“No, I have not forgotten,” he declared, “I remember all that, and I’d like to know just who worked the game.”
“It was a gol-dinged measly trick!” exploded Ephraim.
“You thought it would not hurt you, Frank,” said Hodge. “You fancied it would serve to advertise you, if anything. It may have advertised you, but it did you damage at the same time. When the audience saw everything was going wrong, it grew angry and became convinced that it was being defrauded. Then you had trouble with that big ruffian who climbed over the footlights with the avowed purpose of breaking up the show.”
“Oh, well,” smiled Merry, in a peculiar way, “that fellow went right back over the footlights.”
“Yes, you threw him back. That quieted the audience more than anything else, for it showed that you were no slouch, even if you were a fake.”
“Oh, I suppose I’ll find out some time just who did that little piece of advertising for me.”
“Perhaps so; perhaps not.”
Tap, tap, tap—a knock on the door.
“Come!” Frank called.
The door opened, and Billy Wynne, the property man, looked in.