CHAPTER XVIIA GRAND SUCCESS
“I’mstaggered!” spoke Pep Smith, breathlessly. “I didn’t think it could be done this fine.”
“Yes, Professor Barrington has certainly made good,” agreed Randy Powell.
The long and arduous efforts of the motion picture chums and their helpers had come to a splendid climax. The Standard had just thrown open its doors to the public. Like the unfolding of a fairy dream, at seven-thirty o’clock that evening the protecting canvas covering the entrance to the photo playhouse had been removed.
Those passing by had been dazzled. Instantly the glowing front of the building shone like a casket of jewels. Those in front viewed a reception hall that suggested the tasteful portal to some royal palace.
No placards had been placed—no advertising had been done in any general way. Professor Barrington had pleaded for that opening night as his especial own.
“Gentlemen,” he had said, “the programme we put out the first night must meet the unqualified approbation of the elite of Boston and the local press. I have thousands of friends in Boston and I have as many more in its vicinity, who for my sake would travel a good many miles. Let admission the first night be by special card. I will guarantee that the wealth and culture of the community put the seal of approval on this great enterprise.”
The old gentleman had not predicted wrongly. Over a thousand invitations had been sent out. From seven-thirty until eight-forty o’clock a constant string of private automobiles delivered load after load of well-dressed people at the entrance to the Standard. They showed themselves to be something more than mere invited guests. They took a pleased interest in viewing the comfortable and luxurious outfitting of the reception room and expressed their approval of the venture of Professor Barrington when the artistic beauties of the auditorium burst upon their view.
Frank wore a smile of great satisfaction as he and Mr. Strapp stood at the rear of the auditorium and looked over the assembled audience.
“It’s pretty fine, Durham—playhouse and people,” observed the latter. “I’d warm upquicker to the popular crowd; but their turn will come after we get the good word from these people. There’re a dozen newspaper men here.”
“I suppose we will get quite a lot of free advertising,” remarked Frank. “I’m sort of anxious about the programme. You see, the special film we counted on is delayed. That historical reel that Pep so luckily ran across has taken its place.”
The house was well filled at eight o’clock. Probably a finer audience had never before attended a motion picture show. Those who disdained the cheaper grade of entertainments lost all consciousness of being out of place. There was a flutter of interest and curiosity. The beauty of the place had appealed to their artistic sense.
There was a hush of expectancy as Ben Jolly, at the organ, started a grand rolling patriotic tune. The outer curtain rolled up.
At once a picture flashed upon the screen—it was that of the old flag of the colonies. It came so suddenly, so keenly outlined, so rich in coloring, that it startled the audience. It was no study in still life; the wind waved its silken folds, the silver stars glowed and glittered. There was a hum of pleased delight. The beautifulflag faded away, and there showed on the screen: “A Tabloid of Home History.”
It was not so much the well delineated but familiar scenes presented that caught the audience. The flag view had stirred them up, and the views of familiar scenes emphasized their patriotic ardor.
“Sixteen feet of film to the second,” Frank told Mr. Strapp, but the Westerner was too engrossed in viewing the screen to heed him. At the “Boston Tea Party” there was vigorous hand-clapping. “The Battle of Bunker Hill” caused a renewal of the enthusiasm. Half a dozen Revolutionary battle and skirmish scenes followed, then the waving flag again dissolved and the crowd “broke loose,” as Pep put it.
“Say, it’s acted just like an appetizer—short and sharp,” spoke Pep, moving to Frank’s side, a-quiver with delight.
“That friend of yours, Bohm, was certainly a happy thought,” remarked Frank.
“I hope the heavy stuff is going to make as good an impression,” observed Mr. Strapp.
“Oh, it’s sure to strike these wise heads right,” assured Pep.
“Is This the Kind of Fish That Swallowed Jonah?” was flashed across the screen, and a great monster was depicted occupying the entirelength of a freight car. Against it was a placard giving a few facts, such as: “Five harpoons and one hundred and fifty-one bullets used to subdue the monster,” “five days required to finally kill it,” “towed one hundred and twelve miles by a tug, weight thirty thousand pounds, length forty-five feet, circumference twenty-three feet nine inches, diameter eight feet three inches, mouth thirty-eight inches wide, forty-three inches deep, several thousand teeth, tail ten feet from tip to tip, hide three inches thick.”
“The Florida Keys” was the next slide. This glided into a scene where the biggest fish known in those waters was sighted by a Miami sportsman. The chase began. The harpoons flew. It took half a reel to give the exciting incidents of the battle and capture.
One scene was thrilling. This was where the monster smashed a boat into pieces and crushed the rudder and propeller of a thirty-one ton yacht. Even after it had been landed and was supposed to be dead, the leviathan, with a sudden flip of its tail, demolished a dockhouse. There was a final scene where a fisherman was seen sitting in the fish’s mouth as it was being hoisted to a flat car to be shipped to the Smithsonian Institution.
Pep, circulating about unobtrusively, but witheyes and ears wide open as he directed the half dozen lads dressed in neat uniforms who acted as ushers, had a constant smile on his face. He gathered a score of compliments on the reel that he caught from august professors and scientists in the audience.
“Making A Pin” was the third film. Then the little ones in the audience were given a show. Many had been purposely invited. They had shown strict attention to the first three features. “Toy Making In Germany” brought out the ecstatic “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” So many Santa Claus specialities were exhibited that they fairly bewildered the little ones.
“A Hard Sum” catered to the juvenile portion of the audience old enough to attend school. There was an educational element in the school scene where the teacher wrote a sum upon the blackboard. Those who attempted its solution daubed themselves and the board with chalk as they wrestled with the problem. The film worked in the laggard, the dunce and other familiar characters of the schoolroom. When a bright little fellow wrote out the answer, the juvenile spectators cheered and then woke up as from a delightful dream, as a romping scene brought forth gales of laughter.
Professor Barrington’s face was one expansivesmile as, after the audience dispersed, he joined his business friends, rubbing his hands gleefully.
“An emphatic success,” he declared. “Gentlemen, there was not a flaw in the entertainment from beginning to end. It was simply perfection.”
“That’s my way of thinking,” crowed Pep. “Oh, but we’ve got the machine in grand order. All we’ve got to do now is to keep it running.”
There was a scramble for the morning papers at their room the next morning. Pep was the first to discover what the leading journal said about them.
“A whole column,” he announced, waving the paper to and fro, wild with enthusiasm. “Read, Frank—the Standard has awakened—famous!”
There was to be a lapse of two days. Then the Standard was to give four shows daily—two in the afternoon and two in the evening. There were some general details to attend to, but it gave Randy, Pep and Vic some leisure.
“Say,” remarked the latter one afternoon, “the New Idea opens to-night. I was just past there and saw their big sign.”
“Is that so?” said Randy, with awakening interest. “What do they announce?”
“‘Life Among the Lowly—Great Philanthropic Film,’” replied Vic.
“That sounds sort of good,” observed Pep.
“Yes, there ought to be some human interest in that kind of stuff,” said Randy.
“Then they’ve got another specialty,” went on Vic. “‘The Beaver Colony.’”
“That’s old,” said Pep. “They had that in New York. It’s on the educational order, though. What else, Vic?”
“‘Training Camels,’” reported Vic. “Say, fellows, I’m interested there. Let’s go and see how they make out.”
“Agreed,” answered Pep, promptly.