CHAPTER XXVI.
BERT SECURES BOARD IN HARRISBURG
Bert arrived in Harrisburg about four o'clock in the afternoon. He had in his hand a gripsack purchased for him by Uncle Jacob, who also provided him with a fuller supply of shirts, socks, and underclothing than he had brought with him.
"You may be gone some time," he said.
Just as Bert got into the cars, Uncle Jacob handed him a wallet.
"This contains a sum of money for your immediate needs," he explained. "When you are out, send to me."
After the cars started, Bert opened the wallet, and to his surprise found that he had fifty dollars in his possession.
"Uncle Jacob's money won't last long at this rate," he said to himself. "I must be very careful and economical. I should like to take back to him a part of this sum."
Of course Bert enjoyed his trip. The sun shone brightly, the air was cool and invigorating, and the scenes through which he was rapidly speeding were new to him. In spite of the sense of responsibility which rested upon him, he felt cheerful and exhilarated.
"If I can only succeed in my mission!" he thought. "If I can only find Ralph Harding, and induce him to vindicate my father's reputation, I shall feel happy!"
It so happened that he had seated himself in the smoking car, the car behind, which he first entered, being full.
A tall, thin man, wearing a white hat, sat down beside him.
"Have a cigar, young man?" he asked, as he produced two of rather poor quality, one of which he lighted and proceeded to smoke.
"No, thank you, sir."
"Better accept a good offer," urged the stranger.
"Thank you, but I don't smoke."
"Indeed! How old are you?"
"I am sixteen," replied Bert.
"Then you are a rara avis—that means a rare bird. Most boys of your age smoke."
"They'd be better off without it."
"Perhaps so. I see you are a prudent young man. How far are you going?"
"To Harrisburg."
"So am I. Queer coincidence, isn't it?"
"I don't know," answered Bert, smiling. "I presume there are other passengers on board who are also bound for that city."
"Very possibly. Ever been there before?"
"No, sir."
"I have often, and the long ride is rather tedious. What do you say to a little game of cards to fill up the time?"
"Thank you, but I would rather look out of the window."
The stranger seemed disappointed, but a man in the seat just behind, leaning over, said: "If you want a game, I'm your man."
"All right!" said Bert's companion, brightening up. "What game do you play?"
"Anything."
"Poker?"
"All right."
The two took seats opposite, between which was a small table, and the game began. Bert looked over now and then, and saw that they were playing for money. He was startled, for he had been taught to regard gambling with horror. It seemed evident after awhile that his late seat-mate was losing. He became more and more excited and nervous, and his face was overspread with gloom. At length he came over to Bert, and said, eagerly: "My young friend, will you do me a favor?"
"What is it, sir?"
"Lend me five dollars."
This seemed to Bert an extraordinary request from a perfect stranger.
"You must excuse me, sir," he answered.
"Haven't you got as much about you? Say two dollars, then."
"The money I have with me is not my own," said Bert. "I cannot lend anything."
"But, let me assure you, I will give it back to you before the train reaches Harrisburg. I have had a streak of bad luck, and that man over there has won all my money. But I've got on to his game, and I will soon have it all back, if I get a start. You'll be doing me a great favor, and there will be no risk."
"He must take me for a fool," thought Bert.
"You had better apply to some one else," he said coldly. "I can't possibly help you."
"So young and so hard-hearted!" murmured the other, eying Bert reproachfully. "'Twas ever thus from childhood's hour. I was born under an unlucky star. Sir, I am afraid I must withdraw from our pleasant game unless you will kindly lend me a dollar to continue."
His late antagonist shrugged his shoulders.
"I don't see how that would benefit me," he said. "We'll wait till another time when you are in funds. Then I shall be happy to accommodate you."
"Did you lose much?" asked Bert, as his companion resumed a seat at his side.
"Fifteen dollars! 'Tis not much, but 'twas my all. If you would oblige me with a dollar, I can win it all back."
Bert shook his head.
"I have no money of my own," he said.
"Never mind! Twenty times I have been on the threshold of fortune, and failed to secure it by my funds giving out. Be it so! I will no longer resist, but float downward to oblivion over the rapids of disappointment."
"You are an actor, are you not?" said Bert.
"Yes; at least, so I sometimes flatter myself, though the critics do not all concede it. If you are going to remain in Harrisburg long enough, come and see me act."
