There was another signal, and the curtain slowly lifted, and revealed the stage. A prolonged burst of genuine applause greeted the beautiful set, which had been painted by one of the best artists in New York. The fellows had found nothing so far to guy. They were fair enough according to their lights. They never jeered a performance simply for the sake of breaking up the play. It was only their method of showing displeasure for inferior acting. The quartette finished the last verse of the song, and, taking a quick breath, Dick walked quietly onto the stage. He spoke the first few words of his lines uninterrupted. Then there came a prolonged burst of hand-clapping, which seemed to continue indefinitely. Either this was simply a mode of expressing their approval of the actor who had produced the play under such disadvantages, or else the fellows were trying to break him up. But they did not succeed. Dick waited until the applause had died away, and then continued his lines as if there had been no interruption. After a first swift glance at the audience, which seemed to him like nothing else but a sea of faces rising, tier upon tier, to the very roof, the Yale man had not felt a particle of nervousness. And with his first lines he plunged himself into the part he was taking, and from that moment there was not the least sign of hesitancy in his manner. In truth, he was not acting at all. He was simply himself, and the college fellows in the audience became instantly plunged into a controversy as to whether it was Dick Merriwell or some one else, which lasted off and on to the end of the play. Once the plunge was taken, the first act went smoothly, gathering interest as the plot developed. At first Dick’s lines were punctuated by bursts of applause, which usually started from a certain quarter of the orchestra where Buckhart was seated, but, as the play progressed, these became less frequent, until at length the Texan sat gaping at the stage, growing more and more certain that there had been some mistake, and this was not his chum at all. The first act finished with a brisk round of clapping, which did not cease until the curtain had risen upon the stage several times, and was only stilled by Dick’s leading Marion Gray before the footlights. Evidently the boys were very well pleased. That was plain from the buzz of talk and favorable comment which arose after the curtain finally dropped. “You were splendid, Austin!” Marion Gray exclaimed, as they hurried off the stage. “I never saw you do better. Oh, I’m so glad! It can’t help but go now.” “They seemed to like it, all right, didn’t they?” Merriwell smiled. “We must keep up the good work.” “Wait till they see the third act,” she smiled, as she slipped into the dressing room. “That’ll fetch them.”