Rupert's Ambition

"Is it that you are engaged to the fair Pauline?"

"Oh, bother, no. Otto Schaefer may have her, if he wishes."

"What is it, then?"

"I have sent complimentary tickets to Palmer and Daly. Do you think they will come?"

"I imagine they are both very busy men, and cannot afford the time."

"I thought, if they should be impressed with my playing, one of them might offer me an engagement in his stock company."

"And you would like that?"

"Would I like it? It would make me supremely happy."

"Then you are not satisfied with the position of a bell-boy?"

"Certainly not. Are you?"

"For the present, yes."

"Should you be willing to be a bell-boy for the next twenty years?"

"No, I don't think I should, but I am still very young. I have just passed seventeen."

"And I am a year older. It is high time I entered upon my chosen vocation."

At length the eventful evening arrived. The hall was well filled, but the audience were from the neighborhood of First Avenue and Avenue A. Many of them were German or of German descent. The fact that Miss Strassburger, who was to play Pauline, was of Teutonic blood, doubtless accounted for this fact.

The play commenced and progressed smoothly. The actors were well up in their parts. Ida Strassburger, to be sure, hardly looked aristocratic enough for Pauline, her figure being decidedly dumpy. She assumed a coquettish air, and from time to time glanced from the corner of her eye at a short, stout German young man who sat but a few feet from the stage.

It is needless to say that this was Otto Schaefer, her Brooklyn lover. He seemed restless and ill at ease, especially when there were any affectionate passages between Ida and Leslie. For instance, when Pauline has to say, "Sweet prince, tell me again of thy palace by the Lake of Como; it is so pleasant to hear of thy splendors since thou didst swear to me that they would be desolate without Pauline," Otto's lip curled with scorn, and he glared at the prince with a hostile eye.

Towards the end of the play, when Melnotte presents himself after a long absence, and Pauline, recognizing her husband, rushes into his arms, Otto could stand it no longer. He sprang from his seat, jumped on the stage, and called out in an excited tone to Leslie: "You quit that! That gal is my promised wife."

Instantly there was a chorus of exclamations, and half the audience rose to their feet in excitement.

CHAPTER XXVI.

TRIUMPHANT OVER OBSTACLES

Never, probably, in the many representations of "The Lady of Lyons" has there been a stranger tableau than was presented on the stage in Amaranth Hall on the evening when Leslie made his début as a star.

Leslie stood in the centre of the stage, with his arm encircling the waist of the fair Ida, while Otto, short, stout, and decidedly Teutonic, stood a few feet to the left, shaking his fist at the two leading characters. It was enough to throw a veteran actor into confusion.

But Leslie was not wholly unprepared. Still encircling the fair Pauline's waist, he half turned and thundered in indignant words not to be found in Bulwer's play this stern defiance: "Caitiff, avaunt! This rock shall fly from its firm base as soon as I."

The melodramatic defiance caught the house. There was a chorus of shouts and laughter, and some small boys in the gallery called out, "Pitch into him, Claude!"

Otto, not being accustomed to standing on a stage facing a crowded audience, appeared somewhat abashed, but his indignation was still warm. He turned to the audience and said, in an explanatory tone, "He ain't got no right to hug my gal."

By this time Ida, too, was indignant. She felt that Otto was exposing both her and himself to ridicule, and she cried out, in a vexed tone, "You just sit down, Otto Schaefer, and don't make a fool of yourself, or I'll never speak to you again."

"Sit down! sit down!" resounded from all parts of the house.

Otto could not stand the clamor. With one last indignant glance at Leslie and his promised bride he descended from the stage and made his way to his seat in the orchestra.

When Leslie, resuming the business of the play, said, "Look up! look up, Pauline! for I can bear thine eyes. The stain is blotted from my name. I have redeemed mine honor," there was a shout of applause.

Then Leslie, perceiving his opportunity, interpolated a few words appropriate to the occasion. Pointing to the discomfited Otto, he said, "Heed not that vulgar groundling, who would step in between us and our happiness. Let him return in shame and failure to his butcher shop in Brooklyn, nor dare profane thy presence, sweet Pauline."

Otto felt that this was addressed to him, and he called out in a passion: "Don't you call me names, you New York dude!"

Here a policeman appeared, and hurried the unfortunate man from the hall, and the play proceeded to the close.

At the end Claude and Pauline were called before the curtain by the excited audience. The applause was terrific. Then there was a cry of "Speech! speech!"

Nothing could have suited Leslie better.

"My generous friends," he said, "this is the proudest moment of my life. I don't feel that I have merited your applause, but I accept it for the fair Pauline. If my poor efforts have pleased you I am more than satisfied. I did not anticipate the unpleasant interruption which marred our closing scene, but Miss Strassburger and myself were sustained by the thought that you were with us. Trusting to meet you again ere long, I bid you good-night."

There was another chorus of cheers. Leslie led Ida out at the wings, and the audience left the hall.

"What did you think of it, Rupert?" asked Leslie proudly, as he joined his fellow bell-boy in the street.

"I give you credit for getting out of a tight place so neatly."

"I was too much for the butcher boy, eh, Rupert?"

"You certainly were," said Rupert, laughing. "I hope Ida will forgive him."

"I think she will after a while, as long as he didn't spoil the play. The audience were very enthusiastic."

"Yes, more so probably on account of Otto's ill-timed interruption."

"So I think. It was a splendid ovation. Oh, Rupert, it was delicious. It was, as I said, the proudest moment of my life. I wonder if there will he anything in the papers about it."

"I think it quite likely."

"You didn't see anything of Daly or Palmer in the hall, did you?"

"I don't know the gentlemen by sight."

"I wish they had been there. I think they would have appreciated my triumph over the young butcher from Brooklyn."

"Perhaps they would," said Rupert, dubiously.

The next evening Leslie read the following notice in the Evening News: