Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West - Burt L. Standish - Страница 3

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Manager Thaddeus Burnham, of the Keesport Opera House, was worried. Zolverein, the magician, was billed to play in his house that Wednesday evening. Zolverein was in town, stopping at the Midland Hotel, where he had arrived at noon. All the magician's apparatus was in the theater, and the stage was set for his appearance. The hour of opening the doors had arrived, the box-office man was selling tickets as fast as he could make change, and people were pouring in to witness the performance of the man of magic, who was famous all through that part of the country.

But Zolverein was in his room at the hotel, suffering from an attack of heart trouble, to which he was subject. He had assured Thaddeus Burnham that it was of no particular consequence, would soon pass away, and he would be able to appear at the time when the curtain should rise and give his regular performance, just as advertised.

However, the doctor who was attending the magician expressed grave doubts about Zolverein's immediate recovery, and, twenty minutes after the opening of the theater, Manager Burnham heard that the physician had sent in great haste for another prominent doctor of the place.

Frank Merriwell, the famous Yale athlete, now advance agent for the "Empire Theater Comedy Company," was talking with Thad Burnham. They were standing in the lobby of the opera house, watching the people come in.

"The house will be full," said Burnham, nervously. "It's a shame to have to refund so much money."

"You don't know that you will have to refund it," consoled Frank. "Zolverein has such spells frequently. He was telling me about them on the train."

"But Dr. Harte has summoned Dr. Gray, and Harte wouldn't do that for nothing. How did you happen to meet Zolverein?"

"I had the fortune to save him from what might have been a serious accident at Newton."

"How was that?"

"He was too late to take the train before it started, and he sprang aboard after the cars were under way. He slipped and would have fallen between two cars. I caught him by the collar and dragged him back to the platform. It gave him quite a shock, and he was afraid it might bring on an attack of his trouble. That's how we came to talk about it."

"Well, it brought on the attack all right."

"It seems so, but he thought all danger was past by the time we reached this place, for he was feeling much better."

"Something makes me certain he will not be on hand to-night. If he had not given me orders to open the doors, these people would not be coming in now. Of course I did as he directed, but it is going to cause no end of trouble."

"It has a bad effect to turn away an audience after a house is filled."

"Right. People go away sore. Hope nothing of this kind will happen in connection with your show, Mr. Merriwell."

"It's not likely to happen," declared Frank; but, if the manager had noted the youth's expression just then, he might have seen a shade of anxiety pass over Merriwell's face.

Within a day or two Merriwell had learned that Zenas Hawkins, the "angel" on which Barnaby Haley, the manager, had depended to keep the "Empire Theater Company" afloat, had refused to give up any more good money and had quit the organization.

As the company had been "up against bad business," the wind must change, or the end would come quickly, and Frank knew it. Hence his anxiety.

As Merriwell and the manager stood there, a boy came up hurriedly, saying to Burnham:

"Can you tell me where I can find Frank Merriwell? The magician has sent for him."

"Here he is," said the manager, indicating Merry.

"Come on, sir," urged the boy. "They told me to tell you to come in a hurry."

"What is the matter?" asked Burnham. "Is it——"

"I don't know. All I know is that they told me to get Mr. Merriwell in a hurry."

"Goodness!" muttered the manager. "I hope this don't mean that——"

He did not finish, and Frank followed the boy, wondering why he had been summoned by Zolverein.

The messenger was a bell boy from the hotel, and he piloted Frank up to the door of the magician's room.

Frank knocked lightly.

The door was opened at once by a tall man who wore a Vandyke beard. It was Dr. Gray.

"This is Mr. Merriwell," explained the bell boy.

"Come in," said the doctor, softly. "You are in time."

"In time!" echoed Merry, wonderingly. "In time for what?"

Then he saw another man bending over the bed, on which lay Zolverein, the great magician. One glance satisfied Frank that the man of magic was face to face with the mighty mystery which no human being has ever solved and lived.

Zolverein's face was ghastly gray, while his eyes were wide open and staring at the ceiling. It almost seemed that already he had solved the mystery.

But Merriwell's voice reached the man's ears, and, with a great effort, he turned his head slightly, looking toward the door.

"Yes, you are in time," he said, and his voice was hollow and faint with a ghostly sound. "In time to see the end."

"He's dying!"

Merry did not utter the words aloud. Quickly, with light steps, he approached the bed.

"Young man," said that weary voice, "bend down—sit beside me."

Merry took the chair at the bedside, the doctor stepping back, but remaining near and watching the sinking man intently.

The pallor on Zolverein's face became even more marked, as if his few words had cost him too great an effort. His eyes left Merriwell and found the doctor.

"Brandy!" he whispered, pleadingly. "Something to give me a few minutes more of life!"

The doctor hastily mixed something in a glass and held it to the dying man's lips. The small quantity Zolverein was able to swallow seemed to bring a bit of brightness to his dimming eyes.

"There," he whispered, "that will do it."

The doctor straightened up, but not till he had breathed in Frank's ear:

"If there is anything you wish to hear from him, make haste. He has not many seconds more."

"Young man," said the dying magician, "you did me a turn to-day—you saved me from being mangled beneath the train. It would have made but a few hours' difference, but I prefer to die here in bed. You grabbed me and held me up at the risk of being drawn down yourself. It—was—a—brave—act."

He stopped, gasping painfully.

"If you have anything in particular to say, do not talk of other things now," warned the doctor.

"All right," murmured the magician. "I understand what you mean. The end is near. I'm ready to go."

Again he looked at Frank.

"I like you," he declared. "I took a liking to you on the train. That's why I send for you. I have not a relative in the whole world that I care for. I have some friends, but they are far away. You are here. You befriended me—a stranger. My apparatus for performing my feats of magic is worth several thousand dollars. Here and now I express my desire that you shall have it when I am dead. If you sell it for what it is worth, it will—bring you in—a tidy—sum—of——"

His voice died in a gasping rattle, his breast heaved once and was still, his eyes were set, and the end had come.

Zolverein, the magician, had solved the great mystery.