He gave Bert his card, and then closing his eyes, passed the remainder of the journey in dozing.
Arrived in Harrisburg, Bert found himself besieged by hackmen, representing different hotels. But he did not think it right to waste Uncle Jacob's money in unnecessary expense. He picked out a bootblack, and showing him the address of Mrs. Stubbs, asked: "Is that near by?"
"'Bout quarter of a mile," answered the street boy.
"What'll you ask for showing me the way?"
"A dime."
"Go ahead, then!"
In five minutes Bert found himself standing in front of a rather shabby three-story house, in a decent, but not fashionable, street. The name Stubbs was on the door.
Bert rang the bell, and inquired for Mrs. Stubbs.
He was ushered into a small reception room on one side of the front door, furnished in cheap, boarding-house style, and took a seat on a stiff-backed cane chair.
Presently a thin lady, with cork-screw curls, and a pale, washed-out complexion, entered the room.
"Did you wish to see me, sir?" she said.
"Yes," answered Bert. "You answered an advertisement about Ralph Harding. I come from New York."
"Have you brought my money?" asked Mrs. Stubbs, with animation.
"What money do you refer to?"
"Mr. Harding's board bill. I sent it in the letter."
"We don't feel called upon to pay Mr. Harding's debts," returned Bert, who had been instructed by Uncle Jacob to say this.
"Must I lose thirty-two dollars, then?" said the lady tragically. "It's a shame."
"No doubt it is, but we don't even know Mr. Harding."
"Then why did you advertise for him?"
"Because we want his testimony in a law case."
"The advertisement said that it would be for Mr. Harding's advantage to report to you."
"So it will, if we can find him. He will receive money enough to settle your bill, and more, too. We will see that he does, if you help us find him."
"I am sure I am willing to do all I can," said Mrs. Stubbs, considerably mollified.
"Have you got a small room vacant?" asked Bert. "I may be detained in Harrisburg for a while."
"Yes; you can have the one Mr. Harding used to occupy. If you occupy it alone, it will be five dollars a week with board."
"I will take it," said Bert promptly. "Can I have possession at once?"
"Yes. Let me show you the way."
The room was on the third floor. It was a small one, but would answer the purpose. Bert took out his clothes, and laid them away in the pine bureau near the window.
"Well," he said, as he waited for the bell to summon him to supper, "I have taken the first step toward finding Ralph Harding. I am occupying the room which was once his. What shall be the next step?"
He little anticipated the singular experience that same evening had in store for him.
CHAPTER XXVII.
A BOARDING-HOUSE IN HARRISBURG
At the supper table Bert made acquaintance with his fellow-boarders. There were eight in all. Three of them worked in the shoe factory where Ralph Harding had been employed, two young ladies were saleswomen in a dry-goods store, Professor Silvio and wife taught a dancing school, and the eighth was the landlady's daughter, a young woman of twenty-five, who resembled Mrs. Stubbs closely. Bert learned afterward that she was employed in a millinery store.
"Gentlemen and ladies," said Mrs. Stubbs, as Bert took the vacant chair that had been assigned to him, "let me introduce a new boarder, Mr. Barton."
Eight pairs of curious eyes were fixed upon Bert, and he blushed a little, not being accustomed to the scrutiny of strangers.
"He is a friend of a former boarder, Mr. Harding, whom some of you will remember."
"Have you heard from Mr. Harding lately, Mr. Barton?" asked Angelica Stubbs, who sat next to our hero.
"No," answered Bert.
"He left quite suddenly, owing me eight weeks' board."
"So I heard."
"Do you think he will ever pay it up?"
"If I succeed in finding him I think there is some chance of it."
"Mr. Harding and I were very good friends," continued Miss Stubbs. "He—in fact—showed quite a fondness for my society," she added, casting down her eyes modestly.
"No wonder!" said Bert, smiling.
"Oh, you sad flatterer!" said Miss Angelica, appearing pleased at what she regarded as a compliment.
"Didn't he tell you where he was going?" asked Bert.
"No; I think he was called away by bad news."
"What sort of a looking man was he?" Bert inquired.
"You ask me that?" said Angelica, in surprise. "I thought you were a friend of his."
"I never saw him in my life."
"That's funny. Why then did ma introduce you as a friend of his?"
"She thought me so. I am interested in finding him, that is all."
