“Somebody at the door, Pep.”
“All right, I’ll attend to them.”
Jolly was rearranging the chairs after sweeping out the playhouse and Pep was dusting, when there came a summons at the front door. It was a smart tapping and Pep wondered who it could be. He released one door to confront an impressive-looking individual, with a light cane in his hand and a face that somehow made Pep think of a stranded actor.
“This is the Wonderland, I assume?” spoke the caller, grandiloquently.
“You have assumed right,” replied Pep.
“Mr. Frank Durham, proprietor?”
“One of them.”
“Can I see Mr. Durham personally. Important business.”
“Certainly. This way,” directed Pep, and he led the way to the living room at the rear.
“What did I tell you!” half groaned HalVincent into Frank’s ear the moment he set eyes on the newcomer.
“Ah, Mr. Durham—forgotten me, I suppose?” airily intimated the visitor, as he entered the room.
“Not at all,” replied Frank, with a pleasant smile, as he arose from the desk at which he was seated.
Jolly had got hold of a very presentable desk in his trading. It had been set in a convenient corner of the room and constituted the “office” of the Wonderland.
It was the ubiquitous Booth whom Frank greeted. He knew the man at a glance and so did Vincent. The latter viewed the new arrival suspiciously and with a none too cordial bow. There was something that appealed to Frank in the visionary old fellow, however, and he treated him courteously.
Booth bore unmistakable signs of prosperity and contentment. He now wore a brand new glossy silk tile, lemon colored gloves, was cleanly shaven and exploited an irreproachable collar and bright red necktie. He might have been one of the amusement kings of America judging from the immense gravity and dignity of his demeanor. Mr. Booth drew out a memorandum book with several bank notes folded between itspages and straightened his neat gold eyeglasses.
“I have some very pretentious business offerings for you, Mr. Durham,” he volunteered. “However, before we proceed any farther, there is a matter of unfinished business—a trivial obligation. Let me see?” and he flipped over several leaves of the memorandum book. “Ah, yes, this is it: ‘Acceptance, one hundred and fifty.’ No, that is not it. ‘Note at bank’—wrong again. Here we have it: ‘I. O. U., one dollar.’ I had forgotten the amount,” and he handed Frank a bill for that amount.
“Many thanks, Mr. Durham. Adversity is the common lot, and such cheerful assistance as that which you accorded me at New York City is of the kind that keeps the human heart warm with those who honorably expect to pay their debts. Now then, sir, to the important business mission which brought me here.”
Vincent looked darkly suspicious, Frank mildly inquisitive, Randy wondered what was coming, and Pep was curiously expectant.
“The inauguration of two new photo playhouses at Seaside Park has offered a certain scope of opportunity for my line of specialization,” proceeded Booth. “I have canvassed the town and have done some very satisfactory initial business, believe me, Mr. Durham.”
“I am very glad to hear that,” spoke Frank, heartily.
“Beyond my expectations, I may say,” declared the enterprising advance agent. “You are open for curtain features, sir?”
“Of the right kind, most certainly,” assented Frank.
“High class with me, sir, always,” declared Booth. “I have one contract of quite some magnitude. It is a continuous one, with a feature that will enhance your business materially. Perhaps I had better show you. How is that, sir?”
The advance agent presented a card. Upon it a photograph had been pasted and under this was the reading:
“Who am I? Meet me face to face!”
“Why,” smiled Frank in some mystification, “this is a picture of the back of a man’s head?”
“Exactly so—that’s just it!” nodded Booth, animatedly. “In me you see the inventor of that most original idea. I wish you to have that made into a slide. You throw the picture on the screen during the intermissions. A blank card is given to every person with the admission ticket. It is announced that the picture represents a well known local merchant. Who is he? The audience is given a chance to vote and thecards are collected. To those who guess correctly a one-pound box of finest chocolates is delivered next day. These confections, done up in handsome boxes, you pile up in your front windows with a neat placard explaining the scheme. A custom drawer; eh, Mr. Durham?”
“Why, I must say it is quite a novel and ingenious plan,” admitted Frank.
“Got to have some attraction like that to interest new business, sir,” declared Booth. “I have presented the plan to you first, because you stood my friend in time of need and because I am informed that you operate the leading playhouse here at Seaside Park.”
“Are you authorized to make a deal on that business, Booth?” inquired Vincent, in a blunt, matter-of-fact way.
“I am,” replied the advance agent with emphasis. “My client will sign a contract. He is one of the most reliable business men in the community. In later curtain features, first the rear view and then the front view and advertisement of my client’s business will be delineated on the screen. I have several other features to follow this one. I can make it worth your while to enter into a contract.”
“I see no objection to your proposition,” returned Frank, after a moment’s reflection. “Idislike any prize lottery contests, or anything that approaches the gambling idea; but this suggestion of yours seems clean and honest.”
He went over details with Booth and was pleased to realize that quite a neat little income was promised from this unexpected feature of the entertainments.
“I declare, that is the first coherent scheme I ever knew Booth to put through,” asserted Vincent, as the advance agent took his departure. “If he sticks at this in a business-like way it looks as if he would make some real money. He goes off on a tangent every once in a while, Durham. You needn’t be surprised if he drops in some day with one of his wild schemes, like dropping free tickets over the town from a balloon.”
“Ready to go to the bank, Randy?” inquired Frank, in quite a flutter, taking the bank book from a pigeonhole in the desk.
“Yes,” replied Randy, taking a neatly done-up package from his tin cash box. “I’ve sorted out everything above fifty cents for deposit.”
“That’s right—always keep a good supply of small change on hand,” advised Jolly. “I say, Durham, what about the daytime shows?”
“We had better canvass that situation during the day,” replied Frank. “We might give it a trial, say, day after to-morrow.”
“I don’t think a morning show would pay us,” suggested Vincent. “You might work in three matinees, though, especially when the beach gets more crowded.”
Randy invited Pep to go down to the bank with him. They felt pretty good over the pleasant way things were going.
