“What rent will you ask for your theater for next week?”

“Six hundred dollars,” was the reply.

“Well, sir, I’ll take your theater for next week at that price, and here is half of the amount in advance,” said Buntline, as he threw down three hundred dollars on the stand.

Nixon took the money, gave a receipt for it, and had nothing more to say.

“Now, come with me boys,” said Buntline; and away we went to the hotel.  Buntline immediately obtained a supply of pens, ink and paper, and then engaged all the hotel clerks as penmen.  In less than an hour after he had rented the theater, he was dashing off page after page of his proposed drama—­the work being done in his room at the hotel.  He then set his clerks at copying for him, and at the end of four hours, he jumped up from the table, and enthusiastically shouted: 

“Hurrah for ‘The Scouts of the Plains!’ That’s the name of the play.  The work is done.  Hurrah!”

The parts were then all copied off separately by the clerks, and handing us our respective portions Buntline said: 

“Now, boys, go to work, and do your level best to have this dead-letter perfect for the rehearsal, which takes place to-morrow morning at ten o’clock, prompt.  I want to show Nixon that we’ll be ready on time.”

[Illustration:  STUDYING THE PARTS.]

I looked at my part and then at Jack; and Jack looked at his part and then at me.  Then we looked at each other, and then at Buntline.  We did not know what to make of the man.

“How long will it take you to commit your part to memory, Bill?” asked Jack.

“About six months, as near as I can calculate.  How long will it take you?” answered I.

“It will take me about that length of time to learn the first line,” said Jack.  Nevertheless we went to our room and commenced studying.  I thought it was the hardest work I had ever done.

“This is dry business,” finally remarked Jack.

“That’s just what it is,” I answered; “jerk the bell, Jack.”  The bell-boy soon appeared.  We ordered refreshments; after partaking thereof we resumed our task.  We studied hard for an hour or two, but finally gave it up as a bad job, although we had succeeded in committing a small portion to memory.  Buntline now came into the room and said: 

“Boys, how are you getting along?”

“I guess we’ll have to go back on this studying business as it isn’t our forte” said I.

“Don’t weaken now, Bill; you’ll come out on the top of the heap yet.  Let me hear you recite your part,” said Buntline.  I began “spouting” what I had learned, but was interrupted by Buntline: 

“Tut! tut! you’re not saying it right.  You must stop at the cue.”

“Cue!  What the mischief do you mean by the cue?  I never saw any cue except in a billiard room,” said I. Buntline thereupon explained it to me, as well as to Jack, who was ignorant as myself concerning the “cue” business.