“Where are you going this evening, Ben?” asked Sylvanus Snodgrass of his young friend.

Ben did not care to have Sylvanus Snodgrass for an auditor the first evening and he answered evasively, “I have an engagement with a friend.”

“Do I know him? Who is he?”

“A Mr. Wilkins, living on Lexington Avenue.”

“May I come too?” asked Snodgrass, who was by no means bashful.

“I don’t feel at liberty to invite you, Mr. Snodgrass.”

“I don’t seem to see anything of you lately,” grumbled Sylvanus. “You were away last evening.”

“Yes, I was with Mr. Wilkins.”

“He seems to have cut me out,” said Mr. Snodgrass, displaying some jealousy.

“It is because I have a little business with him,” explained Ben.

“Ha! business? What kind of business?”

“I may be able to tell you to-morrow.” “It seems there is a mystery,” said the novelist, not half pleased.

“It won’t be a mystery long.”

Ben managed to slip away unobserved, for he feared that Mr. Snodgrass might be disposed to follow him. He arrived at the theater in good season, and there on the large poster in front of the building it gave him a peculiar sensation to see in the list of characters in the play—

Jed, the newsboy, Ben Bruce.

“I wonder if any one will see my name and know who it is,” he asked himself.

“Hallo, Ben!”

Turning, Ben saw Patsy Blake looking over his shoulder.

“Are you goin’ into de teayter?” asked Patsy.

“Yes,” answered Ben, smiling.

“I’d like to go if I had the price of a ticket.”

An impulse led Ben to say, “I’ll pay your way in, Patsy,” and he handed his newsboy rival twenty-five cents.

“Bully for you! Will we sit together?”

“I can’t very well. I shall be on the stage.”

“What!” exclaimed Patsy.

“Do you see that name?” asked Ben, pointing to the poster. “Are you goin’ to act?” inquired Patsy, awe-stricken.

“Yes.”

“How did you get the chance?”

“The manager hired me. The boy who was to act didn’t show up.”

“I didn’t know you was smart enough to act,” said Patsy, eyeing Ben curiously.

“I don’t know whether I am or not, but I am going to try.”

“Won’t Mike be su’prised. I wish he could go.”

At this very moment Mike Farley came up, and Patsy enjoyed his astonishment when the great news was imparted to him that the boy they had been fighting with the day before was going to act on the stage.

Ben gave him a quarter also, and felt sure of two friendly auditors.

“I must go now, boys,” he said. “It is time to get ready.”

“Who’d have thought Ben was an actor!” ejaculated Mike. “I wish I was in his shoes.”

“So do I.”

“P’raps he’ll give you an’ me a chance, Patsy.”

“You couldn’t act, Mike Farley.”

“I kin act as well as you, Patsy Blake.” Hostilities seemed imminent, but fortunately a mutual friend came up and they were averted.

Ben had to dress for his part. His ordinary suit was thought to be too good for a poor newsboy, and one was supplied by the management not much better than those worn by Patsy and Mike.

Ben was destined to have another auditor known to him. Mr. Snodgrass, finding that his evening was likely to be a lonely one, suddenly decided to go to the theater. On looking over the evening announcements, he was led to think that he would enjoy “The Belle of the Bowery,” at the People’s Theater.

Mr. Snodgrass was not always in funds, but he had received two dollars and a half that day from the Weekly Bugle for a column sketch, and he felt that he was justified in attending the play. He accordingly purchased a fifty-cent ticket, which gave him a seat in the balcony.

“I’d have taken Ben if he hadn’t gone off with that Mr. Wilkins,” said Sylvanus to himself. “I suppose he can’t afford to buy a ticket.”

Soon the curtain rose. There was a street scene, in which the characters were an old man from the country and a tough. There was a little altercation, and the countryman seemed likely to get the worst of it, when a newsboy ran in from the wings and sprang to his defense.

At the first words of the boy Mr. Snodgrass craned his head forward in amazement. The voice seemed very familiar. Was it—could it be Ben? A few words more, and he was forced to admit that it was.