“We’re in the swim, sure,” declared Pep, animatedly.
“Yes, and drifting along most delightfully,” agreed Randy.
“Sort of a howling capitalist; aren’t you!” railed Pep, as they reached the bank, and with a due sense of importance his companion handed in bank book and money at the receiving teller’s window.
“You needn’t talk,” retorted Randy—“you’re ‘a bloated bondholder’; aren’t you?”
Pep winced at the allusion. As they passed down the steps of the bank they came face to face with two of their business rivals. They were Peter Carrington and Greg Grayson. Pep carelessly and Randy rather distantly bowed to the two boys and were about to pass on their way.
“Hold on,” sang out Peter, in his usual abrupt style. “Had quite a house last night; didn’t you? So did we.”
“I heard so,” observed Pep. “What’s thematter with your private box department, though?”
“Oh, accidents will happen,” returned Peter. “Say, look out for a big hit, though, in a day or two.”
“That so?” said Pep.
“You bet! Isn’t that so, Greg?”
Greg Grayson assented with a nod. He looked mean and probably felt the same way. He had sense enough to realize that his past record with the moving picture chums, taken in conjunction with his present appearance on a new scene, showed him up in a poor light.
“Yes, sir,” vaunted Peter, swelling as if some big idea had sprouted in that dull brain of his; “we’re going to spring a motion picture sensation on Seaside Park that will about make us.”
“That’s good,” applauded Randy. “You deserve it if you have the right thing.”
“Well, we just have,” boasted Peter. “It’s so good that I shouldn’t wonder if it put everybody else in our line clean out of business.”
“Meaning us, I suppose?” inquired Pep.
“Well, those who don’t want to get hurt had better keep out of the way,” advised Peter. “The National has come to stay, I can tell you that.”
“Durham, I feel that we’ve just go to get that film,” spoke Ben Jolly.
He held in his hand a special letter from the National Film Exchange, and the lively piano player waved it about in a way that showed that he was unusually excited.
“Yes,” nodded Hal Vincent, “this is one of those specials that come along only once or twice a year. The prize fights used to lead before people knew as much as they do now; but you take a royal coronation, or a national auto race, or an earthquake, or liner lost at sea, and that’s the big feature that the public run after for about a month.”
“You’ve got to get in at them at the start, though,” suggested Jolly.
“Always. The event advertises itself and the film men give it a new start. Why, to open up for day shows, this flood film would be an attraction all of itself.”
“Better keep up with the times,” half laughedRandy. “You know how Peter Carrington is bragging about some new attraction that is going to put us out of business.”
Frank and his chums were practically novices in the “movies” line. They, however, knew enough about the business to realize that the theme under discussion was one worth considering in all its bearings. Furthermore, they placed great reliance in the judgment of Jolly and Vincent. The letter they had received advised them that within two days the “Great Flood Series” of films would be offered for lease. The supply was limited and on this account one film had been apportioned to certain territory. The right to use the film, therefore, would go to the highest bidder in each district.
The flood film covered a national disaster in which a large section of the West had been inundated, causing immense loss to life and property. Public charity had been appealed to and there were relief funds all over the country. The interest in the event had not yet abated.
“It’s a big feature,” declared Ben Jolly. “My advice is to get it.”
“And get it quick,” added Vincent. “These attractions are grabbed for.”
“But the cost?” suggested Frank.
“Oh, it is never ruinous,” said Vincent.“See here, you can spare me best out of your most valuable staff. I’ll go to the city and put the deal through, if you say so.”
“What about those cornet solos, and the talking picture stunt, and the act you were going to put on the programme?” grumbled Pep.
“Oh, they will keep for a night or so,” replied Vincent. “Another thing, I ordered my outfit, which was levied on at the stand down country where my last venture showed, sent to New York City before I knew I was coming down here. There’s some new wardrobe properties I want, too, so I can do double duty while I am in the city.”
It was decided that Vincent should go to New York and see what could be done about the flood film. The boys had figured up what price they could stand as a maximum figure, but considerable discretion was left to their representative. Randy and Pep strolled down to the depot with Vincent.
“See who’s here,” suddenly observed Randy.
Peter Carrington, in a loud, checked suit, alarming necktie and classy yachting cap, was at the depot with his two admiring cronies, Greg Grayson and Jack Beavers. He was talking in a loud, showy way, but as Beavers caught sight of Vincent he spoke quickly to Peter and theydrew away from the spot. Peter entered the chair car when the train came in.
“Hello, going your way,” observed Randy.
“Say, suppose he’s after that new feature film?” inquired Pep, excitedly.
“Might be,” observed Vincent, carelessly. “If that’s the big card they were bragging about, they haven’t landed it yet. Glad you mentioned that point, Pep. I’ll get busy.”
There was a great deal to attend to that day. The season had commenced with the finest of weather and it bade fair to continue indefinitely. Frank and Jolly spent several hours deciding on the matinee feature.
“Tell you what, fellows,” he said to Randy and Pep, “Mr. Jolly thinks he had better take the week to get into our routine thoroughly. Mr. Booth was in to see us again this morning about some advertising he will put through at low cost. I hardly think we will try any day shows until next week, unless our competitors do. Then of course we will have to show our colors.”
“Well, I can tell you that they are not asleep,” declared Pep.
“How is that?” inquired Jolly.
“I saw my friend who works for them. He is building a big transparency to put across thefront of the National. He don’t know exactly what it is going to advertise, but he thinks a big film feature.”
“The flood special, I’ll bet!” guessed Randy at once.
“Aren’t they a little premature?” advanced Jolly.
“We’ll know to-night,” said Frank. “Mr. Vincent will probably be back on a late train.”
The boys were brisk and ready for the evening’s entertainment when the hour arrived. There was every indication of a big attendance. What pleased Frank most was to notice that those who were waiting for the doors to open were mostly family people—children and residents. This spoke well for the reputation the Wonderland had already gained.
The first house was only fair. There was, however, a big gain at eight o’clock. Randy looked up from the ticket reel as a familiar voice struck his ear with the monotonous:
“Two tickets, please.”
