CHAPTER XXVEXCELSOR!—CONCLUSION
“It’sgreat news!” declared Mr. Strapp.
“Grand—wonderful!” added Professor Barrington. “That Pep Smith of yours is a genius. As to this Vic Belton, he deserves his good fortune in every way.”
The “great news” was the arrival of a letter from Pep, reciting his own and the adventure of Vic in their search for the stolen camels. Farmer Bacon had soon straightened out matters. The leader of the movies bandits was in jail for stealing, his accomplices had fled, and the camp on the swamp island was broken up and deserted.
The two young heroes, as the admiring Ben Jolly insisted on dubbing them, had the camels in safe and comfortable charge and would be in Boston and back at the Standard the next day.
“Yes,” said Frank, brightly, “things are coming out finely all along the line. We should be very happy and hopeful, Professor, over the wonderful success of your educational films.”
“There’s no doubt of that,” acknowledged theold savant gratefully, but he added with a sigh: “if we only hadn’t lost the great film!”
“Forget it!” instantly advised Mr. Strapp, in his brusque, practical way. “It’s gone, and we haven’t any time to spare crying over spilled milk. That Slavin crowd got it. There is no doubt of that, according to my way of thinking.”
“It hasn’t brought them much luck,” submitted Ben Jolly. “Randy here says they’ve not had the money to go on smoothly. They have almost dropped the educational line, working in two ‘funnies’ for part of their programme. Just as you said at the start, too, Durham, their location is wrong. It’s just far enough off the lively belt to lose the transients.”
“I think we had better give up any idea of ever getting trace of the stolen film,” said Frank. “It is my opinion that it has been destroyed, just to block us. If Slavin hasn’t, he can’t dispose of it in this country without implicating himself as a thief. He knows, too, that as soon as it is used we can stop it and get it back. Going to the hotel, Randy?”
“No, I’ve got something to attend to.”
“Pretty late in the evening for business; isn’t it?” questioned Frank, curiously.
“That’s all right,” answered Randy, very seriously. “I’ve been watching the New Idea andI’m going to keep it up until I find out something.”
“You mean about the stolen film? Don’t waste the time, Randy,” advised Frank. “As to how their show is progressing, we don’t care a snap of a finger. They are pretty nearly at the end of their rope. Did you know that Trudelle, the partner of Slavin, met Mr. Strapp on the street yesterday and hinted at selling out to him if he would pay a liberal bonus on the lease?”
“I didn’t,” replied Randy, “but I do know that Slavin and Trudelle are quarrelling with one another most of the time. I’ve got a friend in one of their ushers—and he’s keeping me posted.”
It was to meet this friend in question that Randy now proceeded to the neighborhood of the New Idea, instead of going with the others to their hotel. Randy could not get the great film out of his mind, and an incident had occurred a night previous that had started him on a plan for getting as close to the affairs of Slavin as was possible. His idea in doing this was the hope that he might find out what had become of the great film.
Randy had been passing the New Idea late at night. The place had been shut up for over an hour, but one of the entrance doors was open and a young fellow about his own age sat outside—ona stool. He was crying and Randy went up to him.
Sympathy and help was what the lad wanted, Randy soon found out. He was an usher and handy boy about the place, slept behind the stage nights, and he said had not been paid his wages for a week. He had asked for some money to send to a sick mother after the show that night. Slavin, in an ugly mood, had refused to give him even the two dollars he so badly needed and had kicked him over on a chair, badly bruising his arm.
“And Slavin and his partner take what money comes in and go off every night with it, playing cards and wasting it,” complained the little fellow, bitterly.
“Will they be back again to-night?” asked Randy.
Yes, the boy said they usually returned a little after midnight and sat up quarrelling usually. Randy fancied he saw his chance. He told the boy he would let him have the two dollars and would see that he got a better job, if he would let him share the little den he occupied back of the stage.
Randy did not entirely explain to the lad what he was after when he made his second visit, after leaving his friends at the Standard. The boy, however, had little love for his swindlingemployers and did not much care. It was thus that, an hour later, Randy found himself just where he wanted to be—in a room adjoining the office of the New Idea.
About one o’clock Slavin and Trudelle came into the office apartment. The latter acted reckless and as if he was under the influence of drink. Slavin began to upbraid him for gambling away some money he had taken from the box office.
“Huh! what you got to kick about?” growled Trudelle. “You’ve got that big film. You say it’s a fortune. Why don’t you turn it into cash?”
“Yes, I’ve got it and I intend to keep it,” retorted Slavin. “I’ll tell you one thing: If you don’t straighten up I’ll quit and get to a place where I can find my price for that little piece of property.”
“It’s half mine. Aren’t we partners?” demanded Trudelle. There was some fierce bickering, he shook his fist in his partner’s face and Slavin picked up a chair and knocked him flat.
