The citizen. (Frederick City, Md.) 1895-1923, 1900-10-05

arms. staggered a minute and then
fell fainting to the ground.
'Plucky little chap!" said one of the
men.
Not an ounce of flesh on his bonesw
said the other
When Edgar Brooke came to himself,
he was lying on a bench hastily drag
ged on to the stage. He saw that the
gas jets in the flies We're turned off.
The curtain was raised, for the noisy
audience had pounSd into the streets.
His bench was Rsar to the footlights,
but they, too, were lowered, and it was
an anxious, whispering group Of peo-
pie on every side that gradually crept
into his consciousness.
There was the manager STOPPING over
him, with a hand on his breast and a
big finger pressed to his pulse. Be
side him was the Gown. Most Of the
girls We're still in their costumes, with
their hair falling untidily on their
shoulders. The whole sccRe was shad-
owy and strange to the pale, exhaust
ed Harlequin as he sank back again on
the arm of the Demon King.
He closed his eyes, but suddenly the
ringing voice of his Columbine seemed
to leap out of the babel of tongues.
At first he could not follow what she
said. He only saw how erect was the
little figure, at once pathetic and elo-
quent Of love and the fierce earnest
ness of youth.
Slowly her words took shape discon-
nected and broken as the sentences
were.
"In couple of months this old panto
will be over" she said. I'VE shall all
go east and west-the Lord knows
where? But look here-we've been
good friends. haven't we-jolly, good
friends? You fellows have been kind
to me, all of you. But there's one Of
you that l love-therel | love him!
Why? Because he's fought against
trouble and poverty and illness, be-
cause his heart has never failed him
till tonight III tell you something
else"
There was such intensity in her voice
and face that she held them silent and
absorbed for a few minutes more.
It's just this: Edgar Brooke has no
soul on earth to turn to! l tell you he's
danced in a booth; he's sung in the
streets; he's worked; he's starved;
he's looked at life under the canvas;
he's thought of death under the skies
That's the stuff for an actor to be made
Of"
Edgar Brooke put out his hand to
stop her, but she went on, with flash
ing eyes.
well, what do you say? Shall it
be round robin for the sake Of our
own hard times? Come! We all know
where the shoe pinches."
She bent down and pulled off one OF
her own shoes and held 1t out to the
manager first of all He might have
resisted the disconnected little speech,
but not the pretty face turned up so
appealingly to his-a couple Of coins
clinked into the shoe.
Edgar felt his cheeks burn, for the
theater was his little world, and the
quick response of his comrades touched
and amazed him.
His wistful eyes followed Columbine
as she tripped from one to another,
now with a jest or smile, now with a
tear.
When she brought the little shoe to
the side of the bench at last, he could
only stretch out his hands to the crowd
that pressed round. He tried to thank
them, looked up to the Columbine with
a few broken words and turned his
face away.
The ring of encouraging voices, the
flicker of uncertain lights, the touch
of the girls fingers twined round his
hand faded into misty shadow of
sound and sight, and were gone as
swiftly as they came.
"a curious memento, Mr.. Brooke?
said the youthful interviewer again,
recalling the popular comedian to the
faded ballet shoes.
Eyes. yes" said Edgar Brooke light
ly. But it would scarcely interest
you. BY the way, did l tell you that
my wife was a dancer-before we mar.
ried-a long time agoy-Mainly About
People.