“No, no,” he laughed, moving back the bill which Miss Porter presented, and bowing with deference to her companion, the portly Mrs. Carrington. “You must allow us the honor and pleasure of retaining you on the free list.”
“Ridiculous, young man!” said the outspokenMrs. Carrington, but she was forced ahead by the on-pressing crowd. Pep caught sight of them and hustled about actively securing two good seats among the few left.
Pep felt that he was on good behavior with the eyes of their lady patronesses upon them. When they arose to leave at the end of the hour he slipped over to the operator’s booth and advised Frank of the presence of their distinguished company. The little party drew aside for a moment or two out of the path of the dispersing audience.
“We must certainly compliment you on your well ordered place, Mr. Durham,” said Mrs. Carrington.
“And your tasteful selection of films,” added Miss Porter, brightly. “As to your pianist, he is an expert, and your usher system perfect.”
“Oh, pshaw! you are making fun of me,” declared Pep, reddening.
“Oh, dear!” observed Mrs. Carrington with a sigh, “of course I am deeply anxious for the success of that headstrong nephew of mine. Now he has got into the motion picture business I can’t quite abandon him; but I must say the National is crude and inartistic compared with your place here.”
“Peter has our best wishes, Mrs. Carrington,” declaredFrank. “I can assure you of that. Of course we are business rivals, but it will be with entire fairness on our part.”
“I am sure it will. I told you so, Mrs. Carrington,” spoke Miss Porter. “Peter talks as though you were sanguinary enemies, but I knew it was nonsense as far as you are concerned. I don’t like the man he has taken in with him, a Mr. Beavers, however. I told him so yesterday, but met with a rebuff for the interest I displayed in Peter’s welfare.”
“That little lady is our champion, all right,” declared Pep, returning from escorting the ladies to their automobile.
When the boys came to reckon up the proceeds of the evening they found them to be several dollars over what they had taken in the first night. They were congratulating themselves on their continued good fortune when Hal Vincent put in an appearance. He had a great paper roll under his arm and looked brisk and contented.
“Well, Hal?” hailed Jolly, in a cheery, expectant way.
“I want to show you something,” was the ventriloquist’s reply as he opened the roll upon the table.
It contained six different four-sheet posters. They were high colored, well executed and attractive.They depicted striking and thrilling events of “The Great Flood.”
“Twenty-five sets go with the films,” he explained.
“And you’ve got the films?” said Jolly.
“I couldn’t bear to leave them behind,” replied Vincent, with a smile. “I’ve got them and the price won’t break us—but it’s at the cost of making a deadly enemy.”
“Who’s the enemy, Mr. Vincent?” inquired Frank, quickly.
“Peter Carrington.”
“Pooh!” derided Randy.
“That doesn’t sound so dangerous,” declared Pep, lightly.
“Tell us about it, Hal,” urged Jolly.
“There isn’t a lot to tell,” replied Vincent. “Pep here was right about Carrington being bound on the same mission to the city as myself. I found him at the National Film Exchange in great fettle. He had just closed a deal for the flood film.”
“Then—then——” began Pep, in alarm.
“In his usual conspicuous and important way he had his check book out, fountain pen in hand, and ended up a grand flourish to his signature with a sort of triumphant grin at me as I entered the office.
“‘Too late, Mr. Man!’ he chuckled.‘Thought maybe you would be after the king attraction of the season, so I hot-footed it here from the train. There you are, sir,’ and he handed the check to the cashier of the Exchange. ‘Just pack up that film and the posters. Building a big transparency advertising it. If I can catch an early train we’ll put it on to-night.’
“‘I cannot deliver the goods on this check, Mr. Carrington,’ said the cashier, politely but firmly.
“‘I’d like to know why you can’t!’ flared up Peter. ‘That check is good as gold, and my aunt has a little fortune in that same bank.’
“‘All right, get someone in New York to indorse it and you can have the goods,’ advised the cashier. ‘It’s no discrimination, Mr. Carrington. We make this a stringent rule with all out-of-town customers.’
“‘Why, if you doubt my word, telegraph the bank at Seaside Park,’ flustered Peter. ‘Say, I’ll do it myself. I’ll have the cash wired on, but I shall enter a protest and a complaint with your superiors.’
“‘That’s all right,’ smiled the cashier indifferently. ‘I’ll give you an hour to get the cash here. Only, remember we are likely to have other bids.’
“‘I am on hand to take a look at the proposition,’I remarked just there. Peter nearly had a fit. Then he dived for the door. I found out that his figure was ninety-eight dollars for the week. I added two dollars. ‘Wait the hour,’ said the cashier.
“The hour was up and fifteen minutes over the limit when Peter rushed upon the scene once more,” narrated Vincent. “He pulled a big wad of bank notes out of his pocket. ‘Pack up that film,’ he ordered sourly, ‘and cancel all our other orders. I’m going to a new place where they won’t question my credit on a measly sum like ninety-eight dollars.’
“‘The film is sold for Seaside Park,’ explained the cashier. ‘The Wonderland has overbid you. You are overdue.’
“‘Hold on,’ I put in, ‘I don’t want to take advantage of a competitor. Fair and square, Carrington. If you want the film, bid for it.’
“‘Of course I’ll bid for it,’ boasted Peter. ‘I’ll give a hundred and five.’
“‘And ten,’ I said quietly.
“‘Fifteen.’
“‘And twenty,’ I added.
“‘Sho!’ said Peter, flipping over the bills in his hand. I haven’t much more ready cash here with me.‘
“‘I’ll loan you on your check,’ I told him andthe bluff took. I had only the hundred and fifty you gave me, but I was nervy, and it beat Peter. I fancy Jack Beavers had set a limit, or the real money wasn’t flush at the National; anyhow with a snarl and a scowl Peter gritted his teeth at both of us and decamped.”
Late as the hour was the motion picture chums were so interested in the new film that they had to give it a trial run. It was all the lurid advertising claimed for it from start to finish, and it took thirty-five minutes to run it—the scenes depicted held the interest.
