by Fred Thorpe
CHAPTER III.
AL'S SCHEME.
"Mr. Wattles," said Al, in a low tone, "I suppose you have in your timemet a few stage-struck amateurs--people who thought they knew it all,and only needed a chance to show the world that they were the equal ofanyone who ever trod the boards?"
The manager laughed.
"I should say yes. The woods are full of them."
"Well, we have one here."
"Only one?"
"There are others, but one whom it will be worth your while to know."
"Who is she?--for it is a woman, of course."
"Yes, sir, it is a woman; she is the wife of the mayor."
"The wife of the mayor of Boomville stage-struck?"
"In the worst way, Mr. Wattles; she believes herself the only legitimatesuccessor of Charlotte Cushman."
"They all do. Well, what has all this to do with your scheme?"
"A good deal. Mrs. Anderson--that is her name--is very anxious to appearon the professional stage."
"Of course."
"Why can't you give her a chance?"
"Eh? I? How?"
"Send her word that one of your actresses has been taken suddenly ill,and ask her to take her place. She'll do it, take my word for that, andall Boomville will go to see her."
"Well, you must be crazy, young man," said Mr. Wattles, in a tone ofdisgust. "So that is your scheme, is it?"
"That is part of it."
"Well, it won't work."
"Why not?"
"For a dozen reasons. If I had two or three weeks to work up the thingit would be different; then it would, perhaps, be a good scheme. But youseem to forget that the performance takes place to-night."
"There's plenty of time to work up business," said Al, calmly. "It isnot ten o'clock yet. See Mrs. Anderson, get her consent to play, andI'll prove my executive ability by doing all the rest."
"But, good gracious! how could the woman memorize a part between thisand night?"
"Give her a short part--any old part. Two or three lines will do. Whatshe wants is a chance to show herself on the professional stage."
"There is a small part," hesitated Mr. Wattles, "one that she couldlearn in half an hour. But, no, it won't do. The woman might queer theperformance, and I should be the laughingstock of the profession for thenext year."
"She's not as bad as all that," said Al. "She has appeared in amateurperformances here and made a success. Better see her, Mr. Wattles. Iknow she'll be tickled to death with the idea. You'll be in plenty oftime to get a big ad. in this afternoon's _Herald_, and you'll have thebiggest house of the season."
The manager brought his fist down on the table by his side, and said:
"By jingo, boy, I will do it! Lots of money has been made out ofstage-struck society women, and perhaps I may come in for a little ofit."
"You'll come in for a lot of it to-night, sir, if you just follow myadvice. And now I'll show you the way to the mayor's house."
"Wait a minute. You said this amateur racket was only a part of yourscheme; what is the rest of it?"
"Souvenirs. This town is wild on souvenirs. The 'Crack of Doom' Companygive hand-painted fans to-night. Why don't you go one better, andannounce that every lady attending your performance will receive aheavily plated silver souvenir spoon?"
"But where the mischief could I get the spoons?"
"I'll provide them."
"You?"
"Certainly."
"But where are you going to get them?"
"I've got them. You see, sir, I am a sort of speculator. I attendauction sales and that sort of thing, and if I see a big bargain I takeadvantage of it. It's better than clerking at five dollars a week. A fewdays ago I struck a bankrupt sale in New York, and bought a lot ofplated spoons at 'way below cost. I meant to sell them to the storeshere, but I'll let you have them at just what they cost me--you canafford to give them away if you buy them at that price--and there willbe plenty to go round."
Mr. Wattles surveyed his companion in amused wonder.
"Well, you are a queer sort of lad," he said. "You seem to have a prettyold head on those young shoulders of yours!"
"I think I have enough to look out for number one, sir."
"I should say you did. I should like to know more of you."
"You will, sir, when I become your advance agent."
"Well, we'll see all about that. And now I'd better be off for the homeof the stage-struck mayoress. Meet me in half an hour."
"I'll be here, sir."
As the manager walked away, he muttered:
"I'm afraid I'm going on a fool's errand. Confound it! I believe thatyoung rascal has hypnotized me. But, after all, I can't afford toneglect the chance. The treasury is pretty low, and if this schemedoesn't work there may be trouble on salary day. I'll do my best to getthis woman to play, and I guess I shall succeed; people used to say thatGus Wattles was the champion jollier, and I don't think he has lost hispowers yet."
Al was doing a little soliloquizing, too.
"I didn't think I had so much nerve," he mused. "I'm beginning to have alittle more confidence in myself. If to-night's performance is a successI shall get the job sure--he can't refuse me. But if it isn't asuccess, if Mrs. Anderson refuses to have anything to do with thescheme--I won't let myself think of that."
It was nearly an hour before Mr. Wattles returned.
"Well, sir?" questioned the boy, breathlessly.
"It's all right."
"She will play?"
"Not only that, but she is going to pay me for the chance. Oh, there areno flies on Augustus Wattles, my boy! Yes, she is going to play, and sheis delighted because the part will give her a chance to exhibit herselfin a new costume which she has just imported from Paris. Now, then, mylad, we must get up the ads. How much time have we before they must bein the newspaper office?"
"An hour at least. And you had better get out some posters announcingMrs. Anderson's appearance. They can be on the walls in two hours. Willyou leave that part to me?"
"Yes; but first you can help me with the advertisement. Undoubtedly youcan give me some points."
Al was able to do so. The manager was plainly delighted and surprised atthe aptitude he displayed.
"I begin to think," he said, "that you were cut out for this business."
"That is what I have thought for a long while, sir," replied the boy,as, copy in hand, he started for the office of the _Herald_.
Within a few hours everyone in Boomville knew that Mrs. Anderson, themayor's wife, was to assume a role in the drama, "Loved and Lost," atthe opera house that evening, and all the lady's friends, all herenemies and almost everybody else who ever attended theatricalperformances at all had made up their minds to go and see her.
Besides, the offer of a plated spoon as a souvenir was almostirresistible; people who had more solid silver spoons than they had anyuse for fell over each other in their frantic haste to secure seats forthe evening's performance and make sure of the coveted spoon.
"We haven't had an advance sale like this since the house was built,"said the local manager to Mr. Wattles, a short time before the doorswere opened. "Why, there isn't a seat left in the house except in thegallery, and they will be all filled as soon as the doors are thrownopen. And I understand that there is no sale at all at the other house.I don't believe there'll be a baker's dozen there. It was a great ideaof yours to get Mrs. Anderson to appear."
"I claim no credit for it at all," said Mr. Wattles. "It was all thework of that bright young fellow."
"Oh, by the way," interrupted Mr. Perley, taking an envelope from hispocket, "here is something that came for you a few minutes ago; I hadnearly forgotten about it."
Mr. Wattles tore open the note and ran his eyes over its contents. As hedid so the expression of his face underwent such a remarkable changethat his companion said, uneasily:
"There's nothing the matter, is there?"
"I should say there was," was the reply. "We're in a nice fix
. Mrs.Anderson won't play!"