Frank Merriwell's New Comedian; Or, The Rise of a Star

by Burt L. Standish

  CHAPTER XIII.

  THE RACE.

  All that forenoon he worked in the theater setting up the new mechanicalarrangement, which had been completed, and preparing for the rehearsalthat afternoon.

  Rehearsal time came, and the members of the company assembled.

  All but Burns.

  He was missing.

  "What do you think about it now?" asked Bart, grimly.

  "The same as I thought before," declared Frank. "Burns was almostbroken-hearted at rehearsal yesterday. It is possible he may not cometo-day, for you know he wished to be released."

  "Ah," said a sad voice, as the person in question appeared; "it isnecessity that brings me. I fain would have remained away, but I needthe money, and I must do that which my heart revolts against."

  "I believed you would come," said Frank, greeting the old tragedian."You will get used to the part after a while. It is better to makepeople laugh than to make them weep."

  "But it is too late for me to turn myself into a clown."

  "Where did you stay last night?" asked Merry.

  "At my humble lodgings," was the answer.

  "A man by your name registered at the hotel where I stop, and had theroom next to mine. Is it possible there are two William ShakespeareBurns in the city of Denver?"

  The old man drew himself up, thrusting his hand into the bosom of hiscoat, with his familiar movement of dignity.

  "There is but one," he said--"but one real William Shakespeare Burns inthe whole world! I am he!"

  "But you were not at the hotel last night?"

  "Of a certainty I was not. To that I will pledge mine honor. If anotherwas there under my name, he is an impostor."

  Frank was satisfied, but Bart was not; or, if Hodge was satisfied, hewould not confess it.

  The rehearsal began. Frank had engaged some people to work themechanical arrangement used in the third act, and they had been drilledand instructed by Havener.

  The first act went off well, the storm at the conclusion being worked upin first-class style. Scarcely a word of that act had Frank altered, sothere was very little trouble over it.

  The second act was likewise a success, Havener finding it necessary tointerrupt and give instructions but twice.

  Then came the third act, which Merry had almost entirely rewritten. Inthat act the burlesque tragedian was given an opportunity, and Burnsshowed that he had his lines very well, although he ran over them afterthe style of the old-time professional who disdains to do much more thanrepeat the words till the dress rehearsal comes.

  The third act was divided into three scenes, the second scene being anexterior, showing the river in the distance, lined by a moving, swayingmass of people. Along the river raced the three boats representing Yale,Harvard and Cornell. Keeping pace with them on the shore was theobservation train, black with a mass of spectators. As the boats firstcame on, Harvard had a slight lead, but Yale spurted on appearing, andwhen they passed from view Yale was leading slightly.

  All this was a mechanical arrangement made to represent boats, a train,the river, and the great crowd of spectators. The rowers in the boatswere inanimate objects, but they worked with such skill that it was hardto believe they were not living and breathing human beings. Even thedifferent strokes of the three crews had been imitated.

  This arrangement was an invention of Merriwell's own. In fact, it wasmore of an optical illusion than anything else, but it was mostremarkable in its results, for, from the front of the house, a perfectrepresentation of the college boat race appeared to be taking place inthe distance on the stage.

  Havener was a man who said very little, but he showed excitement andenthusiasm as this scene was being worked out.

  When the boats had disappeared, the stage grew dark, and there was aquick "shift" to the interior of the Yale boathouse. The entire front ofthe house, toward the river, had been flung wide open. Behind the scenesthe actors who were not on the stage at the moment and the supershurrahed much like the cheering of a vast multitude. Whistles shrieked,and then the three boats shot into view, with Yale still in the lead.The characters on the stage proper, in the boathouse, had made it knownthat the finish was directly opposite the boathouse, and so, when theboats flew across with Yale in advance, it was settled that the blue hadwon.

  Then Frank Merriwell, who had escaped from scheming enemies, and rowedin the race for all the attempts to drug him, was brought on by hisadmirers, and with the Yale cheer of victory, the curtain came down.

  Roscoe Havener came rushing onto the stage and caught Frank Merriwell bythe hand, crying:

  "Merriwell, you are a genius! I want to say right here that I havedoubted the practicability of this invention of yours, but now I confessthat it is the greatest thing I ever saw. Your sawmill invention in'John Smith' was great, but this lays way over it! You should make yourfortune with this, but you must protect it."

  "I shall apply for a patent on the mechanism," said Frank. "I am havinga working model made for that purpose."

  "That's right. You have your chance to make a fortune, and I believe youcan make it with this piece."