“It’s well worth the money,” declared Ben Jolly enthusiastically. “Now then, to exploit it to the limit.”
The transparency frame built for the National remained in place, but its muslin covering did not contain the announcement expected by Peter and his satellites. Even Hal Vincent, well as he knew Jack Beavers, was greatly surprised when he was told the next day that the space was devoted to booming a recent sparring match.
“It’s pretty bad taste,” he criticised. “It will take with a certain element, but it won’t help in getting the good people and the stayers.”
The flood film was widely advertised and put on that Thursday night. The posters made a fine show in the various store windows of the town. A private school cameen masseto the firstevening entertainment. A ladies’ charitable association, active in raising a fund for the flood sufferers, was among the audience Friday night.
“It’s a go,” voted Ben Jolly, as Randy reported over a hundred people turned away from the doors. “If I were you, Durham, I would wire the Exchange for a thirty days’ contract on that film.”
This was done. A big house was expected for Saturday night and it had been decided to run two matinees from three to five beginning Monday. This crowded a little but not to any noticeable discomfort.
Pep, always on the scent for information regarding their competitors, came in with a new bulletin at supper time.
“Things are getting sort of mixed down at the National, I hear,” he remarked.
“How’s that, Pep?” questioned Jolly.
“They had a rough crowd among the audience last night and there was a fight. Two women fainted and several had their pockets picked by some fellows from that new Midway they started last week outside of the concession belt.”
“I noticed Jack Beavers with a couple of hard-looking fellows yesterday afternoon down at the Midway,” said Vincent. “That won’t pay them, I can tell you.”
“If the rough crowd have begun their workat the National we may expect them to make the rounds,” said Jolly. “Keep a sharp eye out, Pep.”
“I’ll do just that,” was the prompt response.
As anticipated by the motion picture chums and their friends, the throngs that evening beat all records. Pep forgot to look for suspicious characters or trouble. Everything went smoothly up to the last show, when he noticed four swaggering fellows come in. They crowded their way to the front and made a noisy shuffling with their feet and talked loudly. A few minutes later a like group gained admittance and took seats among the rear rows of seats. There were cat calls and signals between the two groups and Pep scented trouble.
Vincent, who until he went on the programme the next week helped Pep to keep things in order, came up to his young friend just as the first film of the third series was being run off.
“I say, Pep,” he observed, “two of the fellows in that quartette in front there are the same fellows I saw with Jack Beavers. They look ripe for a demonstration.”
“You mean they may have been sent here to make trouble for us?”
“And rush the crowd in the hope of picking a few pockets—that is their general programme, yes.”
“I wish we could get one of the beach policemen to show himself,” said Pep. “That would scare them off. Those officers are friendly to us, but won’t make a move until a real row is on.”
“I think I can help out on this proposition,” remarked Vincent, and Pep noticed that he passed through the doorway leading to the living apartment, behind the main room.
When the lights came on for a moment between the first and second film Pep stared in blank surprise at a figure standing against the side wall. It was that of a police officer fully uniformed, even to the stout club usually carried. He was not ten feet away from the quartette that had made Pep so apprehensive.
“It’s Mr. Vincent,” guessed Pep—“good for him!”
The versatile ventriloquist it was. His extensive wardrobe had provided a disguise that cooled down the four unwelcome visitors from the start. Vincent stood like a statue where he had posted himself, as if on duty. When the lights went off he drew even nearer to the quartette, and they seemed to accept the fact that he was there for their benefit and that it would pay them to behave themselves.
Vincent was a good deal surprised when someone came close to him down the aisle next to the outer wall of the building. He was almost startledwhen the words were whispered in his ear:
“Officer, I want you to help me as soon as this film is over.”
“In what way?” inquired Vincent.
“The two men at the end of the front seats here—Midway crowd—I want them.”
“Want them?”
“Yes, I am an officer from the city—I’ll show you my credentials later. The two fellows I mention have led me a long hunt—it’s a burglary case.”
“What do you want me to do?” inquired Vincent.
“They will show fight, both of them, the minute their eyes light on me. You grab the second fellow. I’ll attend to the other one. Then send the usher out for more police help.”
“All right,” assented Vincent, “only do all this quietly as you can. We don’t want to hurt the reputation of the show by any rough work.”
“Oh, they’ll wilt when they see they’re cornered. Another word-whisper.”
“Yes?”
“Help me to do this job neatly and there’s a fine reward to divide.”
As the lights came on again the man who had spoken to Vincent moved forward so as to intercept the two end men on the second row of seats. One of them, who had arisen the moment he fixed his eyes on the officer from the city, sat down quickly. He pulled his next companion by the sleeve, who slunk down with him.
All this Vincent noticed, and Pep, guessing that these actions meant something, glided to the side of the ventriloquist.
“What is it, Mr. Vincent?” he inquired breathlessly.
“I hardly know myself yet,” said Vincent.
“I want you, my man!” spoke the city officer just here.
He reached out and grabbed the slinking man by the collar.
“That one also,” was added sharply, and Hal Vincent pounced upon the other man in true official style. Pep heard what he took for signalwhistles from the other members of the party, whom he noticed burrowing their way through the crowd as if fearing detection themselves and anxious to get out of the way as fast as they could.
“Go out and tell a couple of beach officers we need them, Pep,” spoke Vincent quickly. “This way,” he added to the New York officer, and led his prisoner into the living rooms.
Pep hurried on his mission and returned with the officers sent for. He advised Frank and Randy that “something was up” and made sure that the latter got started for the rear with his cash box. Then Pep closed and locked the front doors securely.
He stood there on guard until the two policemen and the officer from the city came out with their prisoners. They had handcuffed them together and the captives looked sullen but subdued.
“I won’t forget you,” spoke the officer from the city as Pep let the little group get out into the street.
“Oh, that’s all right,” replied Vincent. “We’re glad to have got through with the fellows without any row or publicity.”
