“Precisely,” he returned. “Over that let us draw a veil. I won out in the end, but it was only by a display of the utmost firmness. My father called it pigheadedness. To this day they are not reconciled, though I fancy they are beginning to be resigned.
“I took a course in the best dramatic school in New York, and, when I left that, got a minor position in the company of one of our leading actor dramatists. It was the merest trifle. I think I had barely half a dozen lines, but I was rejoiced, for it was a foothold. I had reached the bottom rung of the ladder up which I meant to climb to the very top. I worked hard. Before the company left New York I had mastered half a dozen rôles and was letter-perfect. I had a fancy that I could not improve on several of them, but my chance did not come until we were playing in Chicago, where the leading juvenile was suddenly seized with appendicitis. He had no understudy—happily for me. I went at once to Mr. Manton and boldly asked for the part. To my astonishment, almost without word, he agreed to try me out at a rehearsal. I found out afterward that he had been keeping an eye on me ever since I entered the company. He was the best friend I ever had.”
He stopped, took a few sips of his bouillon, and leaned back in his chair.
“You made good?” Dick questioned eagerly. “But of course you must have.”
“Thanks to Mr. Manton, I did,” returned Demarest. “He took infinite pains with me, as he always did with any one he thought worth the trouble. I kept that part for the remainder of the season, and the next fall I had one almost as good, though of a totally different sort. Then came my patron’s sudden death. It was a terrible blow to me, quite apart from the fact that I was thrown out of a job; for I had grown to be amazingly fond of him. But I had little time for repining. I had to find something to do and it did not prove to be so easy as I had supposed. It was then that I had my first experience with the so-called theatrical trust, the members of which control many of the companies and theatres, in this country.
“At last I landed a job, but it was a good deal of a come-down both in salary and importance. But even under their auspices I kept on going slowly upward until I reached a point which would have contented most men. Perhaps it should have contented me, but I knew I hadn’t reached the very top, and that I was determined to do, or perish in the attempt.
“About that time—which was last fall, to be explicit—I suddenly decided to write a play. The germ had been in my mind for a long period, but I lacked the time to follow it out. Happily the company disbanded earlier than usual last spring, and I at once set to work on my pet idea. I succeeded even better than I had hoped, for the play was good stuff and the leading part a crackajack.”
He paused and smiled at Merriwell.
“This is the point where you step upon the stage,” he went on. “It’s taken a long time to get there, hasn’t it?”
Dick’s face was full of puzzled curiosity.