IN THE METROPOLIS.

On the day following the capture of the thieves they were brought up for examination and then committed to await the examination of the grand jury. Several complaints in addition to that made by Longfellow Wadsworth were put down against them, so the elocutionist had not to worry about coming back to Woolskill in order to make sure that they would be sent to jail. As a matter of fact, both rascals got three years each in Sing Sing prison.

Extra handbills were gotten out by noon, announcing that the Neka-Wadsworth Company would positively perform that evening. As a result of the extra advertising the theatre was jammed, and at the conclusion of the performance the partners found themselves with a clean balance on hand of five hundred and sixty dollars.

“Not a fortune,” said Neka, “but still something.”

Matters were talked over, and it was decided to remain out a week longer and then move into New York City.

In the meantime advertisements were published in a prominent theatrical weekly calling for good performers to join the new company, which was to be called the Neka-Wadsworth Oriental Specialty Combination. A call was also issued for musicians and a first-class orchestra leader.

Bindley had been through this part of the business several times, and he took charge as both general and stage manager. Besides seeing performers who desired situations, he also contracted for the necessary printing, which consisted of billboard and window lithographs.

From Woolskill the company came down to Haverskill and then to Irvington and Mount Vernon. Good business favored them, and when, on Saturday night, all hands packed up and got aboard the train for New York City, Neka and Longfellow Wadsworth carried between them a little over seven hundred dollars with which to strike out on the road as a full-fledged specialty company.

As the train rolled on the boy could not help but lean back in his seat and think of the past. What a difference a few months had wrought! Instead of being a poor, half-starved performer in a third-rate circus, he was now half owner of a specialty company, and making money more rapidly than he had ever dreamed of in days gone by.

He wondered if he would fall in with Daniel Bambo again, and also speculated on the future, and if he would be able to clear up the mystery which surrounded his birth.

Rooms had been engaged at a well-known theatrical boarding-house for Bindley and the Windoms. To keep up appearances, which was now essential to future success, Neka and Wadsworth put up at a first-class hotel. The boy begrudged the money thus spent, but realized that now was the time to thrust the best foot forward.

Sunday was a quiet day and Monday a very busy one. A temporary office was secured, and here the necessary performers were engaged, and bookings in nearby theatres for six weeks ahead were made. Bindley was sharp and shrewd in making bookings that were undoubtedly to their advantage, and in return for this work Neka and Wadsworth promptly raised his salary to forty dollars a week and a percentage of the net receipts.

Both of the partners had fondly hoped to open up their regular season in New York City, but all the theatres were occupied and booked. Yet Bindley went on a still-hunt, as he called it, and managed to secure just one week at a prominent East Side theatre devoted almost exclusively to high-class specialty performances.

The company, when completed, numbered sixteen people, and included several dancers and contortionists, a brother and sister vocalists, a “human fly,” a musical wonder, who had a side-splitting act in which he played tunes on stones, barrels, gas pipes, glasses, ocarinas, or, as they are commonly called, “sweet potatoes,” and the like, and several other unique specialists.

Rehearsals were numerous, and on the Monday following, when the company opened, everything was in “apple pie” order. A first-class leader for the orchestra had been hired, and also a reliable ticket-taker and ticket-seller.

It must be confessed that Neka was somewhat nervous when the evening came for the opening performance. The house had been pretty well “papered,” that is, a great number of free passes had been issued, but it still remained to be seen if the performance caught on. If it did not, the remainder of the week would prove a failure, and bookings ahead would be highly difficult.

It was a clear, cold night, and by half-past seven people began to flock to the theatre. By eight o’clock every seat was taken, but this, of course, was on account of the free passes. As a matter of fact, there was, in actual money, less than a hundred dollars in the place. This is generally the way it is at all opening performances.

“Well, will it be worth coming to?” was the question that went the rounds, and then the programme was eagerly perused.

Promptly on time the curtain went up, and the performance began with a general introduction of half-a-dozen members of the company. This was followed by several songs and tumbling by the contortionist.

Up to this time the audience had been mildly pleased, and they figured that the show was no better and no worse than dozens of others they had seen.

Then came the time for Longfellow Wadsworth to make his appearance. The elocutionist had prepared a monologue which he called “The President’s Day Off.”

This skit was a decided novelty, and the audience at once warmed up. There was fun and more fun, and when Wadsworth at last waddled off the stage, apparently arguing with his private secretary about affairs in Cuba, there was a wild burst of applause.

“He’s great!”

“That’s the funniest thing I ever heard!”

