CHAPTER XIX

DÉNOUEMENT

On the outskirts of the crowd stood a short, pompous man with the worried eyes of success in his chosen field, and a huge burly man who hovered by him protectively.

"Look at that, will you?" Connors demanded. "Can you beat it? What do you think of that," he demanded with the dull lack of originality of his type. "Can you feature it!"

Ted Grant's eyes were fixed beadily on the distant stage.

"Using the Ted Grant method, is he? Trying to steal my stuff. I'll--I'll----"

But Connors, with the born manager's eye for the crowd, had noted the response that was being given Rudy's number.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Let's get a load of this guy. He's sure to sing again after a hand like that!"

It seemed a just prophecy. The applause which had greeted the conclusion of the "I Love You" number had dwarfed all that preceded it. Rudy was forced to take a bow, and a second one.

"He sure went over," Ted Grant admitted. "Wonder who he is?"

"I'll scout around and find out," Connors said. "There seems to be real talent in these hills."

As the two men were about to move on, several figures approached from the dusk.

"Now I want two of you to sneak around there and come in behind those fellows. Do you get me?"

In the strident, nasal tone peculiar to a certain type of New Englander, there was no mistaking the malice behind the words. Grant and Connors looked around, to see Tuttle deploying his men toward the orchestra platform.

"And two of you others go in behind them from the right. Nail them right there. Does everybody understand?"

There was a general assent, and the little group of policemen moved off into the night, obviously on their way to put the performers on the stage under custody.

Grant whistled. "And what do you make of that?"

"Can't figure it," Connors replied. "Unless these kids have gotten in bad around here somehow."

"That'd be a shame," Grant exclaimed. "Why, they've got real stuff. I'd hate to see them get nabbed by any yokel cop on some small town complaint. Those boys ought to be in the big town!"

"Let's follow around and see what's up," said Connors. "Maybe we can give them a lift."

A few words came from the loudspeaker:

"The Vagabonds now will offer their final number, which also will be the closing number of our performance."

With evident determination to leave a good last impression on their audience, the Vagabonds had chosen one of their best pieces, "Then I'll Be Reminded of You." Rudy Bronson was notably good on the vocal rendition, and as he took up the chorus, they now saw that the choice had been a happy one. Rudy had never been in better voice.

"I'll gather some June dreams, I'll search for some moonbeams, Then I'll be reminded of you. I'll walk by the mill stream, I'll talk to the hill stream Then I'll be reminded of you.

I'll climb to the rainbow and vigor anew, I'll find Paradise and I'll keep it for you. I'll spend all my hours, among fragrant flowers, Then I'll be reminded of you."

Struck by the peculiar aptness of the lyric, Rudy completed the song in a cloud of unhappiness. _Then I'll be reminded of you_. Yes, and wouldn't he be reminded of Jean, of the girl he loved, by everything beautiful so long as he lived? Reminded to his everlasting regret for having allowed himself to try and win her esteem as a cheat....

The Vagabonds hurriedly were putting away their instruments. It was obvious that none of them was anxious to linger for the generous plaudits being given them on all sides. They had too much to lose by delay for even the vainest to wish to stay longer than was absolutely necessary on the Todhunter estate.

With his customary sanguineness, Sport O'Malley had convinced himself that with such a showing as they had made on the program, even Mrs. Whitehall would not be able to entertain much anger with them. But as he saw the dowager approach, her face creased in lines of disapproval, his feeling of assurance ebbed abruptly.

"Well, here it is, gang," he said, as he saw that beside her walked Tuttle.

Sam McMahon groaned. "And to think that by now we could be so far away from this place they couldn't catch us with a special delivery letter."

Four policemen, two upon each side of the stage, appeared from the wings. "Don't try and leave!"

Tuttle went directly to Rudy Bronson.

"Young man, we want to see you," he said heavily.

Rudy nodded. "I know. I'll take all the blame if you'll let the others go."

"What do you mean, you'll take all the blame?" Sport O'Malley said, coming forward. "Listen, fella, you seem to forget that you came through for me in a tight spot. Molly writes me that if I ever forget it, that I'd better forget her, too. But there's no need to worry about that." He turned to Tuttle. "Whatever this guy did, I did just as much, get that?"

"What do you intend to do with us, lady?" asked the tremulous voice of Bud Dwight.

"I intend to prosecute you fully for causing the failure of our benefit."

"The failure!" Sport exclaimed. "Listen, Mrs. Whitehall, Ted Grant himself couldn't have gotten a better hand than we did."

"What's the use of arguing, Sport?" Rudy asked. "I'll go with you, officer," he said to Tuttle. He got to his feet, looking at the swaying curtain which had blotted out all the approving hundreds of a few minutes ago. Was Jean out there, unconscious of what was taking place behind the lowered velvet? Or did she know--and approve?

As if summoned by his thoughts, Jean came from the wings, her hands full of telegrams, her face alight with excitement.

"Why, Jean," Mrs. Whitehall said, "where have you been?"