“What have those men been doing, Mr. Vincent?” inquired Pep as the doors were again secured and they went back into the living rooms.
“Some big burglary in New York, the officer said,” explained the ventriloquist. “It seems he has been on their trail for a week. Located them at the Midway and traced them here to-night.”
“Get your broom, Randy,” ordered Pep, consulting his watch.
“What for?”
“We’ve got just forty-eight minutes before twelve o’clock. We want to sweep out by then. To-morrow’s Sunday, when we won’t do it, and the next day is Monday when we can’t do it with the hustle and bustle of a double programme and two matinees. Besides, it’s a satisfaction to see it all neat and in order over to-morrow.”
“That’s so,” assented Randy, but he yawned, for it had been an arduous day for all hands.
The boys pitched in with ardor, Pep taking one side, Randy the other. There was more sand than dust, for the floor had been cleanly swept only that morning. There was, however, the usual lot of candy and popcorn boxes, torn programmes, and the general litter of the entertainment.
“You beat me, Randy,” said Pep, as his companion rounded into the end of the center aisle near the entrance first with his heap of swept-up rubbish.
“I’ll get the box and the dust pan,” volunteered Randy,“and we’ll soon have the rubbish out of the way.”
While his comrade was gone for the utensils in question Pep began poking about in the accumulated heap swept up. He always did this before the heap was placed in the rubbish box and dumped out of a side window into a coal box standing beneath it. Very often they found little articles of value—once a pair of ladies’ gloves, a baby’s hat twice, rings, and after nearly every performance pennies, nickels, and once a dollar bill. A list of these articles of any value was made and placarded on a neat card labelled “Owner Apply,” tacked up on the ticket seller’s booth outside.
“A plugged nickel and two suspender buttons,” laughed Pep as a result of his explorations as Randy reappeared.
“I kicked something!” announced Randy, and sure enough something that rattled skidded across the floor from the edge of the dust heap.
“Why,” replied Pep, picking up the article in question, “it’s a chamois bag.”
“Something in it?” questioned Randy.
“Think so? I’ll see,” and Pep probed. “I say,” he added with animation, “look here, Randy!”
Both boys viewed in amazement the object Pephad extracted from the little chamois bag. It sparkled and dazzled.
“Gold!” uttered Randy.
“And diamonds!” added Pep with zest. “It’s a necklace. It’s handsome enough to be real, but that can’t be.”
“Why not?” challenged Randy.
“Oh, it would be worth a small fortune. Who’s going to drop a thing like that in a ten-cent motion picture show?”
“We’ll ask Mr. Vincent,” suggested Randy, and Pep slipped their singular find into his pocket. They cleaned up the dust heap, set the rows of chairs in apple pie order and joined the others in the living rooms.
“I want to show you something, Mr. Vincent,” said Pep, approaching the ventriloquist, who with Jolly was dispatching supper at the table.
“Why,” exclaimed Vincent, as Pep handed him the chamois bag and he held up to the light the necklace it contained, “where in the world did you get this?”
“I should say so!” cried Jolly, his eyes fixed upon the shimmering article of jewelry.
“Randy swept it up,” explained Pep.
“Is it good for anything?” inquired Randy.
“Is it!” projected Vincent forcibly. “I shouldrather say so! Those are genuine diamonds, and the other settings are valuable, too. Not less than a thousand dollars, and maybe five.”
Pep gave utterance to an excited whistle. Randy looked bewildered. Frank, busy at his desk going over the contents of the cash box, arose from his chair and like the others became an interested member of the group.
“Some lady must have carried it with her and it dropped from her pocket,” he suggested. “It is too late to-night to think of seeking an owner for it.”
“Whoever it belongs to will be around looking for it quick enough,” declared Vincent.
“I hope there will be some kind of a reward,” said Randy.
“If there is, you get it,” observed Pep.
“No, we divide,” insisted his loyal chum.
“Well, wait till the reward is offered, will you?” laughed Jolly. “I say, Durham, our friend Booth must know of this. He’ll get us a whole column in the newspapers. ‘Exclusive and fashionable audience at the Wonderland. Sensational loss of priceless gems! Found by the proprietors. Consumed with anxiety to locate the owner. Latter appears—prominent society leader. Jewels restored and the Wonderland still running to crowded houses. See the great flood featurefilms!’ Why, it’s as good as the usual lost jewels for the actress.”
Frank took charge of the chamois bag and deposited it in the tin cash box. This he locked up and as usual took it into one of the apartments where he slept.
“We shall have to keep special watch over all that valuable stuff until the bank opens Monday morning,” he explained.
Randy hung around, wrought up with excitement over their wonderful find and anxious to talk about it. Pep was very tired and went to his cot to rest. Frank, Jolly and Vincent sat with their feet on the sill of an open window, enjoying the cool breeze from the ocean and indulging in pleasant comments on the first successful week of the Wonderland.
“With the flood film and the specialty act of the great family entertainer, ‘Signor Halloway Vincenzo,’ I predict we will capture the town next week,” declared Ben Jolly.
“Guess I’ll turn in, too,” remarked Randy, after wandering about the room aimlessly for some time.
“All right, just turn out the light, will you?” asked Frank. “It’s sort of nice to sit here with the moonlight streaming in.”
Randy took off his coat and shoes and startedfor the apartment where Pep was fast asleep. It contained two cots. He had started over to give Pep a shake and make him get up and undress, when he chanced to pass one of the windows and glanced out.
“Fire!” he instantly shouted, and rushed out into the room where the others were.
“What’s that?” challenged Frank, springing to his feet.
“Yes, right across the block,” declared Randy. “You can see it from the side window. Look at that!”
A glare suddenly illuminated the room. Ben Jolly moved to the window and uttered a sharp whistle of surprise. Frank ran into his room and came out with his cap on. Then there was a rush for the little back stairs running into the yard behind the building.
“Wait for me!” called out Randy, struggling to put on his shoes.
“Hey! what’s all the row?” hailed Pep sleepily, as Randy stamped his foot into a shoe, grabbed up his cap and coat and made a dive for the yard.
