Ahead of the Show Part 15

"Of course she is," added Mr. Wattles, suddenly appearing upon the scene. "Bow, my boy, bow! And couldn't you make a little impromptu speech?"

"Not much!" replied Al, very emphatically. "I tell you, Mr. Wattles, if I had had any idea that the duties of a press agent included so many public appearances, I should not have gone into the business."

He bowed; then some one--probably under the manager's direction--called out: "Speech! speech!"

But Al shook his head so emphatically that the audience saw he meant his refusal, and the applause soon subsided.

A few moments later the curtain rose.

There was very little applause until Miss March made her entrance; her appearance was the signal for another demonstration of enthusiasm. Probably seven-eighths of the audience did not know why they were applauding, but the other eighth did, and its enthusiasm was, as a matter of course, contagious. The applause was literally deafening. In its midst Mr. Merry hurled his bouquet upon the stage. It fell at the feet of the young actress, who picked it up, smiling and blus.h.i.+ng, to the evident delight of the elderly "masher."

Mrs. Allston shuddered.

"This life of feverish excitement will kill my child," she said. "She must abandon it."

"Wait till you see her play, mother," said Al.

"That will not alter my determination."

"Wait," added the boy, quietly.

He was not wrong in the conclusion he had reached. Miss March's part was small, but it was a strong one. It was that of a persecuted young girl who had been driven from home because of a misunderstanding. It was a pathetic role, and before the actress had been on the stage five minutes the entire female portion of the audience were in tears, and there was a suspicious moisture in the eyes of more than one of the sterner s.e.x.

"Isn't she fine?" whispered Al in his mother's ear, as the girl left the stage, after her first scene.

"It is wonderful! I am amazed."

"You did not think there was so much talent in the family, did you? Now, wouldn't it be a pity to rob the stage of such an ornament?"

"Yes."

"I thought you would say so. I believe she has a great future. But let us leave the decision to her."

"We will do so, my boy."

At this moment there came a shrill cry from the gallery.

"Fire!"

For one instant there was a dead silence; then three-quarters of the audience sprang to their feet.

Then came a mad rush for the exits.

It was a scene of indescribable confusion. Women and children were trampled beneath the feet of those who should have been their protectors, but whose only thought now was to save their cowardly selves.

The shrieks of the terrified women, the groans of the injured, the curses of the rougher element, who, though face to face with death, did not fear to blaspheme--these added to the horror of the scene.

It was evident that the alarm had not been a false one, for the house was rapidly filling with smoke, and the crackling of flames could be plainly heard.

The doors soon became blocked. It seemed certain that many must perish in the flames.

Al quickly led his mother through the door that connected the box with the stage, and conducted her in safety out of the building through the stage entrance.

As he pa.s.sed Mr. Wattles at the door he uttered one word: "Gladys?"

"She is safe," the manager replied. "She went out but a moment ago."

"Thank Heaven! Mother, are you afraid to go back to the hotel alone?"

"No, no; it is but a very short distance. But what are you going to do, my boy?"

"I think I can be of some a.s.sistance in getting the people out. Good-by! I shall be with you again soon."

And he rushed around to the front of the house, where the confusion was greater than ever.

CHAPTER XXIII.

AN EVENTFUL NIGHT.

The Rockton police force were evidently not equal to the emergency--two or three Hibernians in blue uniform were rus.h.i.+ng wildly about, issuing orders to which no one paid the slightest attention.

Meanwhile nearly a thousand people were confined within the burning building, most of them apparently doomed to a horrible death.

At the doors--of which there were only two--men were fighting like maniacs to escape, and actually r.e.t.a.r.ding their own progress in their mad excitement.

What could one boy hope to do against this panic-stricken throng?

This is the question that Al Allston asked himself.

"I'm afraid I shan't accomplish much," he said to himself; "but I'm going to try, anyhow."

a.s.suming as cool an air as he could, he ran up to the entrance.

"Gentlemen," he said, "there is no danger. Take it easy; walk out just as you would at any other time, and everything will be all right. Keep cool."

Probably not more than half a dozen persons heard the words, but the few who did hear them were impressed by the calm, fearless demeanor of the boy, which was in such striking contrast to that of everyone else in the crowd.

