"You seem to have a personal grudge against that carpet," he said, moving back a few yards as Dillingford laid on so manfully that the dust arose in clouds.
"Every time I land I say: 'Take that, darn you!' And it pleases me to imagine that with every crack Mr. Putnam Jones lets out a mighty 'Ouch!' Now listen! Didn't that sound a little like an ouch?" Mr. Dillingford rubbed a spot clean on the handle of the flail and pressed his lips to it. "Good dog!" he murmured tenderly. "Bite him! (Whack!) Now, bite him again! (Whack!) Once more! (Whack!) Good dog! Now, go lie down awhile and rest." He tossed the flail to the ground and, mopping his brow, turned to Barnes. "If you want a real treat, go into the cellar and take a look at Bacon. He is churning for butter. Got a gingham apron on and thinks he's disguised. He can't cuss because old Miss Tilly is reading the first act of a play she wrote for Julia Marlowe seven or eight years ago. Oh, it's a great life!"
Barnes sat down on the edge of a watering-trough and began filling his pipe.
"You are not obliged to do this sort of work, Dillingford," he said. "It would give me pleasure to stake—"
"Nix," said Mr. Dillingford cheerily. "Some other time I may need help more than I do now. I'm getting three square meals and plenty of fresh air to sleep in at present, and work doesn't hurt me physically. It DOES hurt my pride, but that's soon mended. Have you seen the old man this morning?"
"Rushcroft? No."
"Well, we're to be on our way next week, completely reorganised, rejuvenated and resplendent. Fixed it all up last night. Tommy Gray was down here with two weeks' salary as chauffeur and a little extra he picked up playing poker in the garage with the rubes. Thirty-seven dollars in real money. He has decided to buy a quarter interest in the company and act as manager. Everything looks rosy. You are to have a half interest and the old man the remaining quarter. He telegraphed last night for four top-notch people to join us at Crowndale on Tuesday the twenty-third. We open that night in 'The Duke's Revenge,' our best piece. It's the only play we've got that provides me with a part in which I have a chance to show what I can really do. As soon as I get through spanking this carpet I'll run upstairs and get a lot of clippings to show you how big a hit I've made in the part. In one town I got better notices than the star himself, and seldom did I—"
"Where is Crowndale?" interrupted Barnes, a slight frown appearing on his brow. He had a distinct feeling that there was handwriting on the wall and that it was put there purposely for him to read.
"About five hours' walk from Hornville," said Dillingford, grinning. "Twenty-five cents by train. We merely resume a tour interrupted by the serious illness of Mr. Rushcroft. Rather than impose upon our audiences by inflicting them with an understudy, the popular star temporarily abandons his tour. We ought to sell out in Crowndale, top to bottom."
The amazing optimism of Mr. Dillingford had its effect on Barnes. Somehow the day grew brighter, the skies less drear, a subtle warmth crept into the air.