THE COMPANY IS ENLARGED.

Neka knew what a hard-hearted wretch Hank Maul was; consequently his blood fairly boiled with indignation when he heard the words given above.

“The scoundrel!” he murmured to himself. “It sounds as if he were whipping a defenseless girl!”

Without further hesitation, the boy dashed into the hall building. A narrow passageway led to a door opening upon the wing of the stage, and to this he made his way. He flung open the door.

A sight met his gaze that caused his indignation to increase, if such a thing were possible.

There in the center of the otherwise empty stage stood Hank Maul, and in his savage clutch was a slim-built girl of not more than twelve years of age. The girl was thinly clad, and the ex-circus driver had been beating her over the shoulders with a short, black whip.

“Now do it,” he said. “Do it, or I’ll give you another taste of the lash.”

“I can’t! I’ll break my neck!” pleaded the girl.

With a frightful imprecation, Hank Maul raised the whip to strike the poor creature over the head.

But before the blow could descend Neka sprang in, caught the whip away and hurled it into a corner.

“Let her alone, Hank Maul!” he cried, with flashing eyes. “You are a big, overgrown brute to strike a girl like that!”

“Neka!” The man stepped back in amazement. “What brought you here?” he demanded, fiercely.

“I heard the girl’s cries from the street. You shan’t beat her any more.”

“Won’t I?” sneered the man. “It’s not for you to say!”

“It is for me to say, Hank Maul. Leave her alone.”

For the girl had attempted to retreat behind Neka, and Maul had caught her fiercely by the arm.

“Git out of here, Neka, or I’ll--I’ll wipe up the floor with you!” howled the ex-driver, fairly beside himself with rage. “Because you belong to a rival show you can’t come here and boss me.”

“The show business has nothing to do with this matter,” responded the boy, as calmly as he could. “Leave the girl alone.”

At that moment a light step was heard outside, and a boy came in. He was about a year older than the girl, and the pair looked very much alike. As a matter of fact, they were Joe and Jennie Windom, the child mimics mentioned on the mammoth hand-bill outside.

“Oh, Joe!” faltered the girl, breaking from Maul and rushing to her brother.

“What’s the trouble now, Jennie? Has he been trying to beat you again?”

“Yes.”

“See here, Mr. Maul, I won’t stand----” began Joe Windom.

“Shut up!” howled the manager of the rival specialty company.

“Are you the boy put down as Joe Windom?” asked Neka.

“Yes.”

“Is this your sister?”

“Yes. Who are you?”

“I am Neka, the Fire King.”

“Oh!”

“I heard your sister crying for help and came in. Has this brute any claim on you?”

“No.”

“I have!” yelled Maul, black with passion. “You git out now, an’ quick!”

“I won’t let you abuse these children,” said Neka. “If you beat that girl again, I’ll notify the authorities.”

“Oh, Joe, let us leave Mr. Maul,” pleaded Jennie Windom. “Remember, he hasn’t paid us a cent yet.”

“I paid your board for two days,” growled Hank Maul, sullenly.

What Neka had said about informing the authorities made him modify his demands.

“That wasn’t much.”

“It was enough.”

“I know Hank Maul of old,” put in Neka. “He was a brute and still is. If he has no claim on you, I advise you to leave him without delay.”

“The trouble is, we don’t know where to go,” whispered Joe Windom. “We haven’t any money.”

“I will help you all I can,” said Neka. “Where did you come from?”

“The Clara Peal Specialty Company that went to pieces in Battleville. We were stranded, and Maul asked us to join his new company, which is nothing but a fake.”

While Joe Windom was speaking Maul ran to the corner and again secured his whip.

“I’ll teach you to talk about me!” he cried, and struck at Joe Windom.

Again Neka caught hold of the whip. A fierce fight ensued, which ended when Joe Windom sprang in. Between them the boys knocked Maul flat on his back.

“Run for it, Jennie!” panted her brother. And at once the girl took to her heels, and then the boys were not slow in following, leaving Hank Maul to pick himself up as best he might.

At the corner below the three came together, and Neka invited the Windoms over to his own theatre. Here he introduced them to Longfellow Wadsworth and Bindley.

From the brother and sister it was learned that they were orphans with no one to depend on but themselves. Their father had been an actor and had died on the road, and their mother had been dead since they were very young. They had an uncle up in Boston, but he was poor and hard-hearted, and had written to them that he could do nothing to help them.

The pair had been taught to mimic a dozen or more well-known characters, such as a countryman, an old soldier, a dude, and the like, and, at Wadsworth’s suggestion, they went through their act. They had no stage dresses, yet created a decidedly favorable impression.

“What do you think of them?” asked Neka, as he called the elocutionist aside. “Could they be drilled into doing something worth putting on the bills?”

“I think so,” replied Longfellow Wadsworth.

“I would like to take them in. Perhaps the girl could assist me in some fire tricks.”