"At the radio, receiving telegrams," Jean answered. "And before you say another word to Mr. Bronson and his friends, I want you to look at these wires."

Mrs. Whitehall took a handful of the yellow envelopes.

"What on earth----?"

"The radio announcer says they always get a quick response from their public," Jean went on. "But he says they haven't had one so warm as this for ever so long!"

Mrs. Whitehall had opened the first telegram.

"Oh, dear," she cried, "just listen to this: 'If charity benefit is as delightful as orchestra now playing, count on us every night. Mr. and Mrs. Richmond.'"

Jean ripped open another of the envelopes.

"'All the patients in our hospital enjoyed the charity benefit orchestra greatly,'" she read. "And it is signed by the head nurse of the Montclair Hospital."

But Mrs. Whitehall had pleasant reading matter of her own.

"Oh, how sweet," she enthused. "'Never heard such a soothing voice and band. Am coming to the benefit just to see them. Mrs. Roger Hackett.'" She turned to Jean. "Mrs. Roger Hackett! Can you imagine that, my dear!"

"Look here," Jean answered. "'Hope that Rudy Bronson and his Vagabonds will be a permanent feature on the air. Congratulate benefit committee for having secured such a delightful artist. The Sherman family.'"

"The Shermans!" Mrs. Whitehall cried. "Let me see! Oh, dear," she added, examining the telegram, "this is too much!"

"The radio people say he's a hit,"' Jean told her. "A sensation. They knew it the minute they heard him out there. Oh, there are tons of other telegrams, too! Can't you see, Auntie," she asked, "he hasn't made your benefit a failure. He's put it over for you."

"Imagine!" was Mrs. Whitehall's only reply. Or, indeed, the only reply of which she was capable.

Rudy looked at Jean. His senses were in a whirl; things had happened so precipitately that he was unable for the moment to grasp the good fortune which had attended his efforts. But one fact stood forth with beacon clearness--and that was that Jean, the girl who had scorned him, had been the instrument which had delivered them from the waiting grasp of Officer Tuttle.

"Congratulations, Mrs. Whitehall!"

It was the radio announcer, freed of the press of his duties, coming forward with outstretched hand.

"It isn't everyone who has the genius to make a find like this and then exploit it so magnificently. You certainly showed superb showmanship. In fact I wonder that you don't take up promotion as a profession!"

"Yes?" Mrs. Whitehall murmured dazedly. "Yes?"

"The committee certainly owes a lot to you," the announcer went on. "I'm afraid that the operatic singers would have made of this just another boresome charity benefit. But with Mr. Bronson and his band, I assure you it has been the most entertaining affair that we have had the pleasure to broadcast all year."

Mrs. Whitehall had by now regained some of her customary composure.

"Oh, yes," she admitted, "I recognized the quality of Mr. Bronson and his hand the minute I heard them. I think you are right in saying they differ from the usual trained operatic singers. After all, this is a new country--and we should have new and modern ways of expressing ourselves. There is nothing to be gained by following the old, worn-out precedents of Europe!"

"I might add on that score that Europe seems to be following us, Mrs. Whitehall. Our contemporary music has taken the Continent by storm."

As all eyes turned to the speaker, he came more definitely into the group.

"Permit me to introduce myself. I am Ted Grant. And this is my manager, Mr. Jack Connors. We came down here under the impression that an imposition was about to be practised. And very happy I am that we came."

"Ted Grant!" Rudy breathed. "You mean--_the_ Ted Grant."

"None other," the musician smiled. "And I want to talk to you, young fellow, as soon as you have time."

Before he could make his wishes more fully known, Mrs. Whittington Todhunter, amid a flurry of elegant skirts, pushed her way through the crowd.

"Have you arrested him yet?" she demanded.

"Arrested whom?" Mrs. Whitehall asked innocently.

"Why this young impostor. Just a few minutes ago you were saying----"

"My dear Mrs. Todhunter," Mrs. Whitehall cut her short. "This seems to be just another instance of your flair for making mistakes. Mr. Bronson is no impostor. He appeared on our bill under his own name--and, I may point out, scored one of the biggest hits that this gentleman from the broadcasting station has ever put on the air."

"That's right," the announcer assured her. "He'll be set from now on."

"I'll say he will," said Ted Grant.

"Then you aren't going to have him arrested?" Mrs. Todhunter persisted.

"Why, of course not!" Mrs. Whitehall replied. "That was just part of my superb--superb--whatever it was that I should take up professionally!"

Officer Tuttle had for some time been attempting to make himself heard. He now stepped into the circle of discussion.

"But lookee here," he said, "it's up to Mr. Grant himself to advise us on this charge. He's the one who made the complaint, and he's the injured party. It was his house that was broken into by these--these young vagabonds!"

"Why, Officer Pluffle--" Mrs. Whitehall protested weakly.

"Tuttle," he said snappishly, "Tuttle--with two t's!"

Ted Grant took him by the arm, confidentially.

"There seems to be something of a mistake here, Chief. I guess the best thing to do would be to call it that--and let the matter rest."