"You are not a horrid detective, I hope? Has poor Mr. Harding committed a crime? Oh, tell me quick. You actually make me creep all over."
"I don't mean any harm, but his testimony is wanted in a law case. You haven't told me about his appearance yet."
"I've got his photograph, and will show it to you after supper."
"Oh, thank you!" said Bert, much pleased.
"That is, if you are sure it won't do him any harm. He used to talk to me very confidentially, and I can't help liking him, even if he did get in debt to ma."
"Perhaps he was unfortunate and couldn't pay."
"That's what I tell ma, but ma's rather severe on boarders that go away without paying her."
"Did he take all his baggage with him, Miss Stubbs?"
"He left behind a box of books and papers. They weren't of much account—some old letters and such."
"Did your mother preserve them?" asked Bert eagerly.
"Yes, I believe so; but she would have preferred to have him leave his trunk. That might have been sold for a part of his board bill."
"Do you think I could look over the books and papers?" asked Bert.
"What for?" inquired Angelica, her face expressing curiosity.
"You know I want to find him, and some of the papers might throw light on his movements."
"I don't know but you could," answered Angelica indifferently.
"I'll be willing to pay your mother one week's board for the box and its contents."
"Then I am sure she will let you have them. They are worth nothing to her. I only wonder she hasn't used them to kindle the fire with before now."
"I hope she hasn't," returned Bert anxiously.
"No; I know she hasn't, for I saw them in the attic only last week. I'll look them up for you some day when I am at leisure."
"Thank you."
"I wonder Mr. Harding hasn't written to you," he said, a little later.
"Oh, go along! You don't suppose there was anything between me and him?" said Angelica, who liked nothing better than to be teased about the attentions of members of the other sex. Bert was sharp enough to see this, and thought he might make it available in promoting the object he had in view.
"I thought, perhaps, he had gone away because you didn't smile upon his suit."
Miss Angelica laughed and tossed her head in great delight.
"As if I would tell you," she said.
"I only hope he hasn't committed suicide."
"Oh, Mr. Barton, how can you? Really, I shall have to complain to ma."
All this was very amusing to Bert, who had a natural love of fun, and quite understood Angelica by this time, though, truth to tell, she was not difficult to read.
When supper was over, Miss Stubbs said graciously: "Mr. Barton, if you are not pressed for time, will you linger a while? I play a little on the piano, and if you are fond of music, I will play for you. Usually I have to be in the store, but this is my evening off."
"I shall be glad to stay, Miss Stubbs. I am fond of music."
"Mr. Harding often lingered with me in the evening hours. He liked to hear me play."
"As I no doubt shall."
"Do you sing, Mr. Barton?"
"No; I wish I did."
Miss Angelica's piano was probably twenty-five years old, and was very much out of tune. But even if it had been a Chickering Grand, her playing would hardly have captivated a musical ear. She had little taste, and the lessons she had taken had only given her the ability to play a few easy tunes.
Bert found half an hour of Miss Angelica's music and society all he cared to enjoy at one time. He therefore excused himself, and taking his hat, went out for a walk. As he was a stranger in Harrisburg, he was not particular in what direction he strolled, but naturally bent his steps toward what appeared to be the central part of the city.
As he sauntered along, his attention was attracted to a flaring poster on a dead wall, setting forth the attractive features of
THE STREETS OF GOTHAM
A Realistic Play of New York Life
As given by a Star Combination of world-renowned Actors
For one week only
Reserved seats, 50 cents. Balcony, 25 cents
Now Bert had seldom enjoyed an opportunity of attending a dramatic performance, and felt strongly tempted to avail himself of the one that now offered. He wished to be as economical as possible, and decided to content himself with a seat in the balcony.
"Where is the theatre?" he asked of a boy who was studying the bill at the same time with himself.
"Just round the corner. I'll show you," was the reply.
"Thank you."
"Are you goin' to see de play?" asked the boy with interest.
"I think I shall."
"I'd go myself if I had another nickel," said the young guide. "I've got ten cents."
"But I thought twenty-five cents was the lowest price."
"I can go to de gallery for fifteen cents. De gallery is good enough for me."
"If a nickel will help you, here is one."
"Thank you," said the boy. "It's a boss play, dey tell me."
"I hope it is, as I am going myself."
The theatre was near at hand, and the two boys soon stood before it. It was rather early, being only a quarter past seven, but a small crowd of boys was already waiting for a chance to obtain admission to the gallery.
There seemed to be no hurry about buying a ticket, and Bert took a standing position near the box office, surveying with interest the passers by. All at once he felt a hand on his shoulder, and these words fell upon his ear:
"We meet again, my dear boy. Shake!"
Bert immediately recognized his travelling friend who had lost his money on the train.
"Are you one of the dramatic company?" he asked.
"Yes; I play the leading villain—and am acting stage manager. My name is Orville—Jack Orville. You have heard of me."
"I have always lived in the country," said Bert apologetically, "and so have little acquaintance with actors."
Orville looked disappointed. He liked to be known and recognized.
"That accounts for it," he said. "I am surprised to hear that you are from the country. You have the city air."
Bert was pleased to hear it, though perhaps that might be a mark of weakness.
At the moment another man came up hurriedly, and spoke to Orville.
"Here's a pretty kettle of fish, Orville," he said. "Bob Hazleton is sick and insists upon going back to New York. Where shall we find a boy to take his place?"
Orville had an inspiration. He clapped his hand on Bert's shoulder, exclaiming: "Here he stands!"
CHAPTER XXVIII.
BERT'S FIRST APPEARANCE ON ANY STAGE
Bert eyed the actor with amazement, rather disposed to doubt his sanity.
"Do you mean me?" he said.
"Certainly."
"Has he ever acted?" asked Pearson, the second actor, doubtfully.
"No, but he can act. I'll undertake to train him."
"There isn't much time. Hazleton can't appear to-night."
"Don't worry! I'll see that he is not missed."
As Pearson went away, Orville said: "You'll help us out, won't you, my boy?"
"What do you want me to do?" asked Bert, his heart beating with excitement.
"Take the part of a newsboy. You've seen and heard them in the streets of New York, haven't you?"
"Yes; but it seems sudden. I should have to learn the part."
"All told there are not more than twenty lines, and you won't come on till the second act. You've spoken pieces, haven't you?"
"Yes, and I like it."
"I was sure of it. Then you accept?"
"If you think I can do it, and will tell me exactly what to do."
"Come round at once to the stage entrance. I will give you your lines and tell you the business. We'll speak about terms later."
As Bert followed Orville round to the stage door he asked himself whether he was not acting foolishly in accepting, at such short notice, a position to which he was entirely unaccustomed. If he had not liked declamation, and felt moderately self-possessed before an audience, he would have promptly refused. As it was, the prospect, while it somewhat daunted, also pleased him. Besides, he saw that, though he might not be able to fill the place of Bob Hazleton, it was imperatively necessary that the part should be taken by some one, and there was no time to lose in hunting up another boy. If he did poorly, he could limit his engagement to one evening.
He was not at home behind the scenes, and at the outset came near tumbling through a trap door. He followed Orville to the general dressing-room, where the manager assisted him to attire himself in the costume provided for the newsboy. It is needless to say that it was not of a costly description, and would have been dear at a dollar and a half.
"I'll dress you first, and give you the lines afterward."
In five minutes Bert surveyed himself in a cracked mirror, and wondered if he were the same boy. Orville ruffled up his hair, taught him the free and easy walk of the typical newsboy, briefly instructed him in the "business" of the part, and then gave him his lines to commit.
"Read them to me," he said. "I want to see if you've caught the spirit of the part."
Of course Bert needed a little coaching, but "caught on," as Orville expressed it, with remarkable quickness. After a few minutes' rehearsal, his teacher said: "You'll do; that is, if you don't get rattled."
"What's that?"
"Get an attack of stage fright, and forget your lines."
"I won't do that," said Bert confidently.
"Then you'll have no trouble. Now, stay here till you get a summons from the call boy. I must make up for my part, though I don't appear, either, till the second act. Remember that we rely upon you."
"I'll get through," said Bert confidently.
By this time our hero looked forward eagerly to the moment when he would appear on the stage. He felt excited, and yearned to distinguish himself. He wanted to justify the stage manager's hasty, and, it must be confessed, rather imprudent, choice.
