CHAPTER XVI.—AN UNPLEASANT POSITION.
The bad news had preceded Leo and Carl Ross, and they found Mrs. Gerston, the landlady, waiting at the front door.
“So Mr. Wampole has run away, eh?” she said sharply.
“It seems so,” said Carl soberly.
“And who is to pay me?”
“He is responsible, madam,” replied Leo.
“Well, you’ll not come in this night, unless you pay,” cried the landlady, blocking up the doorway with her portly form. “I’m not running a boarding-house for fun.”
“I have no money to pay with.”
“Neither have I,” added Carl.
“Then you can just leave.”
“Very well; give us our baggage and we will.”
“I’ll not give up a thing until I’m paid,” was the determined reply.
Both Carl and Leo were nonplussed. They could not blame the woman, yet it was a hard situation to face.
“We have lost more than you,” said Carl. “Mr. Wampole owes us both three weeks’ salary.”
“That’s not my affair. When you pay the ten dollars due me you can both have your traveling bags, and not before.”
And with this the boarding-housekeeper shut the door in their faces.
“Knocked out all around,” said Leo, with a grin.
It was not in his nature to grieve over misfortune.
“Where shall we go for the night?”
“I don’t know. Let us look around for Wampole.”
The two set out on a search. It availed nothing, and by midnight they were worn out.
Fortunately the night was warm, and coming to a deserted mill on the outskirts of the town, they determined to remain there and rest. They found some old sacks, and on these made their bed.
Carl awoke with a start the next morning. Looking up he saw a young man of eighteen standing near him. The young man had a pleasant face, and he was smiling.
“Thought I’d wake you up,” he said. “How is it you are bunking here for the night?”
“We are out of funds,” replied the young magician.
“Tramping?”
“Hardly that; but we may be soon.”
“We belonged to the specialty company that went to pieces last night,” explained Leo, who had roused up.
“Oh! Were you on the stage?” the young man asked of Carl.
“Yes.”
“Are you the magician?”
“Yes.”
“And he is the gymnast, isn’t he?”
“I am,” replied Leo.
“I saw you both. You did finely. So you are out of money and out of a job?”
“We are.”
“It’s strange. Do you know I intended to call on you to-day.”
“On us?” cried Carl in wonder.
“Yes. You see I am from Raymondsville, the next town. My name is Walter Raymond, and my father owns about half the place. My brothers and sisters are going to give a lawn party this afternoon, and I promised to see if I couldn’t get some of the members of your company over to liven things up.”
“I would like to appear for you, first rate,” said Carl quickly, thinking he saw a chance to make a few dollars.
“So will I appear,” added Leo.
“How much will you charge for an entertainment lasting say an hour?”
Carl looked at Leo. They did not wish to ask too much, and at the same time wanted to make all they could.
“Two city performers generally get twenty dollars,” said Leo; “but we might go a bit cheaper.”
“I wouldn’t mind giving twelve dollars,” replied Walter Raymond. “If you can come for that, I’ll drive you over as soon as you can get ready.”
A bargain was struck, and then the two performers returned to the vicinity of the theater. Nothing could be learned of Nathan Wampole, and an hour later they left for Raymondsville.
They found Walter Raymond very kind. He treated them to a liberal dinner, and aided them to get their stage things into proper shape.
“It’s lucky we got our stuff from the theater,” said Leo. “We may pick up quite a little money by giving private performances throughout this district.”
“That twelve dollars will help us to get our baggage from Mrs. Gerston,” said Carl.
The Raymond homestead was surrounded by beautifully laid out grounds, and directly after the noonday hour the guests began to arrive, to the number of a dozen or more. Carl and Leo had been given a dressing-room in the mansion, and here they prepared for their acts.
Leo was the first to perform, and at the conclusion of his initial act he was loudly applauded.
Then Carl appeared, followed by one of the house servants, who brought his paraphernalia.
“Isn’t he handsome!” whispered several of the girls.
Carl began to juggle with several balls and a hoop. He threw the balls through the hoop and around it. Then he brought forth several daggers and juggled them in one hand, while he kept the balls going with the other. The hoop he balanced on a stick set on the end of his nose, and placed a ball on top of all.
This was a remarkable feat, requiring great delicacy of touch and a keen eye. The boys and girls watched him breathlessly, and then began to clap their hands.
“Wonderful! wonderful!”
“I never saw anything to equal that!”
“It’s as good as a performance in a circus or a theater!”
The juggling continued, Carl getting down on one knee and also on his back, without making a miss of anything that was in motion.
At the very height of the act came a loud cry from the house.
“Help! help!”
“Look out for Jack Darrow’s dog!”
“The brute is mad!”
The cry was taken up on all sides. The boys and girls looked around in terror.
And well they might, for a few seconds later an ugly-looking bulldog with glaring eyes and mouth dripping with white foam leaped into their very midst.
For an instant he stared at the spectators—the next he turned toward Carl, and with a loud snarl leaped straight for the young performer’s throat.