“Fire!” bawled back Randy. “Right near us, too! Hurry up!”
Pep sat up on his cot rubbing his eyes. Then a spurting glare from the fire lit up the room. Hejumped to his feet and hurried out into the large room.
“It is a fire, sure enough,” he exclaimed, glancing from the window. “It’s that big building where they rent rooms to transients. The whole roof is ablaze and——”
Pep came to a sudden halt. Just stepping over the threshold of the doorway at the head of the yard steps, he was confronted by two men running up them.
One of them threw out one hand. It landed on Pep’s breast, almost pushing him off his footing, and was accompanied by the gruff voice:
“Hey, you get back in there!”
Pep was a quick thinker. He could not tell how it was, but the minute his eyes lighted on the two strangers he somehow associated them with the group from whom he had anticipated trouble earlier in the night. In fact he was not sure that they were not two members of the quartette who had been the object of the visit of the officer from the city.
“What do you want?” Pep instantly challenged.
For answer his assailant leaped forward and made a grab for him. Pep knew that the intrusion of these men could have no good motive. He dodged, seized a frying pan from the gas stove, and brandished it vigorously.
“I’ll strike!” he shouted. “Don’t you try to hold me!”
“Quiet the young spitfire,” growled the second of the men, and although Pep got in one or two hard knocks with his impromptu weapon, he was finally held tightly by the arms from behind byone of the men. Pep let out a ringing yell, hoping to attract attention from outside, but his friends were by this time in the turmoil of the fire, and the few crossing vacant spaces were shouting and excited like himself.
“I supposed they had all rushed out to the fire,” spoke the man who had first appeared. “Keep this one quiet, if you have to choke him.”
Pep’s captor threw him to the floor and pinned him there with his knee on his breast, despite his wrigglings. He managed to apply a gag. Then he rudely jerked Pep to his feet, holding his wrists together in a vise-like grip.
The flare from the fire and the bright moonlight illumined the room as clearly as day. Some vivid thoughts ran riot in the active mind of Pep as the other man went into one of the partitioned sleeping places.
“That’s right,” called out Pep’s captor. “The boy who had the tin box carried it in there somewhere.”
“Got it!” sounded in a triumphant tone two minutes later, and there was a rattle and a rustling sound.
Pep groaned inwardly. He could figure things out clearly now, he fancied. The intruders were the two former companions of those arrested not two hours before by the city officer.
“Then it was the fellow he was after that left the chamois bag,” theorized Pep rapidly. “He didn’t want it found on him, and he got word to these friends of his. They probably saw us looking at the necklace through the windows and planned to get it back. When Frank and the others ran out to the fire they hurried in here, and——”
“Got it; eh?” inquired Pep’s captor, as his comrade reappeared.
“I have,” chuckled the other, and busied himself rolling a pillow slip about the tin box. “Found it under a cot in there. Now then, quick is the word.”
The man who held Pep gave him a sudden fling. Pep landed against the wall on the other side of the room with stunning force. The two men, hurriedly departing, directed a quick glance at him.
“That settles him,” observed the foremost of the two, running down the outside stairs.
Pep was dazed for a moment. He actually fell back half stunned. His head had received a terrific bump. The instant a thought of the loss of their little treasure box drifted into his mind, however, he was on his feet in a flash.
He tore the obstructing handkerchief from his mouth and made for the open door, capless andout of breath. Pep darted down the stairs, his eyes glancing in every direction. The whole top of the building, three hundred feet away, was blazing now. There was a vacant space behind the Wonderland, and across this people were running in the direction of the fire. Pep could not make out his friends anywhere about. As his glance swept in the opposite direction he saw two shadowy forms headed on a run for the side street.
“It’s them; I see them!” cried Pep, and he sprinted ahead, his eyes fixed upon the scurrying figures. They disappeared between two buildings. Then they came out on the street next to the boardwalk.
All along Pep’s idea had been to get near enough to them to call upon others to assist him in detaining them as thieves. There was no police officer in sight, however, and people about were thinking only of getting to the scene of the fire. Then, as Pep came out upon the street into which the two men had turned, he saw them standing by an automobile. One of them was cranking it. The other had climbed into the rear seat.
“Stop those men! they have robbed us!” shouted Pep, putting for the spot where the automobile stood and addressing three or four persons who werehastening in the direction of the fire.
One of these halted and looked at Pep as if to take heed of his announcement, but his fellows urged him to come on and laughed at Pep. The outcry had hastened the movements of the thieves. The man in front of the machine jumped into the chauffeur’s seat and seized the wheel.
“You shan’t get away with our property!” declared Pep, gaining on the auto just starting up. “Help! Thieves! Police! Police!”
The man in the rear seat had placed the box by his side. He had both hands free. As Pep leaped to the step and clung there, he reached out both arms. He was a fellow of powerful build, and he was annoyed and angry at the pertinacity of their pursuer. Pep dodged his head and body aside, but the man got a hold on his coat and pulled him clear over into the machine.
“Now go on,” he directed his companion. “I’ll squelch the young wildcat.”
“You won’t! Help! Police—pol——”
The man had Pep down between his knees. He was cruelly brutal, squeezing him down out of view from the street and choking him into silence. Pep gave up all hope now. He was silenced and helpless. The machine made several turns to baffle pursuit, if anyone should follow,and started down a winding road leading into the country.
“Now you sit still there and keep your tongue quiet or I’ll do worse for you next time,” growled his captor, lifting Pep to the seat and holding to one arm.
“Why don’t you pitch him out?” demanded the man acting as chauffeur. “We’re past the hue and cry now.”
“Not from a fellow with his sharp wits,” retorted the other. “He’d find the first telephone, double-quick. He’s made us a lot of trouble. I’ll give him a long walk home for his meddling.”
They were going at such a furious rate Pep knew that even if they passed anyone his shout would be incoherent and borne away on the wind. At any rate they were secure from pursuit except by an automobile like their own.