All this Randy saw and overheard, crouched close to the partition which had several cracks in it. He noticed Slavin glance viciously and then uneasily at the senseless man on the floor. Then he went over to the desk, opened it, and began hurriedly to ransack its drawers, selecting severalpapers and stowing them in his pocket. Suddenly Slavin, as if seized with some urgent idea, shouted out:
“Jim—hey, you boy Jim, come in here.”
“Go ahead,” whispered Randy. “See what he wants.”
The boy Jim entered the office room and Slavin took a key out of his pocket.
“See here,” he said, “if you want your back pay and something more, all in cash, take that key and go to the place where I room. You know where it is?”
“I’ve been there a dozen times—yes, sir,” answered Jim.
“Well, you get quietly to my room. There’s a broken trunk under the bed. In the bottom is a package done up in a pasteboard box. You can’t miss it. Fetch it here and I’ll pay you as I say.”
“Let me go instead of you,” whispered Randy, breathlessly, as Jim returned to his room. “Go to my hotel,” and he told the lad where it was. “Wait for me there and I’ll give you double what that man promised.”
“You will?” challenged Jim, earnestly.
“Yes, and a position at the Standard in the bargain. Slavin is arranging to run away, I can see that.”
The boy Jim agreed willingly. Randy’s pulses beat high as he left the New Idea by the rear. Jim, accompanying him as far as the hotel, told him in detail of the location of Slavin’s room.
“If it’s only the great film that Slavin has sent for!” cogitated Randy, as he hurried on his way. “It looks so. He’s going to throw up his hands here and maybe make for Europe, where he could dispose of it easily.”
Twenty minutes later, as Randy reached the room indicated and lifted the box Slavin had told about from under the bed, he made investigation enough to be sure that he had found what he had hoped to find. It was the great film.
Frank was still up reading, Mr. Strapp and Professor Barrington were going over some business papers. All hands looked up in startled wonderment as their young friend fairly burst into the room.
“Oh, Frank!” almost shouted the breathless Randy—“I’ve got it!”
“Got what?” inquired the professor, lifting his astonished eyes to the excited lad.
“The great film—and there it is!” and Randy placed the parcel before him. A satisfied smile passed over the face of Mr. Hank Strapp of Montana. He grasped the hand of his young partner in a grip that made Randy wince.
“Great, boy!” was all he said. “I’d be proud to be your father!”
It was a gala night at the Standard. The decks had been cleared for action; the occasion heralded all over the city. The great film was to be produced.
All the motion picture chums were present. Pep and Vic had returned from their adventurous quest of the camels, more in love with the beautiful playhouse than ever. The sale of the camels was under negotiation and it looked as though Vic Belton in a few days would have a tidy sum to share with his faithful old friend, Bill Purvis.
The New Idea was completely off the books. There was no doubt that Slavin had planned to flee to Europe with the stolen film. He had disappeared, and his partner closed up the playhouse with a broken head and an empty pocket.
Mr. Randall was in the audience and the boy Jim was an usher. The handsome reception entrance was crowded with waiting throngs, for the “full house” signs had been put up half an hour previous.
Then as the curtain went up, for the first time in the history of motion photography the wonders of the polar world were exhibited to theworld. Mr. Randall was something more than a mere photographer. He had infused his scenes with rare human interest, every one of them.
“A New World” was a faithful reproduction of all that appertained to the far away, almost unattainable Arctic circle. The film was four thousand feet in length, divided into that number of sections, and a story and a romance were deftly woven into it.
A spellbound audience saw something new, indeed—pictures of a land and people that they had only heard of or read about in books.
There was shown the building of a snow house, the capture and skinning of the bearded seal, the hunting of the caribou and ptarmigan, the skin boats of the natives, the most northerly white man’s dwelling on the continent. There were the dog teams of the Esquimaux, the famous mud volcano on Lagton Bay, the wreck of a great whaler, cooking with oil for fuel, heather and dwarf willows, and a scene showing polar bears swimming in the sea.
The last film seemed to revivify some grand transformation scene. It was here that the art of the expert Randall shone at its full zenith. There burst upon the view of the enchanted audience the glories of the aurora borealis.
There was one unified breath of delight asthe last reel ran off. A flutter of the most grateful appreciation swayed the great audience, and the motion picture chums realized that the future of the Standard photo playhouse was assured.
“We’ve got to celebrate,” voiced bluff, hearty Mr. Hank Strapp, as the last light went out in the beautiful playhouse. “Entertaining the world in the right way is a big thing. Educating ’em at the same time is a bigger thing. My friends,” and he gazed devotedly at the bright faces of his young business associates, “it was a lucky day when Mr. Hank Strapp of Montana met you—yes, sir!”
“You have made my last days my best days,” said the old professor, with a tender touch of feeling.
“Why,” cried the impetuous Pep, “this is only a beginning in the educational film field.”
“Yes, we must keep our eyes open for still other conquests,” declared Frank Durham in his cheery, confident way.
And so we leave the motion picture chums, who had scored their last and greatest triumph through diligence, pluck and loyalty—each to the other, and all to their many friends.
THE END