Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West - Burt L. Standish - Страница 4

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It was Frank who carried the report of the magician's death to Thaddeus Burnham.

The manager looked disgusted.

"Why couldn't the fellow have waited till to-morrow!" he exclaimed. "Got the best house of the year. People will be terribly disappointed. It's so much cold cash out of my pocket."

"Death is something that cannot be postponed," said Frank. "When a man's time comes, he has to go."

"Now I must go in there and announce that there will be no performance," growled Burnham. "If there was somebody to take Zolverein's place——"

"Let me take his place."

"You?"

Burnham stared. Then he grinned in a sickly manner.

"What sort of a joke are you cracking?" he asked, harshly.

"No joke," assured Frank. "I am in earnest. I'd like to take his place."

"You can't."

"Why not?"

"Why, you're no magician."

"How do you know?"

"You're simply an advance man, and——"

"Still, I have studied magic, and I am a good ventriloquist. For instance——"

"Bow-wow-wow!" barked a dog in the box office, and the ticket seller gave a great jump and scrambled onto his stool, drawing up his feet and looking down for the dog.

"Me-e-e-e-ow!"

A cat seemed to utter a wild yowl, following which the dog barked again, and then a terrible clamor of sounds came from the ticket office, as if the dog and cat were engaged in a fearful combat.

"Well, how in blazes did they ever get in there?" gasped Thad Burnham, making a rush for the side door and flinging it open. "Get out of here, you——"

He stopped and stared.

"Where are they?" he asked, bewildered.

"You tell!" burst from the ticket seller. "Thought they were right here under my feet."

The sounds had ceased.

Frank was standing behind Burnham, looking in at the door and laughing.

"Why don't you drive them out?" he asked.

"Why, they're not in here," answered the manager.

"Where do you suppose——"

A cry came from the ticket seller—a cry of consternation and terror.

"The money!" he fluttered.

"What money?" asked Burnham.

"The bills in the tray!"

"What about them?"

"Gone!"

"Gone where?"

"Don't know! Disappeared!"

"How could they?"

"Somebody must have reached in and taken them while we were looking for the cat and dog. I've been robbed!"

"Nobody reached in," declared Burnham, at once. "No person has been near the window, Jones."

"But the money was there a few moments ago—I saw it just before the dog barked."

"Then it must be right here now. Perhaps you brushed the bills off onto the floor."

"Couldn't brush them out of the tray."

They looked on the floor, but the pile of bills was not found there.

"You must have put them in your pocket, Jones," said Burnham, sternly.

"On my honor——"

"Feel and find out. You will be held responsible."

The ticket seller was frightened, and he showed it.

"Of course, Mr. Burnham," he began, unsteadily, "you do not think I would take a dollar that does not belong to me? You have known me too long——"

"That money must be recovered," came furiously from the now excited manager. "I must refund it to those who have purchased tickets here to-night, for there will be no performance. Search in your pockets."

Jones felt through his pockets, but protested that he could find nothing. His agitation and terror grew apace.

It seemed that the money had vanished into thin air.

"Perhaps you picked up the money when you rushed in, Mr. Burnham," suggested Frank Merriwell, from the door.

"Impossible!" exclaimed the manager. "Didn't do it."

"Better feel and see."

Burnham felt through all his pockets, but discovered nothing.

"Mr. Jones," he said, frigidly, "if you do not find that money, you'll sleep in the lock-up to-night."

"Don't be so hasty, Mr. Burnham," expostulated Frank. "There is one place you have not looked."

"Eh? What's that? Where?"

"In your hat."

"My hat? Why, it's——"

"On your head—exactly."

"But the money couldn't get into my hat. Don't joke, young man. This is serious."

"Not joking. Better take off your hat and look in it."

"It's folly, but I'll—— Good gracious!"

Thaddeus Burnham removed his hat, and out tumbled the roll of bills. He caught them up and stared at them.

"Is—is this the money?" he asked, bewildered.

Jones looked it over, they counted it, they compared accounts, and they found it was the correct amount.

"That is the money," declared the satisfied ticket seller. "I distinctly remember that torn five-dollar bill."

"But," murmured the puzzled manager, "it—it was in my hat!"

"That's right."

"How did it get there?"

"You must have caught it up and placed it there when you entered the office to look for the cat and dog."

"Never—never did any such thing! Why, it's ridiculous! I wouldn't put the money in my hat."

"You had your hat in your hand when you came in."

"Yes, I was going to shoo the dog and cat with it. But where are the dog and cat? Are things bewitched around here? There's something queer about this."

Frank Merriwell laughed quietly.

"I don't think you will find the dog or the cat if you search a long time," he said. "As for the money——"

He finished with another laugh, and a light began to dawn on Thaddeus Burnham.

"You rascal!" exclaimed the vexed manager, flushing as he realized he had been fooled. "You are responsible for all this! The dog and cat——"

"Ventriloquism," admitted Frank

"The money——"

"Sleight of hand."

"Why should you——"

"Wanted to show you what I can do. Those are little things. I assure you that I believe I can entertain an audience for an hour and thirty minutes and send every person away satisfied. I have studied magic, and, with Zolverein's apparatus, I can do many things of interest. Give me a chance to try it."

"But the apparatus—you have no right to touch it."

"On the contrary, it belongs to me now."

"Belongs to you—how?"

"It was given me by Zolverein before he died. That was why he sent for me. He gave it to me because he was grateful for what I did for him in keeping him from falling beneath the wheels of the train."

Burnham looked doubtful.

"I have two witnesses that he gave me all his apparatus," said Merry. "They are Drs. Harte and Gray. Both heard him give the stuff to me. Let me look it over, give me twenty minutes' time, and, with the aid of his assistant, who is waiting on the stage, I will give a performance that will please and satisfy the audience."

The manager shook his head.

"It is barely possible," he admitted; "but I do not dare try it."

"Why?"

"The audience would not accept you in the place of a famous magician like Zolverein."

"I'll tell you what I'll do," said Frank, who was eager for the chance to try his hand at magic; "I will make a speech to the audience. I will tell them of Zolverein's sudden death. Then I will offer to entertain them for thirty minutes without charge. At the end of thirty minutes everyone who wishes will be given an opportunity to leave the theater and collect their money at the box office. Those who wish to remain will see the rest of the entertainment for whatever price they have paid. Isn't that all right."

"It sounds all right; but I don't wish to make a farce of this affair. I am afraid to try it, young man."

"If twenty persons leave the theater at the end of thirty minutes," Merry proposed, "I will forfeit fifty per cent. of my share of the gate receipts. If forty persons leave, I will forfeit the entire gate receipts. What do you say to that?"

Thaddeus Burnham hesitated.

"I'd like to try it, but——"

There was a shrill whistle through the speaking tube that connected with the stage. Burnham stepped to the tube.

"Hello!" he called. "What is it?"

Then he listened. Pretty quick he turned to Frank, saying:

"The audience is growing impatient. I must dismiss them, or——"

"Give me a trial."

"Well, I will; but I'm afraid I'm a fool. Go ahead and see what you can do. If they throw eggs at you, don't blame me."