Читать книгу Frank Merriwell's Own Company; Or, Barnstorming in the Middle West онлайн

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"Set down, Nancy!" commanded the man. "All the folks is laughin' at ye!"

"Let 'em laugh! Keep on sneezin', Josiah!"

"Why, I—— Ker-chew! ker-chew! ker-chew!"

Down into the hat fell more silver dollars, jingling right merrily.

"That is first rate," complimented Frank Merriwell. "You are doing finely, sir. We'll soon have a hat full."

"But where do they come from, that's whut I want to know?"

"Didn't I tell ye!" squealed the now thoroughly aroused little woman, bobbing up again. "I see 'em when they flew aout of your maouth! Don't stop sneezin', Josiah!"

"I'd like to know when I swallered all them silver dollars!" muttered the "hayseed," craning his neck and pulling at his long beard, as he peered into the hat.

The audience literally shouted with laughter. At last, Frank had done something to catch the spectators.

At the back of the theater Manager Burnham was standing, and, for the first time, he rubbed his hands together and smiled, saying to himself:

"The boy is all right! If he keeps this up, he'll hold a good part of the audience. Didn't think he could do it. I am surprised."