He foresaw the fate of the little tin box—carried away with its precious contents by these criminals, himself abandoned in some lonely spot to find his way back home as best he might. A desperate resolve came into Pep’s mind, as glancing ahead he caught the glint of water. At the end of a steep incline a bridge spanned a small river. Pep got his free hand ready. Just as the front wheels of the machine struck the first timbers of the bridge, his hand shot out for the tinbox in its pillow case covering, lying on the cushion between himself and his captor.
It was all done quick as a flash. A grab, a whirl, a splash, and the hurling object disappeared beneath the calm waters just beyond the outer bridge rail. The man beside Pep uttered a shout. He was so taken aback at the unexpected event that he relaxed his hold on his captive.
His cry had startled his companion at the wheel, who took it as a signal of warning of some sort, and he instantly shut down on speed. It was Pep’s golden opportunity. Before the man beside him could prevent it, he made a nimble spring out of the machine, landed on the planking of the bridge approach, stumbled, fell, and then, as a crash sounded, dived into a nest of shrubbery lining the stream.
Pep did not wait to look back to trace the occasion of the crash. He heard confused shouts and knew that the two men had gotten into some trouble with the automobile. A light not over a hundred feet distant had attracted his attention. Pep darted forward. He ran into a barbed wire fence, then he crawled under it, and on its other side made out a farmhouse. The light came from the doorway of a big barn, where two persons, a man and a boy, were just unhitching a horse from a light wagon.
“Mister!” cried Pep breathlessly, running up to the men, “two thieves had wrecked their automobile right at the bridge. They have stolen a lot of money and jewelry. They tried to carry me away with them.”
“Run for my gun, Jabez,” ordered the farmer, roused at the sensational announcement. “Maybe they’re the fellows who broke in here last week when we were away at a neighbor’s.”
The boy ran to the house. He soon reappeared with a clumsy double-barreled shotgun over his shoulder.
“Arm yourselves,” directed the farmer, taking the weapon in one hand, the lantern in the other.
His son picked up a rake and handed a pitchfork to Pep. Then the boys followed the farmer as he strode towards the road.
The moonlight showed a wrecked automobile lying where it had been driven into a little clump of saplings—breaking them off two feet from the ground—and wedged in among the splintered branches. Evidently the amateur chauffeur had in his excitement made a turn at the wrong moment.
“Where’s your robbers?” demanded the farmer.
“They saw us coming and have run away,”declared Pep. “Mister, I want you to help me further and I will pay you for it.”
“What doing?” inquired the man.
“As I told you, those men had stolen a lot of valuables. They were in a little tin box. Just as we were passing over the bridge here I saw my chance to outwit them. I flung the box into the river.”
“What!” exclaimed the farmer.
“Sounds like a fairy story,” remarked his son skeptically.
“You find some more help, so if those fellows show themselves we can beat them off or arrest them,” observed Pep, “and I will prove what I have told you and pay you well for your trouble.”
“Jabez, go and wake up the two hired men,” directed his father.
“I’m a pretty good swimmer and diver,” said Pep, after the boy had gone on his errand. “Is the water very deep?”
“Six or eight feet.”
“Then the rake will help me,” said Pep, proceeding to disrobe. He was stripped of his outer garments by the time the boy Jabez had returned with two sleepy-looking men. He was in the water at once. First he probed with the rake. Then he made a close estimate of the spot where the box was likely to have landed and took a dive.
Pep came to shore and rested for a few minutes. Then he resumed his labors. After a long time under water his head bobbed up. He uttered a shout of satisfaction and waved aloft the tin box, its dripping covering about it.
“All right,” he hailed.
“A good deal in it, I suppose?” spoke the farmer, curiously regarding it.
“Yes, there is,” replied Pep. “Hold it, please, mister, till I get my clothes on. I want you to take me to Seaside Park right away—two of you and the shotgun. If you’ll do it you can charge your own price.”
“That’s fair,” nodded the farmer.
He got the rig in the barn ready and told the two hired men they could go back to their beds. They seemed, however, to have roused from their sleepiness. Pep had told of a big fire in town, and that had influenced them to accompany the crowd, “just for the fun of the thing,” as they expressed it.
Jabez drove, Pep holding the rescued box, the farmer between them with his shotgun ready for action. They saw nothing, however, of the robbers. The latter seemed to have decamped. If they were lurking in the vicinity, the sight of superior numbers kept them from making any demonstration.
As they got nearer to the town the glare of the distant fire was noted, and young Jabez whipped up the horse and made good time. The building on fire was pretty well consumed, but the fire department had saved adjoining structures. Pep directed Jabez to drive to the Wonderland by the rear route. He noticed that the living rooms were lighted up.
“Wait here for a minute,” directed Pep to those in the wagon, dashing up the steps of the playhouse with his precious box.
Pep burst in upon his friends filled to the brim with excitement. His impetuous nature anticipated a great welcome as he felt that he had done a big thing. As he crossed the threshold of the living room he found that his friends had apparently just returned from the scene of the fire.
Frank and Randy were at the sink washing the grime from their faces. As Pep learned later, they and Jolly and Vincent had been busy saving what goods they could from the burning building. Jolly was brushing the cinders from his coat with a whisk broom. Vincent was applying some court plaster to a burn on the back of his hand.
“There!” exclaimed Pep, planking the package down upon the table with a flourish. “It’s been some trouble, but I got it.”
“Hello, Pep,” said Jolly. “Got what, may I ask?”
Pep felt rather hurt at the cool way in which his return was greeted. He did not realize thathis friends were in ignorance of the burglarious event of the hour, and his own sensational experiences. He had just been missed and all hands supposed that he was lingering at the scene of the fire.
“Why, the box, of course,” almost snapped Pep.
“What box?” questioned Randy.
Pep gave the wetted pillow case a jerk, freeing it of its enclosure, and the little cash box was disclosed.
“That box, of course,” he announced. “What’s the matter with you fellows? I guess you’ve been asleep while people have been stealing from you!”
