CHAPTER XV.—AN ACT NOT ON THE BILLS.
The performance had been going on for half an hour. Leo had done some very clever acts and been well received, and now it was time for Carl to make his bow.
The little orchestra struck up a grand flourish, and suddenly the young magician bounded upon the stage, bringing with him a small, square box.
He came down to the front, made a bow and threw the square box into the air. Down it came into his hands, and as he whirled around on his heel the box disappeared from view.
“My, look at that!”
“Where did that box go to?”
“Must have gone up in smoke.”
Such were some of the remarks passed.
The trick was a decidedly clever one, yet as simple as could be when explained.
True to our promise, we will let our readers into the secret.
The box consisted of nothing but six perfectly square and thin boards, all hinged together in such a manner that it would collapse into a perfectly flat mass when pressed on any two sides. With a little study any boy can make such a box.
As the box entered Carl’s hands he flattened it, and, as he whirled around, he slipped it into the bosom of his costume.
This trick performed, the young magician brought out several other tricks and then began to juggle ten teacups, throwing them over his head and under his arms. There was a perfect stream of teacups in the air, and not a one was so much as cracked.
“He’s certainly clever-handed!”
“He’s the best part of the show!”
Hearty hand-clapping followed, and then Carl threw the teacups to Leo, in the wings, and started to do a great balancing act on four chairs.
He had just arranged the chairs in position when he heard a commotion in the wings.
“I say the hall ain’t paid for, and the show can’t go on!” he heard, in the angry tones of the theater owner.
“Where is Wampole?” several asked.
“I can’t find him.”
“He was taking the money at the box-office.”
“Well, he’s not there now.”
“He must be somewhere around.”
“I’ll give you five minutes to produce him. If you can’t, out go the lights.”
Realizing that matters had reached a crisis, the young magician proceeded with his act as quickly as he could. The orchestra struck up a lively air, but scarcely had they played half a dozen bars when the proprietor of the theater came out on the stage and silenced them.
“This show can’t go on, ladies and gentlemen,” he said. “I haven’t been paid for the hall, and the head man of this company has skipped out with all of the funds.”
“What’s that?”
“Skipped out?”
“No more of the show?”
“That’s a shame! Give me my money back?”
A hundred other cries arose on the air. The owner of the place prudently retired, and in wonder the orchestra did the same. A second later the curtain came down, and the lights were lowered.
“Is it true that Wampole has skipped?” asked Carl of Leo hurriedly.
“Yes; and he took every cent of the receipts with him,” was the bitter answer.
Carl said no more. He followed Leo to the dressing-room and hurried into his street clothing.
Overhead the pair could hear the tramp of many feet. Presently came the crash of a breaking bench.
“Some of the audience are getting mad,” Leo muttered to himself. “I fancy——”
“We must run for it,” gasped Carl, in a low voice. “Hark! Some of the toughs that were in the gallery have threatened to mob the entire company!”
“I am ready to go,” said Leo, as he picked up his valise.
He turned to go out into the hallway. Then he leaped back and slammed the door shut and locked it.
“Too late. They are coming; they are here!”
The young gymnast spoke the truth. Heavy footsteps came up to the door. A hand tried the knob.
“Open that door, you confounded fakirs, or we’ll smash it down!” was the cry. “You can’t escape us! We are bound to get square with you!”
“Shall I open for them?” whispered Leo.
“No, no!” cried Carl. “They would half kill us, they are so enraged over the loss of their admission money.”
“But what’s to be done?”
“Here I have it—the window. Out you go.”
“And you?”
“I’ll follow. Quick!”
Leo leaped for the window, a small affair, opening on a narrow and dirty alley.
The opening was barred, but he easily wrenched the irons from their rotted fastenings and crawled through the opening.
As Carl followed there was a crash, and the door fell in.
Half a dozen young men, the worst in the town, swarmed into the apartment, only to find it empty.
Up the alleyway sped Leo and his companion, nor did they stop until the theater had been left several blocks behind.
Deeming themselves now safe, they dropped into a walk and began to discuss the situation.
Soon they met several other members of the company. From these they learned that Nathan Wampole had indeed run away, carrying every cent of the box-office receipts with him.
“The scoundrel!” burst out Carl. “What are we going to do here, penniless and over two hundred miles from New York?”
No one could answer that question, and, as there was nothing else to do, Leo and Carl turned their steps toward the boarding-house at which they had been stopping.