The applause continued, and Wadsworth stuck his head from the wing and said he would be back after he had broken in a new broncho, and then came more clapping of hands.

Suddenly the stage grew dark, and the orchestra began to play a weird piece in a minor key. Everybody became still, and every neck was stretched forward to see what was coming. On the bills appeared but the words:

NEKA, Fire King.

A flash of light, akin to lightning, sped over the stage. The roll of thunder was heard. Another flash and more thunder, and the stage became darker than ever, and then----

Out of the center came a fountain of fire, the sparkling waters turning from blue to red, red to gold, and then to a pale green. The water mounted higher and higher, and as it came up a figure appeared in the center, a figure clad in white and gold. A quick leap, a clap of the hands, and the fountain disappeared, the stage grew light as day, and Neka came down to the footlights, bowing and smiling.

This entrance was so novel, so entirely unexpected, that the audience were caught on the instant. They cheered and stamped.

“Wasn’t that pretty!”

“That’s the best yet!”

Neka stopped smiling and waved his hands up into the air. Two birds came floating down from the wing borders. He struck each on the head, and a flame of fire shot out of the back of his hand. He blew upon the birds, and both disappeared in a twinkle.

Then from a stand Neka took a pack of cards. He spread them out that the audience might see them. Up they went into the air, and as they came down it was seen that the cards were on fire. With a smile of pleasure he threw one after another of the burning cards into his mouth and apparently swallowed them.

By this time the audience was spellbound, but Neka gave them no time to speculate on what they had seen. He turned to the table and took up a newspaper. It began to blaze, and he rammed it into his ear, out of sight. Then a handkerchief took fire, and he rammed that in the other ear.

“Say, look at that!”

“He don’t mind fire a little bit, does he?”

Neka gave a low whistle, and an assistant came in with a charcoal stove. After blowing upon each bit of charcoal while it was red-hot in his hand, he put a saucepan on the stove filled with water. The saucepan would not remain on the stove, but slipped off. Apparently enraged, Neka sat down on the charcoal stove himself and banged the saucepan on his knee. When he got up the charcoal was still red-hot. He pitched piece after piece in the air, and as it came down, it apparently went into his mouth and disappeared.

Neka next dragged a small box to the center of the stage. He opened it to show it was empty. Then he fired a pistol shot into the box, and it broke apart, and out on the stage hopped Jennie Windom, put on the bills as the Child of Fire.

Neka rushed up to her as if to kiss her. She ran away from him. He put his hand behind him and brought out a long ribbon of fire. Making a noose of this, he flung it over her head and tightened it around her neck. He fired another shot from his pistol, and the stage floor opened, and a huge baking oven came into sight.

The door of the oven was flung open, revealing a roaring fire within. To make sure the fire was just right, Neka raked and scraped it with his fingers. Once his hair seemed to take fire, but he brushed the flames off and ate them.

Then muttering a strange incantation, he hurled the girl into the furnace and closed the door. A second later he was on top of the furnace.

None too soon, for out of the top there gradually grew a ladder of flaming metal. The ladder grew longer and longer until the top disappeared into the flies. Then the girl appeared, in the form of an angel with wings and mounted the ladder. She disappeared upward. Neka made a dash to stop her and knocked the ladder down. It encircled his neck, there was a fearful explosion and much smoke, and the ladder, the oven and Neka disappeared together.

For the moment the audience, worked up to the top notch of excitement and interest, was silent. Then a roar of applause broke forth which lasted all of five minutes.

Neka’s act had made the hit of the evening, and the success of the new company was assured.

It will be unnecessary to go into the details of what followed. Neka was called out twice, and when he finally quit he was thoroughly exhausted.

“We’re right in it,” said Bindley. “To-morrow we’ll have to turn folks away, mark my word.”

And Longfellow Wadsworth was of the same opinion.

Little did these two dream of what the morrow was to bring forth.

It was after twelve o’clock when Neka and the others left the theatre. Longfellow Wadsworth had promised to see another actor at a neighboring hotel, so the young Fire King went on his way alone. To calm down before retiring he set out to walk instead of riding.

This just suited a man who followed him. This man was Daniel Bambo, the ex-circus proprietor. He had been at the theatre and had seen what a wonderful hit Neka had made.

Bambo was not alone. Close beside him strode none other than Hank Maul, his former wagon-driver and performer. Both were down on their luck, and both contemplated Neka’s success with much bitterness.

“We’ll fix him!” muttered Daniel Bambo. “Come on.”

“You bet we’ll fix him!” growled Hank Maul.

And the two rascals stole on close behind Neka, through the almost deserted streets of the East Side.