  "It is a chance," agreed Frank, gravely; "but I shall take it for betteror worse. I am going into this thing to make or break. I've got somemoney, and I'll sink every dollar I'm worth in the attempt to float thispiece."

  Frank spoke with quiet determination.

  Hodge stood near and nodded his approval and satisfaction.

  "It's great, Merry," he said, in approval. "It's something new, too. Youwill not have any trouble over this, the way you did about the sawmillscene."

  "I hope not."

  Cassie Lee, the little soubrette, who was engaged to Havener, found anopportunity to get hold of Frank's hand. She gave it a warm pressure.

  "I'm so glad!" she whispered, looking into his eyes. "If Ross says itwill go, you can bet it will! He knows his business. I've been waitingfor him to express himself about it, and, now that he has, I feelbetter. You are right in it, Frank! I think you are a dandy!"

  "Thank you, Cassie," smiled Frank, looking down at her.

  And even though he liked Cassie, who had always been his friend, he wasthinking at that moment of another little girl who was far away, butwhom he had once hoped would create the part in "True Blue" that hadbeen given to Cassie.

  In the fourth act Frank had skillfully handled the "fall" of the play,keeping all in suspense as he worked out the problem, one of the chiefarts of successful play constructing. Too often a play falls to piecesat once after the grand climax is reached, and the final act isobviously tacked on to lengthen it out.

  This one fault Frank had worked hard to avoid, and he had succeeded withmasterly skill, even introducing a new element of suspense into thefinal act.

  Merry had noticed that, in these modern days, the audience sniffs the"and-lived-happy-forever-after" conclusion of a play from afar, andthere was always a rustling to get hats and coats and cloaks somemoments before the end of most plays. To avoid this, he determined toend his play suddenly and in an original manner. This he succeeded indoing in a comedy scene, but not until the last speech was delivered wasthe suspense entirely relieved.

  Havener, who could not write a play to save his life, but who understoodthoroughly the construction of a piece, and was a discriminating critic,was nearly as well pleased by the end of the piece as by the mechanicaleffect in the third act.

  "If this play does not make a big hit I shall call myself a chump," hedeclared. "I was afraid of it in its original form, but the changes haveadded to it the elements it needed to become immensely popular."

  When the rehearsal was over Cassie Lee found Burns seated on a propertystump behind the scenes, his face bowed on his hands, his attitude thatof one in deep sorrow.

  "Now, what's the matter with you?" she asked, not unkindly. "Are yousick?"

  The old tragedian raised his sad face and spoke:

  "'Join not with grief, fair woman, do not so, To make my end too sudden; learn g
ood soul, To think our former state a happy dream; From which awaked, the truth of what we are Shews to us but this: I am sworn brother, sweet, To grim necessity; and he and I Will keep a league till death.'"

  There was something strangely impressive in the old man's words andmanner, and the laugh she tried to force died on Cassie's lips.

  "I s'pose that's Shakespeare you are giving me," she said. "I don't gomuch on Shake. He was all right in his day, but his day is past, and hewon't go down with people in general now. The public wants something upto date, like this new play of Merriwell's, for instance."

  "Ah, yes," sighed Burns; "I think you speak the truth. In thesedegenerate days the vulgar rabble must be fed with what it canunderstand. The rabble's meager intellects do not fathom the depths ofthe immortal poet's thoughts, but its eyes can behold a mechanicalarrangement that represents a boat race, and I doubt not that thegroundlings will whoop themselves hoarse over it."

  "That's the stuff!" nodded Cassie. "That's what we want, for I ratherreckon Mr. Merriwell is out for the dust."

  "The dust! Ah, sordid mortals! All the world, to-day, seems 'out for thedust.'"

  "Well, I rather think that's right. What do you want, anyway? If youhave plenty to eat and drink and wear you're in luck."

  "'What is a man If his chief good and market of his time Be but to sleep and feed? A beast, no more.'"

  "That's all right; but just think of the ones who can't get all theywant to eat, and who are driven to work like dogs, day after day,without ever getting enough sleep to rest them."

  "Ah, but few of them have hopes or aspirations. They are worms of theearth."

  "Oh, I don't know! I reckon some of them are as good as anybody, butthey're down on their luck. The world has gone against them."

  "But they have never climbed to the heights, only to slip back to thedepths. Then is when the world turns dark."

  The old tragedian bowed his head again, and, feeling that she could saynothing to cheer him up, Cassie left him there.

  Frank came in later, and had a talk with Burns. The old man acknowledgedthat he believed the play would be a success, but he bemoaned his fateto be forced to play a part so repulsive to him. Merry assured him thathe would get over that in time, and succeeded in putting some spiritinto the old fellow.