CHAPTER I. THE STAGE MANAGER.

Taranaki Herald, Volume L, Issue 12343, 27 August 1903, Page 6

CHAPTER I. THE STAGE MANAGER.

, "Prison. Bars," the play that, 1 after a successful run in New York, had been sent on a tour through the West, was headed for Chicago. I Beside the sleeper reserved for the twenty members of the company, ( there was a baggage car lade.n j with scenery belonging to the melo-

drama

i ui.c4.mu. j It was night, and the journey had ■ ( been long. j Two of the actresses and the inevitable stage child were sound a1 sleep, but the other, a beautiful | girl-woman, sat quietly, thinking. J Some of the men were scattered j about, playing- cards, while others , were sleeping, and the whole was a \ scene of utter weariness. J Theodore Montgomery Gilder- ' sleeve, business and stage manager for the company, occupied the drawing-room section at the rear end of the car. Physically he was a big man, j 1 given to corpulency. His coarse, florid features suggested an aggressive, bullying- nature, and a fondness for the good things of the I table. The thick, red lips were sensual and there was a touch of cruelty about the nostrils. The eyes, set in puffy flesh, were hard, | yet shifty and siiggested a deceitj ful, cruel disposition. He wore too many diamonds, and his coat, with i its massive fur collar and cuffs, made him vulgarly conspicuous. He ' was a combination "of bully and j toady, and, naturally, not over- ' popular with the compan)-. There was an assistant manager also, but he did not travel with them always, and was at present in Chicago. As it was said in the company. "Theodore Montgomery Gildersleeve bossed the show." "She'll see that it won't do," muttered Gildersleeve, viciously, as he raised the car window, and hurled away the stump of his cigar. "I'll bring 'her to my feet yet. I'll make ,i?er see that the road to success lies through me !" He was thinking of the beautiful girl-woman who, a few feet away, was tenderly trying to coax the weary, big-eyed child to sleep. Edith Chaffee had but lately joined the company, to enact a small part. Her freshness, her extreme beauty, her graceful charm and re-

finement had already inflamed Gilderslecve's coarse passions. He had made advances to her ; had flattered her ; had told her she was full of promise ; that he hoped to bring her to the front. She had treated him coldly. She detested the man. All the refinement, all the pure womanliness in her nature, revolted against him, for she had gauged his character. But for the fact that she was practically alone in the world, that to live she must act, she would have said good-by to his company, then and there. Gildersleeve's thoughts still continued to run in the same channel. ' Ceasing to bite his nails, he drew a fesh cigar from his case and struck a match ; but the flame was [ immediately extinguished by the draught from the open window. j The tSi\in was slowing up before a trestle. He arose to close the window. ; An instant later he let go of the sash as if it had been red hot, and staggered back. A hand — a huge, gnarled, grimy hand — had suddenly gripped the window ledge from the outside. For a moment only one hand was visible ; then a second hand, smaller, and no match for the other, clapped on to the window ledge, close beside the first. The suddenness, the weirdness of it all, held Gildersleeve spellbound. His eyes were riveted an the open window with a look of terrified expectancy. A close-cropped bullet head, the coarse hair bristling like spikes, a criminal bulldog face, scratched and bleeding and covered with dirt, huge* broad shoulders clad in stripes, suddenly filled up the window and became framed in it like »• ngK nightmarish picture. Shorty Scars, alias the Terror. And there whs a background to the picture, another face, slate-colored, and haggard. Ray Stan ton's face ! j Swift as thougnt Gildersleeve had grasped the situation. He knew that the train had passed not far from the great Joliet prison and

that these were convicts who had climbed up on the trestle and so reached the window. Ilia self-pos-session returned. He sprang across to the door. „ "Stop ! Stop, I say. : * The man with the bulldog face had jammed himself hallway through the window, and was covering him with a revolver. "Take a step near that door, and I drops yer whtre you stand. We're a-comin' in !" A moment later Gildersleeve was facing the two desperate men in felon's dress. The light in the car shone upon them. The hunted expression on their features, the wild glare in their eyes, their torn, mudstained clothes, told a story that needed no words. For a second or two there was no movement, no words were spoken. Gildersleeve's dilated eyes shifted from one face to the other. His brain was not idle. For the moment, at least, he was at their mercy, and the man loved his life.

mercy,

He, too, was being scrutinized.

Shorty Sears, alias Terror, gripping his revolver menacingly, had fastened his ferret eyes on the fleshy face clammy with a nervous sweat.

"You !" The silence had been broken by the Teiror. The husky word had been accompanied by a sudden change of expression. The light of recognition shone from his eyes ; the "" strained hardness about his bulldog mouth had changed into a grim, wicked smile of self-confi-dence. "There's goin' to be no nonsense" — the husk]' was slow and deliberate now — "we've got a chance of freedom, and you, guvnor"—d ie ferret eyes seemed to be stabbing through the ostentatious fur coat into the inner man beyond — "you know what it is to have prison bars before you ! Some of us comes out on ticket-of-leave, and fancies all's square. We've took French leave, and we don't mean to go back. See this' here?" lie raised the revolver. "There's five bullets in this for the bloke that tries to send us back. You're a dude now, but I knpw you all right. I can remember j^our togs was precious like my togs, and' your mim-

Gildersleeve was gray as ashes. "Stop that!" he stammered, desperately. "I don't want to rake up bygones, but you've got to help us," went on the felon. "Let's make a bargain. Help us, and I holds my tongue ; refuse, and I tells fill I knows. If the world wants proof, it's only got to strip you and look at the "marks on your back." Gildersleeve reeled. The felon with the bulldog face, a face that was growing familiar now, knew one of the secrets of his life, a secret that with infinite skill and lying he had kept concealed. "l/ook here, whatever your name is now," went on the felon, "it is a bargain ?" A moment's silence, during which, the Terror's ferret eyes, never left the gray face, then a hoarse, desperate, "Yes."- *! i*d The scene had been played. The stronger man had won. > "Done J" cried the Terror. "It's : and me and my pal'U stick to ours, j a bargain ! You stick to your part ' Have you got a brandy flask ?" j Gilderslcove drew a flask from his pocket. j The Terror snatched it and handed it to his companion. "After you," he said. . The brandy was like a draught of new life to them. ' "What's on the placard ?"- asked the Terror, jerking his thumb at a strip pasted across the window. "We was too hurried gettin' in to read it just now." { "The name of the theatrical com- j pany of which. l'm stage manager." _ The Terror laughed. "Bust me ! You stage manager! You don't mean ter tell me that's the game you've took to ! A road company, eh ? What's the name of the play ?" "Prison Bars !" Ray Stanton had followed the conversation eagerly. i "What's your name ?" went on , the Terror. j

"Theodore Montgomery Gildersleeve." ' "Bust me, that's good !" went on the 1 Terror. "Well, I reckon the company is a-goin' to have two ex try members." "What !" gasped the manager. * "That's part of the bargain," said the fellow, coolly. "I shan't be it chin' to play the hero nor the j villain ; I'll do scene-shiftin' 'or anythin' ; but my pal's a gentleman — he's got to have & part " "Hold on !" cried Gildersleeve. I won't stand it ! When it comes to a couple oi jailbirds fastening themselves on to me and expecting me to drag them out of the mire, it's going too far !" "Steady there !" Danger was flashing from the Terror's ferret eyes ; the lower jaw seemed to protrude more than ever. ''Who are you to plaster us with 'jailbird' ? You'll have to come to my terms afore I've done with, you. I'm fightin' for liberty, d'ye see ? You'd best give in. I haven't shown you my whole hand yet. I've got another card to play !" (To be Continued).

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