The Washburn times. [volume] (Washburn, Wis.) 1896-1976, 1914-08-20

handed 1t to the actor. Merry pocketed
it without further questioning. and
pulled on his gloves.
Good night" he said, cor good
morning, whichever you choose"
Say, old man." Wentworth held
the door for a moment half closed
while he spoke. "Say, If you don't
mind, let's keep this transaction to
ourselves"
I'm willing" Merry paused to
strike a light for his last cigar, then
he laid his hands solemnly across his
breast. Gross my heart" he added
in a sepulchral tone.
Wentworth started at the sound of
an opening door. A girl entered.
For heavens sake, Dorfy: WSae
are you doing up at this unearthly
hour?"
I've had my sleep, you haven't"
she answered with laugh.
"Dorcas, sit down." said her brother.
do you see that fellow on the bench
under tree?"
The girl leaned a hand on Went
worth's shoulder while she turned her
eyes in the direction his finger pointed.
"Yes! What's the matter with him?
Is he anybody you know? Is he in
trouble?"
"He's an old friend of mine. It's
Andrew Merry, the comedian"
Wentworth sat for a moment gazing
into his sisters beautiful face. She
was a child in spite of her eighteen
years. He felt like an ancient, sim
battered, soiled, city-worn hulk of
humanity as he returned the straight
forward gaze Of her gray eyes.
Tell me about him, Enoch."
81 ran across him when / was doing
dramatics on the Pittsburgh Union.
He was a genial lad, but there wasn't
much for him to tell an interviewer.
He had been born and. raised In a
western town and then apprenticed to
a country bank. He hated figures and
loved the stage. He stuck to the
ledgers for while because he was all
his mother had. guess she worshiped
| him."
How did he happen to go on the
stage?"
Game on to New York, as they all
do sooner or later, and began with a
turn In a vaudeville house. He had
reached salary of fifty week. He
was perfectly happy except for one
| thing-he couldn't get the mothers
| loneliness out of his mind. They w1ote
| to each other every day."
T think / should like nfn," sug-
gested Dorcas.
81 gave Merry all the space next
morning instead of the dancer, and he
wrote me grateful letter. I didn't
see him again until two years later,
when came to New York. / found
his name in the cast of a light opera
company on Broadway. He was pretty
far down the list, but before the thing
had run two weeks he was moved up
to second place. His work was I'M
usual He's the funniest Merry An
drew 1 ever saw, YET once in while
there's touch of whimsical, fearful
| pathos In his antics that makes a
man-Wink."
"Take me to see him." cried the
girl eagerly.
"Well go tomorrow. It's his closing
night in The King at Large He's
| bigger favorite than several Of the big
stars, yet-it's the queerest thing-in
| all these years he's never taken the
step that would bring him to the top
"Why?"
"The Lord knows. One manager
died, another went under. It's the I'M
certainty of stage life."
"And his mother?" asked Dorcas.
"She died suddenly last season. A
fool usher gave Merry the telegram IN
the middle of a performance. when ne
went Off the stage. He dropped as Il
he'd been shot. They rang down the
curtain until the understudy could gel
into his toys. He didn't act for two
months. / thought he would never
4 brace up. | had him here half the WIN