"Then you don't care to make a charge against this young fellow?" Tuttle asked, pointing to Rudy. "He's the ringleader of the crowd."

"Make a charge against Rudy?" Sport O'Malley asked. "Why, I guess you don't know that this young man is one of Mr. Grant's pupils--a graduate of the Ted Grant Correspondence School in Music."

"And," said Al Monroe, "a personal friend of Mr. Grant's. With letters and everything."

"You boys keep out of this," Tuttle advised. "It's Mr. Grant I'm talking to."

"But the boys are right," Grant returned. "You don't think I'd care to make a charge against one of my pupils. I tell you, I was never prouder of one of my graduates in all my life; and I might add that among my graduates have been Ted Lewis, Ben Bernie, and----"

"Sure," said Connors, "we're going to put this young fellow's name in our advertising along with the others."

"You bet we are!" Grant cried enthusiastically. "Why, he's the biggest find I've made since Paul Whiteman!"

Mrs. Whitehall slowly had been bristling. Now her indignation came to a head.

"The greatest find you've made, Mr. Grant?" she exclaimed. "Of course, I have no wish to take any credit away from you. But you must admit that it was through my superb courage and--and----"

"Showmanship," the announcer prompted her.

--"and showmanship that this appearance of Mr. Bronson's was made possible to-night."

But Ted Grant was paying small heed to any voice that sought to detract from the glamour of a new discovery via the roster of the Ted Grant Correspondence School.

"If you knew the effort it takes, developing new talent like Bronson, you'd appreciate my feelings when I heard this new find of mine----"

"New find of yours!" Mrs. Whitehall exploded. "Pardon me, Mr. Grant! I want to tell you that when I first heard that boy sing at my musicale, I knew he was----"

"And the beauty of it all is," Grant continued imperturbably, "is that he uses the Ted Grant technique perfectly, the method that has made me the greatest saxophone player in the world. Well, lest you think me boastful, I'll just leave any description of my skill to my manager here."

He turned to The Vagabonds, smiling beneficently.

"When you young men are ready to talk business," he said. "I'll be ready to talk with you. I have a spot for a first-class outfit in a new supper club just opening in New York, and I think you boys should fill the bill, and then some. Who's your manager?"

"Rudy himself is the manager," Sport O'Malley told him.

"Well, where did he go?" Grant asked. "He was here just a minute ago."

"He beat it with Miss Whitehall," Bud Dwight explained. "They were looking at each other all the time you people were talking, and then all at once Rudy got up and followed her out there," he pointed toward the wings, "into the garden."

Ted Grant grinned. "Oh," he said. "Well, I guess he won't feel like talking business any more to-night. At least not my kind of business."

"But look," said Swiftie Clarke, "Sport here used to be our manager before Rudy. How about him talking to you?"

"Nothing doing," Sport said, starting hastily away. "There's a girl I've got to wire to--and tell her that I've gone and got myself a real job. Is that right, Mr. Grant?"

"It sure is," Grant laughed. "And I guess that we can talk terms just as well in the morning as now. If it'll make any of the rest of you sleep better, however," he said to the circle of eager faces about him, "I might as well tell you that they'll be good ones."

"And what Mr. Grant says he'll do," Connors informed them, "you can bet your life he'll do!"

The shout which followed this statement carried to Rudy and Jean, standing in the garden amid a riotous cloud of perfume from the thousands of flowers about them.

"You were a great success with the show, Rudy," Jean said softly.

Rudy smiled. "Thanks--but was I a great success," he swallowed desperately, "was I a great success with you, Jean?"

Jean inclined her head. "You were game. You came back in spite of everything to help our little charity. And, Rudy! If you only knew how women admire gameness--in their men!"

"In their----?"

Scarcely crediting his ears, Rudy looked at her. But Jean had turned slightly away from him. Slowly he put out his hands and drew her face around to his. The message he read in her eyes sent the blood crashing through his heart like wine.

"I," he said, "I--I--I'm forgiven?"

With this great, hoped-for moment upon him, he knew that he was unable to express all the thousand dear and tremulous things that stirred within him. Unable to express them except in one way. With a wistful, whimsical smile, holding Jean close within his arms, he began to sing:

"We'll be so happy, we'll always sing, If we remember one little thing, A little kiss each morning, a little kiss each night. Who cares if hard luck may be ahead ..."

But that was one song Rudy Bronson never finished. Jean stopped it with her lips.

"I've loved you from the moment I first saw you," he whispered. "That's why I sang to you that night at school. I was just a freshman--hardly even that, for I had flunked--so I just sang and ran and never suspected that you had heard."

"You--it was you, Rudy?" Jean gasped.

He nodded. "And I sang to you after you'd left at the Laconia."

"I remember," she sighed happily. "I came back, but you were gone. We seem to have always missed each other----"

"But never again, dear," Rudy assured her, "because--

"You are my one inspiration, You've changed my life from the start. I need you, believe me, I need you, I'll be blue when we two are apart----"

THE END