“I can play the banjo, too,” put in Joe Windom. “Can’t you make a place for us in your organization?”

Neka looked at Wadsworth, and then and there it was decided to take the orphans in.

This afterward proved a good move, for not only did the mimic turn take well, but Jennie helped Neka in several tricks, Joe played a solo on the banjo, and with five members they were able to put a little one-act farce on their bills as a wind-up every night, and this was more than appreciated.

“We’re getting there gradually,” said Bindley. “By the time we reach New York we’ll be a full-fledged company.”

Bindley was very proud of one thing Neka had done. This was to insert his name on the hand bills as stage manager.

But Bindley deserved it. He had said he would work like a car horse for success, and he was keeping his word. He got up innumerable advertising dodges, and each one of them counted in the receipts.

It must not be supposed that Hank Maul took peacefully to the scene which had transpired at the hall he had hired. That afternoon he called at the theatre and had a long and warm discussion with Neka and Wadsworth.

“I’ll have you arrested! I’ll sue you for damages!” he fumed.

“The best thing you can do is to keep quiet,” remarked Longfellow Wadsworth. “If you say too much, we’ll get Jennie Windom to make a complaint against you.”

With the Windoms gone, Maul had only himself and the trick pony left. He could not give his show, and consequently sought to leave Washingtonville without paying for either hall or hotel accommodations.

But the town people were too sharp for him. They stopped him and attached the pony and his trunk. Then he was compelled to pay both the bills and the costs of the attachments.

He left Washingtonville feeling very bitter toward Neka and his friends.

“I’ll git square with ’em,” he growled to himself, more than once. “I’ll git square if it costs me my life!”

The Neka-Wadsworth Company now had the field in Washingtonville entirely to themselves, and, as the night proved clear, the final performance in that town was a big success. The local paper, the _County Clarion_, gave them a fine notice, and this helped fill every seat in the little theatre.

“Victory, after all, my son!” cried Longfellow Wadsworth, after the performance was over. “Two wet nights, and still twenty-eight dollars ahead of the deal.”

This was not a large amount, but it was better than running behind, and they were correspondingly thankful.

From Washingtonville the combination, as Bindley always called it now, struck into Connecticut and then over into New York State. In the meantime Joe and Jennie Windom were well drilled into their parts and made their appearance. They made a hit, and Neka and Wadsworth were more pleased than ever for having taken them in charge.

The first snow of the winter found them at a town on the Hudson called Woolskill. There had not been a show in the place for three weeks, and the prospects were that they would have a big house for the two nights they intended to remain there.

Since the night it had rained and Longfellow Wadsworth had sought consolation from his black flask, Neka had done his best to get the elocutionist to give up his drinking habits. This had been hard work, but he had partly succeeded, as Wadsworth had not drunk a drop for over two weeks.

“You can trust me, Neka,” he said. “I won’t drink any more. Fact is, I never was a very hard drinker. Only take an eye-opener and a nightcap once in a while, that’s all.”

The company had been making money right along, and they now had nearly four hundred dollars to their credit. This amount had been exchanged at various banks for ten and twenty-dollar bills, and Longfellow Wadsworth carried the amount in a flat package, sewed up in an inside pocket of his vest.

On the afternoon of the day they arrived in Woolskill all hands went to the theatre which had been hired by the elocutionist.

“I have a friend in business here,” he said. “Tom Marcy, a furniture dealer. I want to call on him. I’ll be on hand at six o’clock.”

Nothing was thought of this, as one or another often went off in the same way. But when six o’clock and half-past came, and Longfellow Wadsworth did not show up, Neka and Bindley became anxious.

“I’ll call at Marcy’s furniture store and see if he’s there,” said Neka.

The establishment in question was but a few blocks away. Arriving there, Neka stated his errand.

“Why, Mr. Wadsworth left about half-past five,” said the proprietor. “We talked over old times, had a drink, and then he said he would have to get back to the theatre.”

“Where did you leave him?”

“At the corner below, on the other side.”

The corner mentioned was occupied by a saloon. Neka walked in the direction, and his heart began to fail him. Was it possible Longfellow Wadsworth had given way to his appetite for strong liquor?

He looked into the saloon and found it empty. This was some satisfaction.

“Lookin’ for anybody, boss?” asked a bootblack stationed near.

“Yes,” replied Neka, and described the elocutionist to the street urchin.

“I saw der gent, boss. He was with Mr. Marcy first.”

“That’s the man. Did you see him later on?”

“Yer bet I did.”

“Where?”

“Down near der river, in front of Dan Humboldt’s saloon. He was wid a couple o’ slick-lookin’ coves, an’ he was as full as a tick. It looked ter me like der slick-lookin’ coves had it in fer him, fer dey was leadin’ him down a side street.”

Neka gave a groan. Longfellow Wadsworth had gone and become intoxicated in spite of all warnings. What of the large amount of money he carried? Was it still safe?