The savage animal was gnawing at his heart. He could feel the pain of its sharp teeth.
"I am being fooled!" he told himself. "Well, if I am, they had better look out for themselves! If I catch them I'm liable to kill them both!"
Frank, also, played his part with a finish that was surprising, as he was nothing more than an amateur. The scowling stage manager confessed to himself that Lawrence could not have done it a whit better, if he could have done as well.
The third act came on, and everyone seemed getting into their parts splendidly.
Then there came an interruption.
Down in the middle of the hall sat a big, rough, bewhiskered man, who had gone out after the first and second acts. His flushed face and bloodshot eyes told that he had been drinking heavily, and now he began commenting on the actors and the play.
"A lot of doods in them swaller-tail coats," he said, loudly enough to be heard in his immediate vicinity. "They strut around, but they'd be scared to death at the pop of a gun."
Some of the spectators told him to keep still, but that aroused him all the more.
"Let somebody try to keep me still!" he invited. "I'm Bill Dyer, an' I've jest come in from Colerader. I don't reckon ther folks around here have fergot me."