An example of this sort is contagious; word was pa.s.sed from one man to another that the danger was not as great as had been supposed. The conduct of the throng changed almost immediately.

"Walk out quietly," went on Al, who was now able to make himself heard. "Those on the right-hand side go in the direction of Grand Street, and those on the left in the direction of Market Street. Don't block the sidewalk. Keep cool, and everyone will get out all right. There is nothing to get excited about."

These words had almost a magical effect. In reality, there was quite enough in the situation to excite anyone, but Al's apparent calmness and his a.s.sertion that the danger did not amount to anything produced just the result he desired.

The crowd became more rational, and to make a long story short, within three minutes the building was emptied, even of the women and children who had fainted or been injured.

Five minutes later the roof of the building fell in, but there was every reason to believe that not a single human life had been sacrificed.

Al started for his hotel as quietly as if nothing unusual had happened. But he had gone only a few steps when he was overtaken by Mr. Wattles.

To his astonishment, the manager folded him in his arms, exclaiming: "By Jove! I wish you were my son!"

"What's the matter now?" asked the boy, disengaging himself.

"Matter? Why, the matter is that you have in all probability saved the lives of several hundred people."

"Nonsense!"

"That's just what you have done, all the same. You have a cool head for such a young fellow--I can tell you that. If it hadn't been for you--I shudder to think of what might have happened. You are, as I have had occasion to remark before, a wonder."

"Nonsense, Mr. Wattles! But I must go now; mother is sure to be worrying about me."

"But there are a score of people waiting to be introduced to you, and I have promised to bring you back with me."

"I can't go, Mr. Wattles."

"But----"

"Tell them that I---- Oh, just tell them the plain truth."

"That you have a morbid horror of being lionized?"

"If you want to put it in that way; and that my mother is waiting for me."

"Well, well, I won't urge you--particularly as I know that you generally mean what you say and stick to it. But, let me tell you, young man, you will have to stand considerable lionizing before you leave this town, whether you like it or not."

"I don't think so," smiled Al. "There is an early train in the morning, if I am not mistaken."

"But you won't take it."

"You will see. Well, good-night, Mr. Wattles. Oh, wait a moment!"

"What is it?"

"You are sure my sister got out all right?"

"Oh, yes; everyone on the stage escaped within two minutes after the first alarm. Don't you know I told you that I saw her go out? You will find her with your mother when you get back to the hotel."

Al said good-night once more, and walked away.

"Well," muttered the manager, as he stood and watched the lad's slim figure until it was lost to view, "that boy is a corker. I don't believe he is afraid of anything on earth--except speech-making. I should like to see him really agitated for once."

Mr. Wattles had his wish in less than fifteen minutes.

He had just lighted the gas in his hotel room when there was a quick knock upon the door.

Before he could say "Come in!" Al rushed into the room.

One glance at his face showed the manager that something unusual must have happened. Never before had he seen the boy so intensely excited; he was panting for breath, and his face was ghastly pale.

"What is the matter?" the old gentleman gasped.

"Gladys--my sister----" the boy began.

"Has anything happened to her?"

"We cannot find her."

"She has not returned to the hotel?"

"No."

"Oh, there can be no occasion for alarm. I told you she got out of the theater all right."

"But she may have returned."

"What should she return for? But she did not; that I am sure of."

"Where is she, then?"

"Oh, don't worry, my boy; she will turn up all right. Perhaps she has gone to visit friends."

"Would she be likely to visit friends under such circ.u.mstances?" said the boy, almost angrily. "She has no acquaintances in this place--she told me so only this afternoon; and if she had, this is not the time she would choose for making a social call."

"No, of course not, my boy. Well, what do you think has become of her?"

"I believe that she has been the victim of foul play. Have you forgotten Farley's letter?"

Mr. Wattles started.

"It may be so."

"I am sure it is."

"But I have seen nothing of Farley."

"He would not be likely to let you see anything of him if he could help it."

"True. Well, what shall we do? Command me, my boy; I am at your service."

Before Al could reply the door, which the boy had only partially closed, was opened, and a man entered.