CHAPTER XFIRE
“Therewas never anything like it in the movies!” exclaimed Randy Powell, enthusiastically.
“It can’t be beat,” echoed the excited Pep Smith. “We’re up at the top—we can’t get any higher.”
“When this playhouse is all done and the electric lights on—say, it will be a real fairyland!” continued Randy.
“And to think of the poor back country Wonderland we started with less than two years ago,” said Pep. “It’s like a dream—all of it.”
“Then don’t wake me up!” begged Randy.
He and Pep stood just within the great building at the rear of the former stationery store fronting Boston Common.
How swiftly the time had passed since the day Mr. Strapp and Pep had arrived in the city in answer to the urgent wire from Frank Durham, his lively lieutenants had not realized until thepresent moment. The events crowded into a few weeks’ time ran through Pep’s active mind as swiftly as an unwinding film.
Frank had soon convinced his friends that he had not overestimated the value of the new location. “Right on the nail head” the impetuous Mr. Strapp had paid down a sum to bind the lease. When Frank had shown them what capital, taste and art could do, they mentally saw the old warehouse structure transformed into a veritable palace.
And to that end work had been promptly begun. The stationer moved out at the end of ten days and the front of the store building was boarded up. The motion picture chums made no public announcement of their intention. Everything was done on a carefully thought out plan.
It cost money to obtain the services of a skilled architect and builder, but the partners knew they would get good results from the investment. The outside houses of the amusement company were put on a basis of independent operation, with agents in charge. The Empire was too well-paying a proposition to drop, and it continued to be their official headquarters.
For all that, however, the main interest was centered on the new educational film project. Randy and Pep, with Ben Jolly, who had joinedthe main party, were in love with it. There were many initial steps to take. The details employed all hands busily and Hal Vincent was called to New York and a capable movies man substituted for him at Seaside Park. Jolly, Randy and Pep would be needed at Boston when the new photo playhouse was opened.
“It’s going to be a permanent thing, if I don’t miss my guess,” Mr. Strapp had declared. “The lads are aching to rummage around the new show. Let ’em do it, Durham, and get acquainted with it and the city generally. To my way of thinking this is going to be a high-toned sort of proposition. Let the boys get the Boston flavor—see?”
So arrangements were made for a suite of rooms at a cheaper hotel than the Parker House. Daily the new venture took on form and substance. It was delightful to see the “Standard” grow. That was the name Mr. Strapp had picked out after meditating for nearly a whole day.
“There may be a better one,” Frank told Randy; “but Mr. Strapp feels proud over his selection and we must let him have his way.”
Professor Barrington was probably the happiest man alive; at least he declared he was. He proved how little he knew of business methods by signing the partnership contract without evenlooking at it. Then when Frank insisted that he should read it over, his face beamed with confidence and delight.
“It’s too fair on my side,” he declared. “I knew you were the right kind and I find you are the very best kind. Thanks, and I’ll deserve all you are doing for me.”
All the professor asked was to be told the date on which the Standard would open. His mind became engrossed with his own particular section of the project. No one intruded any bothersome details upon his thoughts. He was expected to get his many correspondents ready to send in the special films he had ordered and think up new subjects.
Of his ability to do this there was not the slightest doubt in the minds of his associates, after the eager enthusiast had opened up the treasures of that wonderful satchel of his. It was a marvelous evening for all, upon which he did this.
It was not what the professor had to show ready for use that comprised the essence of his scheme. It was what he could get. There was scarcely a subject—educational, classical or historical—that he had not covered in the tabulation he had prepared of interesting themes that would appeal to the public.
“It’s just—compelling!” declared Randy Powell. “Wise old fellow! He’s got a programme that will fascinate an audience from a four-year old boy up to a centenarian.”
“Say, I’ve got a new idea myself,” broke in Pep, but Randy squelched him by proceeding:
“It’s the wonders of nature features that are going to win. Why, it looks as if the professor had just slashed up the map of the world, figured out what each section had that was odd and wonderful, and set his agents at work to produce results.”
“You see, this scheme of mine is a big idea for opening night,” persisted Pep.