“Well, I’ll be blowed!” he ejaculated.

I am afraid that these words were hardly in keeping with the character of a distinguished romancer, but they were actually used by Sylvanus Snodgrass.

It is needless to say that Mr. Snodgrass followed the play with the utmost attention, particularly when Ben was on the stage. Before the curtain fell on the last act he saw reason to feel proud of his friend and fellow-lodger, for Ben scored an unqualified success. He was perfectly at his ease, and threw himself earnestly into the part. He was not aware of the presence of Mr. Snodgrass, but he looked up to the gallery and saw Patsy and Mike applauding vociferously.

Toward the end of the third act enthusiasm was created by a bouquet which was thrown from one of the orchestra seats, evidently intended for Ben. “Take it up and bow!” whispered the actor nearest him.

Ben was quick to accept the suggestion. He stooped and lifting the bouquet, bowed gracefully in the direction whence it had been thrown. This brought out a volley of applause.

Mr. Snodgrass felt proud of his connection with the hero of the evening.

“I know that boy,” he whispered to his next neighbor.

“Do you indeed? He is smart.”

“Yes; we are very intimate friends. He occupies a room in the same house with me.”

Patsy and Mike also were pleased with Ben’s success. They led the applause in the gallery, and were by no means backward in their expressions of satisfaction.

“I say, Mike, he’s a corker,” said Patsy.

“That’s so.”

“I wished I could act like him.”

“Do you know him?” asked Dick Flanagan.

“Yes, I know him as well as I know you. He paid my ticket in.”

“And mine too,” added Mike.

“I’d like to know him,” said Dick enviously.

“I’ll give you an introduce some time,” rejoined Patsy. The curtain fell at the end of the last act, and Mr. Wilkins, the anxious author, realized with gratification that the play was a success. He went round to the stage door, and entering gave Ben’s hand a hearty shake.

“You did yourself proud, my boy!” he said.

“I am glad you were pleased,” returned Ben modestly.

Others, too, offered their congratulations, including Mr. Thornton, who played the leading part.

“You are one of us, Ben,” he said, as he shook hands with the boy. “I confess I was afraid when I heard that you had never been on the stage before, but I soon found that there was no reason for apprehension.”

“Thank you, Mr. Thornton,” said Ben, most gratified.

“I congratulate you, Mr. Wilkins, on the success of your play,” said Ben, turning to his friend and patron.

“You helped bring it about. A good deal depended on your part being well played.”

When Ben emerged from the theater he found Mr. Snodgrass waiting for him.

“Why didn’t you tell me, Ben?” asked the novelist reproachfully. “Were you here?” asked Ben, surprised.

“Yes.”

“Who told you I was to appear?”

“No one. I didn’t know anything about it till you appeared on the stage. I was so surprised that you might have knocked me down with a feather. You never told me that you were an actor.”

“I didn’t know it myself. This is my first appearance on any stage.”

“You don’t mean to say that you never acted before?”

“Only at school exhibitions and such like.”

“Then you’re a born genius, and I am proud of you.”

“Thank you, Mr. Snodgrass.”

“And who is Mr. Wilkins—the gentleman you spoke of?”

“He is the author of the piece. He engaged me to act the newsboy’s part.”

“And why didn’t you let me know?”

“Because I didn’t know how I was coming out. I shouldn’t like to have had my friend see me fail.”

“There is no such word as fail—for you, Ben.”

“I hope so.”

As Ben reached the Bowery he espied his two humble friends, Patsy and Mike, eyeing him wistfully.

“How are you, Patsy? How are you, Mike?” he said, offering his hand, to the great pride of the newsboys. “How did you like the play?”

“It was tip-top, and so was you,” answered Patsy enthusiastically.

“I saw you up in the gallery,” said Ben.

“Did you now?” asked the delighted Mike.

“Didn’t I tell you I knowed him, boys?” he added, turning to two or three friends when Ben had passed on.