He waited in the wings till he heard the call boy's summons, and then made his entrance as instructed by Orville. He glanced at the audience, but only got a confused impression of hundreds of faces. He did not allow himself to think of them, but addressed himself to the business of his part. A part of this was to rescue a little girl from the abuse of a tyrannical old woman. He recited his lines with spirit; and so enlisted the sympathies of those present by his manly bearing that he received a tribute of applause. The scene came just at the close of the second act, and when the curtain fell there was prolonged hand-clapping. Bert did not know what it meant, but Orville came up to him, and said; "Go before the curtain, leading Maud by the hand. Bow to the audience."
Bert was a little bewildered, but followed directions. The corner of the curtain was moved aside, and Bert walked across the stage, leading little Maud (who was a daughter of the leading actress) by the hand. Children are always well received, and there was plenty of applause.
When Bert reappeared behind the scenes, Orville said, "Barton, you did yourself proud! Keep it up when you appear again in the fourth act, and you may consider yourself an actor."
In the fourth and last act Bert went on the stage in his street dress. His circumstances and his social position were supposed to have improved.
At the close of the performance Orville introduced Bert to the different members of the company.
"Do you mean to say you have never acted before?" asked Mr. Pearson.
"This is my first appearance on any stage," said Bert with a smile.
"Then you have done yourself great credit. I was myself trained at Wallack's Theatre, but had been a year on the boards before I could acquit myself as well as you."
"Thank you. I have done better than I expected."
"You more than filled Hazleton's place."
"Has he been long with you?"
"A year."
Bert felt this was indeed praise, that on his first appearance he should have equaled a boy with a year's experience.
"Of course you will play with us the balance of the week?" said Pearson.
"If you wish me to do so."
"What salary will you expect?" Bert smiled.
"I hardly know what will be a fair price to ask."
"We will give you the same salary that Hazleton received, fifteen dollars a week, and you pay your own board. Is that satisfactory?"
Bert opened his eyes. Fifteen dollars a week seemed to him a large sum, for evening work. He found afterward that he was expected to appear at rehearsal; but even with this additional duty, the post appeared to him an easy one.
"I accept the terms," he said.
"All right; where are you boarding?"
He gave the address.
"Please be at the theatre to-morrow at ten, and Mr. Pearson will hear you rehearse and give you a few points."
Unknown to Bert there were two persons present at the theatre that night who recognized him. One of the male boarders, prompted by a rather significant hint from Miss Angelica, had invited that young lady to accompany him to the performance. They sat in the sixth row from the stage, though Bert, who attended only to his duties, did not see them.
When he first came on as a newsboy, Miss Stubbs said: "How much that newsboy looks like Mr. Barton, ma's new boarder."
"He does look some like him."
"But of course it isn't he. I wonder if he is here this evening."
"I don't see him anywhere," said the escort.
When Bert appeared in his own clothes in the fourth act, Angelica exclaimed: "Why, it is Mr. Barton, after all! Is it possible that I know a live actor? Why, I was talking to him at supper, and he was really quite attentive to me."
"He is put down on the bill as Bob Hazleton," said the young man, consulting the programme.
"That must be his stage name. I will get him to tell me all about acting to-morrow. Do you know, Mr. Cutting, I should like to go on the stage myself? I should so like to play Juliet."
"If you do, will you let me be Romeo?"
"Yes, if you desire it," said Angelica, tapping her escort coquettishly with her fan.
It's safe to say that Mr. Cutting, who was barely five feet in height, and Miss Angelica, who was tall, thin, and angular, would have made a very remarkable Romeo and Juliet.
As Bert left the stage door, a boy touched his arm. Looking round he saw that it was the one who had guided him to the theatre. The boy's face wore a respectful look as he said:
"Say, you didn't tell me you was one of de actors."
"I didn't know it myself," answered Bert.
"It was you that took off de newsboy," continued the boy.
"Yes, but I'm not the regular actor. He's sick and I took his place."
"It was tiptop. Are you goin' to act to-morrow night?"
"I shall act all this week."
"I'd like to see de play again. It's a boss play."
Bert felt in a liberal mood.
"Here is fifteen cents," he said. "Tell your friends to come."
"I'll bring 'em. I'll tell 'em I know one of de actors."
It may be remarked that Tom Roach, for this was the boy's name, gave such glowing accounts of the play to his intimate friends that no less than ten of them accompanied him to the theatre the next evening, and were especially enthusiastic when Bert was on the stage. Their liberal applause raised Bert in the good opinion of the management, who felt that they had secured a prize in the new actor.