“Oh, bother!” shrugged his comrade. “This is no cheap nickel business to fool with.”
“Huh!” returned Pep. “Maybe you don’t know what I’m thinking about.”
“Well, then, tell it,” said Randy.
“No. I won’t now. I guess I’ve got some brains. And I’ve got a big thought. You sha’n’t even have a hint of it. I’ll tell Mr. Strapp—I bet he’ll encourage me.”
“If there’s a wild horse of the plains in it you’ll catch him—sure!” remarked the mischievous Randy.
Pep nursed a grudge against Randy all one day for snubbing him so. If he went on withhis “big thought,” he did not tell his comrade. However, Pep forgot any rancor he might have harbored as greater things coming along turned the current of his thoughts.
The two young friends fancied they had reached the height of their ambition the afternoon that opens the present chapter. Mr. Strapp was at their hotel auditing some bills. Ben Jolly was touring the local music houses looking for a pipe organ and a piano for the Standard. Frank had gone to New York the evening previous to visit the Empire. He was also to meet Professor Barrington, who was getting his films in order.
The workmen had just left the building they were reconstructing. Randy had a key to the rough door set into the slanting board front. He and Pep had wandered about the place taking in its details.
It would take another week to complete the decorations of the entrance, but enough had been done to show what it would look like. An exquisite tiling had been laid, handsome chandeliers set in place and the ceiling had been arched. The effect aimed at was that of a brilliant, roomy space suggesting a big reception room.
The rear wall of the store had been torn away and the fifteen-foot space behind it builtover so as to join the warehouse. The latter had been turned into a spacious auditorium. The stage and its surroundings were handsome and massive and the fresco work on the walls was the finest that money could produce. The floor had been inclined so that there was not a poor viewpoint in the house. The folding seats, piled up ready to set in place, were comfortable, and broad and deep as easy chairs. The floor was covered with a tinted canvas cloth that deadened the sound of persons moving about.
“Well, this part of the show is pretty nearly done,” remarked Pep. “Mr. Strapp tells the truth when he boasts of this as the finest photo playhouse in America.”
“I’d like to stay a whole hour looking it over,” said Randy, “but it’s getting dusk. Come, we’ll get to the hotel and tell Mr. Strapp what we think of it.”
“I wonder what that Slavin crowd think of our doings?” remarked Pep, curiously. “Of course they know what we’re up to.”
“Yes,” replied Randy, “I heard Frank say there was no doubt of that. They’ve found no way to bother us, though, so far. Frank says they’ve got their hands full with their own affairs.”
“How do you mean?” asked Pep.
“About fixing up their place. They’ve had a fight with the city building department about fire regulations, exits and all that. Then they’ve discovered what Frank, our clever Frank, saw the first thing—that the place was too broad and shallow to make a roomy auditorium. They’ve got to make it still more shallow if they have any kind of a decent front.”
“Say, talking about exits, no trouble here; eh, Randy?”
“I should say not. There couldn’t be a safer playhouse,” was the reply.
It had already pleased Frank and the others to have the city inspector compliment them on the splendid arrangements for the safety of the audience. On two sides there were vacant spaces. At the rear there was a roofed-over building only one story high. A part of this structure was used for storage purposes. The rest of it was a day garage. This accommodated the automobiles of persons who did business in the vicinity.
The Standard had doors all around two sides which would slide back by the mere turning of a lever, which opened as many as twenty immediate avenues to the outer air at one time. In case of fire the audience could disperse through the garagespace or the side courts, and the house could be emptied in less than two minutes.
The upper part of the doors had a small sash set in. Several of these near the rear were now open. The workmen had adjusted them thus to carry out the close air, pungent with turpentine, and dry with paint.
“All right,” spoke Pep, reluctantly, turning to leave by the street entrance. He cast a last look about the place. Then he started and sniffed the air.
“Why, Randy!” he cried. “It smells like burning wood.”
“What’s that?” asked his comrade, sharply.
“Say—” and Pep’s tones seemed sharpened by alarm, “there’s smoke coming in through those windows. Worse—look! Oh, Randy,it’s fire!”