For a moment he sat there in thoughtful silence. Then a slow smile broke out all over his face, and the next moment he threw back his head, and laughed till the tears came into his eyes. “By the great horn spoon!” he cried. “That’s the best thing I ever heard. Think of old Dick going on the stage, and half of Yale College looking on, and not knowing it’s him. Gee! If we don’t have a circus to-night with Richard I’ll eat my hat!” He broke off, and glanced again at the telegram. “I can’t tell ’em, though, can I?” he muttered. “Dick never meant I should see this. But you bet the Untamed Maverick of the Pecos will have his share of joy out of it. You hear me talk!” ------------------------------------------------------------------------ CHAPTER XXIII THE CURTAIN RISES. Dick slipped cautiously into the stage entrance of the Concert Hall, and went directly to Demarest’s dressing room. No one must see him until he was made up, or the fat would be all in the fire. Swiftly lighting the gas jets, he locked the door, and opened the make-up box, which stood on a bare table underneath a large mirror. It was not the first time he had disguised himself so that his best friend did not know him, but he found that the very strength of the likeness between Demarest and himself was more a hindrance than a help. His keen sense of observation, however, had taken in the several important differences in their faces, and he proceeded to skillfully make his own an exact duplicate of the actor’s. It was delicate work, but he did it well; and, ten minutes later, after he had rearranged his hair in the manner Demarest wore it, it would have taken an amazingly keen eye to see that he was not the actor himself. He had scarcely put down the brushes, when there came a light, quick knock at the door. Inwardly a little nervous, but to all appearances perfectly at ease, he stepped across the room, turned the key, and flung the door open. Marion Gray was standing on the threshold, her face worried and anxious, but, as she saw him, her eyes brightened, and she gave a gasp of relief. “Oh, Austin, I’m so glad!” she cried. “What a fright you have given us! I’ve been worried nearly to death for fear you wouldn’t get here in time. What in the world kept you?” “I’m sorry, Marion,” Dick returned, “but it really couldn’t be helped. There isn’t a question now about Hemingway giving us a show if we make good here.” Putting all his powers of mimicry into play, Merriwell reproduced the tones of Austin Demarest’s voice with an accuracy which surprised even himself. The girl evidently had no suspicion of the substitution, for she went on quickly: “Austin, I’m afraid of Bryton. I’m afraid he’ll try to prevent the performance in some way. I saw him in the street outside just now, and yesterday he did his best to persuade me to throw up my part.”