LIFE ON THE ROAD.

From Philadelphia the Neka-Wadsworth Specialty Company went to Baltimore and then on to Washington. Long before this the elocutionist was as well as ever, and had resumed his place among the players.

The fame of the organization was now spreading, and Neka and his partner were well pleased to see the crowded houses which greeted them everywhere. More than once the S. R. O. (standing-room only) sign had to be displayed in the lobby of the theatre they were playing at, and this, for a new company, was as unusual as it was gratifying.

Meeting with such success, Bindley was likewise enabled to demand a larger share of the receipts. Where the company had heretofore been content with from forty to sixty per cent., it now asked and received from fifty to seventy-five per cent.

Bindley was a hard and shrewd worker, and realizing the important part he played in the success of the organization, Neka and Longfellow Wadsworth talked the matter over, and made him an equal partner with themselves. The name of the company, however, remained unchanged.

It must not be thought that Neka and Longfellow Wadsworth had forgotten Daniel Bambo and Hank Maul. The police of Philadelphia had been informed concerning the rascals, and a sharp watch had been set for them. The captain of the _Blue Dart_ was also interviewed, but said he had merely taken the men on at the lower bay from another sloop that was bound for Baltimore.

“I don’t believe that story,” said Neka, when he heard it.

“Nor do I,” replied the elocutionist. “But what are you going to do about it?”

“If I felt rich enough, I would hire some first-class detective to run Daniel Bambo down.”

“And Maul, too?”

“I don’t care for Maul so much. I want to get Bambo, so I can make him tell me what he knows of my past history.”

“I see. Well, you’ll soon have money enough ahead to hire two detectives,” laughed Longfellow Wadsworth. “Actually, Neka, I feel as if we were rolling in wealth.”

“So do I. But we are not, and the best we can do is to save our money. We may strike a long bad spell before the season is over.”

“That is so, and I’m not spending money foolishly. You have taught me the best lessons I ever learned, and I mean to profit by them.”

While in Washington, Neka paid many visits to the public institutions, and even visited the House of Representatives and the Senate. The Patent Office also interested him, especially that portion devoted to stage devices, of which there are many hundreds.

Leaving Washington, the company struck out for the West by the way of Pittsburg and Harrisburg, and exactly a month later landed in St. Louis. Up to this time the weather had been everything that could be desired, and business was fine.

It must not be supposed, however, that Neka and his friends had an altogether easy time of it. There were many difficulties to overcome, and more than one trouble to adjust. Not only this, but on two occasions they came in contact with rival companies, and once Bindley almost came to blows with the billposters for tearing down the Neka-Wadsworth paper and sticking up rival matter in its place.

This incident terminated in a very funny way, and is worth recording. It happened in Harrisburg on a Monday morning, when the company had been in town scarcely an hour.

Bindley was walking down a street, in company with Neka, when he espied a tall and gaunt-looking billposter on the opposite side of the street.

“He’s tearing down our bills!” cried Bindley, and rushed over, prepared to fight it out.

To Bindley, to tear down one of the show bills was as base as to steal his pocketbook.

“Stop that, you chump!” he roared, and grabbed the billposter by the arm.

“Stop nothin’!” growled the man of the brush and paste kettle. “Let go my arm.”

“Those are our bills, and they are to stay up!” ordered Bindley.

“Not on your life,” was the reply. “I’m going to put the Wood-Hinkley Company’s bills up here.”

“Indeed! I paid for this board, and our bills stay up until Saturday,” returned Bindley, firmly.

One word brought on another, and finally the knight of the paste attempted to hit Bindley over the head with his brush.

A lively scuffle ensued, Bindley dodged the blow, and threw the billposter down.

When the man arose, he was in a thunderous rage. He threatened Bindley with arrest and prosecution. Bindley told him to go ahead.

Then the fellow attempted to tear down more of the bills and substitute those of the rival concern.

Bindley kept on arguing, and once again the billposter aimed a blow at him. This time the brush, full of paste, struck Neka’s manager on the ear.

The billposter began to roar with laughter, for Bindley’s organ of hearing was partly filled with the paste. But he didn’t laugh long.

Rushing in, Bindley struck the brush from the billposter’s hand. Then he caught the man around the waist and lifted him from the ground.

“Le’me go!” howled the billposter, in affright.

“I’ll let you go fast enough,” rejoined Bindley, sarcastically, and turning the man heels up, he let him drop plump into his own kettle of paste.

The billposter went down up to his neck, and could not arise until he had brought up kettle, paste and all. The floury stuff entered his eyes, nose, mouth and ears, and a large quantity of it ran down inside of his collar. The crowd that saw the scene nearly split their sides laughing at him.

“Throw yourself up on the board and stick there for a living picture!”

“That’s right; don’t let him pull down your bills.”

And so the talk ran on.

The billposter was such a sight that he did not remain on the scene long.

Yet before he left, Bindley gave him fair warning about the remaining bills.

“If you want to avoid trouble, leave those bills alone. I’ll let you off easy now, but I want you to remember I’m from the West, and I carry a seven-shooter with me.”

And the billposter thought this statement true; so not a bill was molested after that until the Neka-Wadsworth Company had left Harrisburg.

After a prosperous week in St. Louis, the company started for Springfield, Illinois, where it was to remain three nights.

The start was made on Saturday night, Bindley wishing to get to Springfield to remain there over Sunday.

It was nearly twelve o’clock when the company crossed the river to East St. Louis and boarded the cars for Springfield. Although the ride would occupy less than three hours, a sleeper was engaged, which was to switch from the train on arriving at Springfield, thus allowing the members to remain in their berths until morning.

The start was made all right, and, being thoroughly tired after a hard week’s performances, all the members of the company, Bindley included, were soon fast asleep.

As was usual, Neka was one of the first to wake up, and he lost no time in dressing himself, hopping out of his berth and making his way to the lavatory to indulge in a good Sunday morning’s wash.

While he was at his toilet, he noticed that the car was at a standstill, but not in any depot. He thought this odd, but gave it no serious consideration.

But presently Bindley rushed in in a state of excitement.

“Well, if this don’t beat the Dutch!” cried the manager.

“What?” asked Neka.

“Look where we are!”

“Where are we, Bindley?”

“We’re out on the prairie, that’s where we are!” answered the manager. “We’re about a hundred miles from nowhere, so far as I can see!”

Soon the whole company was aroused, and one after another went outside to view the situation.

Bindley was more than half right, so far as appearances went. The sleeping car stood on a side track near a patch of woods, and nothing else was in sight, but a broad stretch of level fields, dotted here and there with bushes, all dazzling with snow in the rising sun.

“Where’s the conductor or brakeman?” asked Longfellow Wadsworth.

All hands looked around. Neither conductor nor brakeman could be found, nor was there even a porter about to give them any information.