“Then it is time that we looked after him,” nodded Merry, grimly. “Show me where he has gone, Ephraim.”
Hodge followed them. They left the theater and hurried along the street to a saloon.
“He went in here,” said Ephraim.
Without a word, Frank entered.
The moment Merry was within the place he saw Burns standing near the bar, while a crowd had gathered around him. The old man had placed his hat on the bar, tossed back his long, black hair, which was streaked with gray, struck a pose, and was just beginning to declaim from Shakespeare.
“Go it, old chap!” cried a half-intoxicated man. “We’ll put up the red eye for you as long as you will spout.”
The old man’s voice rang out clear and strong. His pronunciation was perfect, and his enunciation clear and distinct. Involuntarily Merry paused a moment to listen. At that moment it came to Frank that Burns might, beyond a doubt, have been an actor of no small merit had he eschewed drink and followed his ambition with unswerving purpose. For the first time Merry fully appreciated the outraged feelings of the old fellow who was compelled to burlesque the tragedian on the stage.
Frank strode forward into the crowd, followed by his friends.
“Burns,” he said, quietly, interrupting the old man, “I want you to come with me.”
The aged actor stopped speaking, all the dignity seemed to melt from him in a moment, and he reached for his hat, murmuring: