
"Nay, nay. What my eyes have beheld there and my ears have heard isenough. My heart is sick within me. I was there at the opening of theseason. One Broadway theater was given over to burlesque of the verylowest order, while another was but little better in character. Aleading theater close to Broadway was packed every night by well-dressedpeople who went there to behold a vile French farce, in which theleading lady disrobed upon the stage. Ah, me! In truth, the world hathgone wrong! The ways of men are evil, and all their thoughts are vile.It is well that Shakespeare cannot rise from his grave to look upon thehorrors now perpetrated on the English-speaking stage. If he were to berestored to life and visit one of our theaters, I think his secondfuneral would take place the following day. He would die of heartfailure."
Frank laughed heartily.
"I believe you are right. It would give William a shock, that iscertain. But there are good modern plays, you know."
The actor shook his head.
"I do not know," he declared. "I have not seen them. If there is notsomething nasty in the play of to-day, then it must of a certainty haveits 'effect' in the way of some mechanical contrivance--a horse race, asteamboat explosion, a naval battle, or something of the sort. It seemsthat a piece cannot survive on its merits as a play, but must, perforce,be bolstered up by some wretched device called an 'effect.'"
"Truer words were never spoken," admitted Frank. "And still there are afew plays written to-day that do not depend on such devices. In order tocatch the popular fancy, however, I have found it necessary to introduce'effects.'"
"You speak as one experienced in the construction of plays."
"I have had some experience. I am about to start on the road with my owncompany and my own play."
Of a sudden Frank seemed struck by an idea.
"By Jove!" he exclaimed. "Did you say you were at liberty?"
"Just at present, yes."
"Then, if I can get you, you are the very man I want."
The old man shook his head.
"Your play can contain no part I would care to interpret," he said, withapparent regret.
"But I think it is possible that you might be induced to play the part.I had a man for it, but I lost him. I was on my way to the Orpheum, tosee if I could not find another to fill his place."
"What sort of a part is it?" asked Burns, plainly endeavoring to concealhis eagerness.
"It is comedy."
"What!" cried the old actor, aghast and horrified. "Wouldst offer mesuch a part? Dost think I--I who have played _Hamlet_, _Brutus_, _Lear_and _Othello_--would stoop so low? 'This is the most unkindest cut ofall!'"
"But there is money in it--good, sure money. I have several thousanddollars to back me, and I am going out with my piece to make or break. Ishall keep it on the road several weeks, at any cost."
The old actor shook his head.
"It cannot be," he sadly said. "I am no comedian. I could not play thepart."
"If you will but dress as you are, if you will add a little that isfantastic to your natural acting, you can play the part. It is that of awould-be tragedian--a Shakespearian actor."
"Worse and worse!" moaned the old man. "You would have me burlesquemyself! Out upon you!"
"I will pay you thirty-five dollars a week and railroad expenses. Howcan you do better?"
"Thirty-fi----"
The old actor gasped for breath. He seemed unable for some moments tospeak. It was plain that the sum seemed like a small fortune to him. Atlast his dignity and his old nature reasserted itself.
"Young man," he said, "dost know what thou hast done? I--I am WilliamShakespeare Burns! A paltry thirty-five per week! Bah! Go to!"
"Well, I'll make it forty, and I can get a hundred good men for that atthis time of the season."
The aged Thespian bowed his head. Slowly he spoke, again quoting:
"Why, look you now, how unworthy a thing you make of me! You would playupon me; you would seem to know my stops; you would pluck to the heartof my mystery."
"But the money, you seem to need that. Money is a good thing to have."
"'Methinks there is much reason in his sayings.' It is true. Ah! but howcan I thus lower myself?"
"As you have said, the good old days are past. It is useless to live forthem. Live for the present--and the future. Money is base stuff, but wemust have it. Come, come; I know you can do the part. We'll get alongsplendidly."
"'Good reasons must, of force, give place to better.' As Cassius saith,'Men
at some time in their lives are masters of their fates;' but Ithink for me that time is past. But forty dollars--ye gods!"
"It is better than reading to a scant dozen listeners at crossroadsschoolhouses."
"Ah, well! You take advantage of my needs. I accept. But I must have adollar at once, with which to purchase that which will drown the shamemy heart doth feel."
"You shall have the dollar," assured Frank. "Come along with us, and wewill complete arrangements."
So the old actor was borne away, outwardly sad, but inwardlycongratulating himself on the greatest streak of luck he had come uponin many moons.
Frank Merriwell's New Comedian; Or, The Rise of a Star Page 9
