Part 40 (1/2)

He sat through the thing enthralled, and when the finale came, so exactly as he had planned that smas.h.i.+ng great scene, he could have yelled his applause. But he didn't, he simply sat still in glad antic.i.p.ation of seeing it all over again.

But he was disappointed. It was not a continuous performance--the long play was a whole evening's entertainment, and opening and closing hours were like those of a regular theater.

So Peter determined to come the next night to see it again, and to see the first part that he had missed.

”Great old play,” he thought, delightedly. ”Wonder if Blair put it on before he died, or if it's posthumous.”

He picked up a stray program as he left the place--he had had none before--and put it in his pocket to look over at home.

”At least, I'm not suffering from lack of interests or diversion,” he said, ”but, by Jingo, I've just thought of it! What about money!

”I've enough to hang out at that hotel about a week and that's all. I'll have to tell Dad I'm here, or get a job or rob a bank. And what can I do to turn an honest penny? And I can't go to work under an a.s.sumed name!

Oh, hang it all, I've got to come to life! Much as I love Dad and much as I want to save him from all ridicule and disaster about that abominable book, I've simply got to live my own life!

”But I won't decide till my cash gets lower than it is now. I'll go a bit further in my investigations and then we'll see about it.”

Comfortably seated in his room he drew out the program to look over.

To his unbounded amazement he learned from the t.i.tle page that the author of the play and also the producer, or, at least, the president of the producing company was--Christopher Shelby!

”Kit! Good old top!” he cried aloud.

”Oh, I must see him,” he thought, ”I just must see him! So Kit wrote the thing--well, I suppose he and Blair did it together-- I recognize Kit's hand more especially in the producing element--and then, old Gilbert, bless him, was killed, and Kit went ahead alone-- I can't think Mac Thorpe did for Gil--oh, I must see _somebody_ or I'll go crazy!”

And because he was afraid to trust himself to keep away from the telephone any longer, Peter Boots went to bed.

The night brought counsel.

Clarifying his thoughts, Peter tried first to see where his duty lay.

To his parents, first of all, he decided, for he was a devoted son, and all his life he had loved and revered both father and mother more than most boys do. Julie, too, but, so far he had no reason to think she had any special claim on him.

Well, then, what did his duty to his parents dictate?

Common sense said that they would far rather have their son with them alive than to rest secure in the success of the book his father had written.

But the book itself was, to his mind, quite outside the pale of common sense, and could not be judged by any such standards.

Certain pages, special paragraphs in that book, stood out in his mind, and he knew that never had there been such a fiasco as would ensue if the long lost and deeply mourned hero of it should return! His return in the spirit was so gloatingly related, so triumphantly averred, that his return in the flesh would be a terrific anti-climax.

He remembered the gypsy's prophecy--how it had come true!

But the return, foretold by the second gypsy, was now verified in the flesh and put to naught all the fake returns narrated in the book.

Much stress was laid, in his father's story, on the spiritual return being what the gypsy meant. Now, Peter had proved that that prophecy meant, if it meant anything at all, his return in the flesh.

Anyway, here he was, very much alive, and very uncertain what to do with his live self.