Everyone in town had read and re-read his strange advertisement; many eyes were bent on the third row of the orchestra, in search of the "queer old man." And Mr. Marmaduke Merry was there, too, not a whit abashed, a huge bouquet in his withered hand.
A good many people had heard of his attempt to have Al arrested in the morning—such news travels fast—and he was the unconscious butt of many a covert jest.
Some one—it will never be known who, though there may be reason to suspect Mr. Augustus Wattles—had caused the report to be spread that the pretty actress, Miss Gladys March, was the long-lost sister of the young press agent, Al Allston, and that they had been reunited through the article in the Banner. That more than one person knew about it was evident when Al made his appearance in a box, with his mother on his arm; the applause that greeted him was as unexpected as it was embarrassing.
At first the boy did not realize that he was the object of these unusual demonstrations.
"What are they making all that noise about?" he said.
"Why, they are applauding you," his mother said.
"Nonsense!"
"Don't you see that every eye is fixed on this box?"
"I don't know but you are right," gasped Al, feeling symptoms of a return of the "stage fright" with which he had been seized on the occasion of the first performance in Boomville.
"Of course I am."