Frank advanced to the table, curiosity dawning in his expression as he recognized the box.
“I don’t quite understand,” he remarked.
“Don’t?” resented Pep. “Well, you ought to. Look at that,” and he exhibited the bump on his head, received when one of the robbers had knocked him across the room and against the wall. “And that, too,” and Pep held up his chin so the red marks on his throat showed. “Then, too,” he continued, “half an hour ducking and diving in the cold waters of a creek at midnight is no grand fun, I can tell you!”
“Why, it looks as if our Pep has been up tosomething,” observed Jolly, coming to the table.
“I’ve been down in front of the seat of an automobile and half choked to death,” replied Pep tartly. “I say, Frank, it was a good thing that I didn’t run off and leave the place unprotected, as you fellows did when that fire broke out. Open the box and see if everything is all right.”
The appearance of the box and Pep’s story made Frank and the others grasp that he was discussing something of importance not yet fully explained.
“You had better commence at the beginning all over again, Pep,” Frank advised, “and let us know the whole story.”
It did not take Pep long to recite his recent adventures. He had an interested audience. Frank drew the key of the tin box from his pocket when Pep had concluded his story. He applied it to the lock.
“Oh, the mischief!” fairly shouted Pep, glancing into it to find that all it contained was a collection of pennies, nickels and dimes. “I’ve been fooled, after all. These fellows rifled the box in some way——”
“Not at all,” answered Frank, with a reassuring smile. “It is my turn to explain, Pep. When the fire broke out I thought instantly ofthe cash box and the treasure it contained, so I took out the bills and the necklace. Here they are,” and Frank produced them from an inside pocket of his coat.
“Then—then——” stammered Pep, taken aback.
“Then you are just as much a hero as if you had saved a whole bank of money!” cried Frank, giving Pep a commending slap on the shoulder.
“It was a big thing you did, Pep,” declared Randy enthusiastically.
Ben Jolly and Vincent added more approving words, and Pep warmed up to his usual self at the praise of his friends.
“There’s the fellows outside to settle with,” he suggested.
“Glad to do it,” said Frank. “There must be at least thirty dollars in the box, so you have saved us a good deal, Pep.”
“Didn’t catch a weasel asleep when they came in here!” chuckled Jolly in Pep’s ear. “You taught them something this time.”
The farmer was very modest in his charges. “Two dollars covered the damages,” he remarked, “and seeing the fire was worth half of that.”
It was getting well on to morning by the time all hands were settled down. Vincent was thelast to go to bed. He had got a card out of his pocket and said he had some business down town.
“It’s to send a message to the city officer who took those two prisoners to New York on the last train,” he explained to Frank. “Of course there is no doubt that the necklace was part of the proceeds of the burglary he arrested them for.”
“I think you are right,” agreed Frank.
A quiet day in reading and rest did wonders in refreshing the tired out motion picture friends after a week of unusual activity and excitement. All were up bright and early Monday morning.
“I tell you, this is genuine office business,” said Frank, as he rested at noon from continuous labors at his desk.
“You take to it like a duck to water,” declared Ben Jolly.
“Who wouldn’t, with the able corps of assistants at my command?” challenged Frank. “Mr. Vincent took Mr. Booth off my hands. He knows the man much better than I do and, as he expresses it, understands how to keep that visionary individual in the traces. Pep and Randy seem to have just the ability to get our new programme into the very places we want them. Mr. Vincent has sifted out the supply men as they came along, and those letters you got off for me took a big load off my shoulders, Mr. Jolly.”
“It all amounts to having a good machine and starting it right,” insisted Jolly.
The boys felt a trifle anxious as it began to cloud up about one o’clock. A few drops of rain fell. It almost broke Pep’s heart, Randy declared, to see people begin to scatter along the beach and made their way to shelters, and the hotels.
“I’ll try and stem the tide,” observed Vincent smartly, as a bright idea seemed to strike him.
He dived into one of the bedrooms and reappeared in his band costume, cornet in hand.
“Open the door, Pep,” he directed. “Never mind routine this time—what we want to do is to get the crowd.”
Vincent posted himself under the shelter of the canopy that ran over the ticket booth. Soon his instrument was in action. The delightful music halted more than one hurrying group. The inviting shelter beyond the open doors attracted attention. The word went down the beach. The shower would be over in an hour and here was a fine place to spend the interim.
“Twenty minutes to two and the house nearly full,” reported Pep gleefully, to Jolly at the piano.
The shower was over in half an hour, but when the first crowd passed out there was another oneready to take its place. About half the seats were occupied when the second entertainment began, but during the programme as many more came in. The last matinee could not accommodate the crowd. The Wonderland caught the throngs going to the boats and trains as well as those arriving.
The boys and their friends were at supper when there was a visitor. He proved to be the officer from the city who had arrested the two burglars. He had come in response to the telegram Vincent had sent him. The latter told him about the finding of the necklace and added the story of Pep’s later adventures.
“The necklace is down at the bank in our safety deposit box,” explained Vincent. “We didn’t want to risk having it around here any longer.”
“I knew from the circumstances and your description that it is part of the plunder I am after,” said the city officer. “I wish you would meet me at the hotel in the morning. I will have the local police head there. As a mere formality the goods will be delivered by you to him, who will turn them over to me. Then I will give you an order for your share of the reward.”
Randy pricked up his ears and Pep looked interested.
“How much is it?” inquired Vincent.
“Five hundred dollars. I think it fair to divide it; don’t you?”
“I know that will be very acceptable to our young friends here,” assented Vincent, nodding at Pep and Randy. “All the credit for finding the necklace is theirs.”
Pep and Randy were considerably fluttered. They had their heads together animatedly discussing their good fortune as Vincent accompanied his visitor to the door.
“I say, you lucky young fellows,” hailed the ventriloquist airily, “what you going to do with all that money?”
“Oh, Randy and I have settled that,” proclaimed Pep.
“Have, eh?”
“Yes, sir. That two hundred and fifty dollars goes into the capital fund of the Wonderland.”