“Don’t know. Sign for it here on the book.”
Barnaby Haley hesitated about going down into his pocket and bringing up thirty cents for a message that might be in the interest of the sender far more than himself. The “Empire Theater Comedy Company” had been “up against” bad business for a week, and Haley, who was associate manager with Zenas Hawkins, the “angel,” was not flush with money.
Up to date, the “angel” had seen very little of success, and he was beginning to weary of paying bills on every hand and scarcely getting a chance to count the box office receipts.
Thus it came about that Hawkins was nearing the end of his string, and Haley knew it. Realizing that the time might soon come when the “angel” would refuse to be milked any longer and take himself out of the company entirely, Mr. Haley was holding onto every cent with the grip of grim death.
But the messenger boy who had brought the telegram to the office of the hotel at which the theatrical company was stopping held onto the yellow envelope in a manner that indicated that he was not to be fooled into letting go of it till he had “the price.”
With a sigh, Haley parted with a silver quarter and a nickel and obtained the message, for which he signed on the messenger’s book.
“Any reply, sir?” asked the boy, waiting.
“I’ll see.”
Haley tore it open. A moment later, as he read the message, he started violently and turned pale. Then he said something that would not look well in print.
Several members of the company were sitting around in the office, smoking, chatting and telling stories. Now they were watching the corpulent manager, for all realized that disaster might overtake the company any day, and they dreaded the awful prospect of being stranded so far from New York and the Rialto.