The motion picture chums at Seaside Park

CHAPTER V—THE BIRD HOUSE

“Bird houses?” repeated Pep, equally bewildered. “What are you doing with such a lot of bird houses?”

“Selling them, of course.”

Frank himself was surprised and puzzled. The wagon contained half a dozen tiers of little box-like structures packed close. At one side was a heap of poles the size of display flag staffs. These poles were stout and heavy, painted white, and about twelve feet in length. The houses were about two feet high and as wide. They were painted white, like the poles, and were exact models of a broad, low colonial house, even to the veranda. The roof was painted red, there was an imitation chimney and a double open doorway in front trimmed with green. All around this miniature house were little apertures representing windows.

A neater, more inviting little bird house for a garden could not well be imagined. As Jolly took a sample from the wagon the little children flocked about him on tiptoe of curiosity. There were admiring “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” “Ain’t they cute!” “What cunning little houses!” and “Oh, mister! are they for sale?” “What do they cost?”

“If you will excuse me while I make a demonstration,” observed Jolly, “I’ll explain what it’s all about.”

“What a rare fellow he is!” remarked Randy to his companions, as they stepped aside.

“The same busy, happy, good-natured friend of everybody,” returned Frank, with genuine feeling.

If there was a being in the world the motion picture chums had reason to feel kindly toward it was this same Ben Jolly. A free wanderer, taking things easy, tramping flower-fringed country roads, making his way, willing to meet any task that came along, Ben Jolly had dropped into their life at the critical moment when they were discussing the prospects of their first motion picture show at Fairlands.

Ben had been a Jack-of-all-trades and knew a little something about pretty nearly everything. Particularly he knew a good deal about the movies. He gave the boys advice and suggestions that enabled them to buy their first outfit at a bargain and the day the show opened appeared with an old piano which he had induced a rich relative to buy. From that time on Ben Jolly furnished the music for the Wonderland photo playhouse and, as told in our first volume, was the means of unearthing a plot against the father of Frank Durham, whereby he had been swindled out of a small estate.

Jolly took a sample bird house under each arm and entered the first yard he came to, the interested children keeping him close company. He came out of the first house with only one bird house, he came out of the second with none. Along the block he visited on both sides of the street Jolly disposed of just eleven of the attractive little miniature domiciles, distributed poles later to each purchaser and rejoined the boys.

“Now, then,” he said, briskly, placing a little roll of banknotes in a well-filled wallet, “how are you and what are the prospects?”

“Excellent,” declared Randy. “See here, though, Mr. Jolly, will you kindly explain this new business of yours?”

“Simply a side line,” replied Jolly, in a gay, offhand manner.

“But where did you ever pick up that rig and that lot of odd truck?” challenged Pep.

“I picked up better than that,” retorted Jolly, cheerily. “I ran across the finest advance agent in the business—and here he comes. You knew him once, but under his stage name of Hal Pope. He’s Mr. Hal Vincent now.”

At that moment the whistler came into view, having circled the block. As he approached, Frank’s face expressed pleased surprise.

“Why,” exclaimed Pep, “it’s our friend the ventriloquist.”

“So it is,” echoed Randy.

“Glad to meet you again,” said Hal Vincent, and there was an all-around handshaking. “You’re all looking fine and I hear you’re prosperous.”

“Not so much so that we could afford to hire you for our programme at Fairlands, as we would like to do, Mr. Vincent,” replied Frank, with a smile.

Pep began to grin as he looked at Vincent, and the memory of their first meeting was reviewed. Then he chuckled and finally he broke out into a ringing guffaw.

“Thinking of my first and only appearance at that auction where you bought your movies outfit?” inquired Vincent, with a smile.

“Will we ever forget it?” cried Randy. “I tell you, Mr. Vincent, if you hadn’t made the auctioneer believe that two innocent bystanders were bidding against each other with your ventriloquism, and gained time until Frank arrived, we would never have gotten into the motion picture business.”

“It worked finely; didn’t it?” answered Vincent.

“I ran across Hal at Tresco, about thirty miles from here,” narrated Ben Jolly. “He was counting the ties in the direction of New York, having left the dummies he uses in his stunts on the stage for meals and lodging.”

“Yes, I was about all that was left of the Consolidated Popular Amusement Corporation,” put in Vincent. “I was glad to meet an old friend like Ben. He told me there was the shadow of a chance that you might start in at Seaside Park and wanted me to come along with him. Then we ran across the outfit here,” and the speaker nodded toward the wagon and its contents.

“That was my brilliant idea,” added Jolly. “I call it a rare stroke of luck, the way we ran across the outfit.”

“How?” projected Pep, vastly curious.

“Well, a carpenter in a little town we came through had got crippled. The doctor told him he wouldn’t get around without crutches for six months. He was a lively, industrious old fellow and couldn’t bear to be idle. Had a lot of waste lumber and worked it up into dog houses. There weren’t many dogs in the town, so his sale was limited. Then the bird house idea came along. The carpenter got the local paper to print a lot about the birds, the merry birds, that sing about our door——”

“That—sing—about—our—door!” echoed a slow, deep bass, apparently away up in a high tree near by, and the boys knew that their gifted ventriloquist friend was exercising his talents.

“The carpenter,” proceeded Jolly, “hired a lot of boys to go forth on his mission of kindness to our feathery songsters. The campaign went ahead until nearly everybody wanting a bird house got one. Our friend found himself with some two hundred of the little structures left on his hands. He had overstocked the market, with a big surplus left on his hands. When we came along it was a sign in front of his place that attracted our attention. It read: ‘These fine bird houses and a capable horse, wagon, and harness for sale for a mere song.’

“Anything odd always catches me, so I interviewed the old man. It seemed that he had received word only that day that a relative in another part of the country had left him a farm. He wanted to realize quick and he offered me the bird house outfit and the rig all for fifty dollars. I had only thirty-eight dollars, and he took that and gave me his new address. The arrangement was that if I was lucky in getting rid of the bird houses I was to send him the balance. If I didn’t he was willing to charge it up to profit and loss. He’ll get that balance,” announced Jolly, with a satisfied smile.

“It looks so, judging from your sales of the last half-hour,” remarked Frank.

“What do you get for the little houses, Mr. Jolly?” inquired Randy.

“A dollar apiece. I don’t sell them, though—not a bit of it,” exclaimed Ben Jolly, modestly. “It’s Hal. You ought to hear his whole repertoire—orioles, thrushes, mourning doves, nightingales, mocking birds. He infuses the neighborhood with the melody and I slide in with the practical goods. And that rig—remember the noise wagon at Fairlands, Pep Smith?”

“Do I?” cried Pep, in a gloating way—“I should say I did!”

The “noise wagon” had been introduced in connection with the photo playhouse at Fairlands and had become a novel institution with the inhabitants. A wagon enclosed with canvas, bearing announcements of existing and coming film features, was provided with a big bass drum, bells, huge board clappers and some horns—all operated by pedals under the driver’s feet.

“You see this new rig of mine would work in on the same basis here,” proceeded Jolly. “If not, I can get more for the outfit than I paid for it, anyway. Now then, Durham, where can we find you this evening?”

“Why not sooner?” suggested the impetuous Pep. “We’ve a great lot to tell you, Mr. Jolly.”

“And I’m anxious to hear it all,” declared Jolly, “but we’ve got our stock to get rid of. Nothing like keeping at it when you’ve made a good beginning; and this town starts out promising-like.”

Frank now decided that he would remain over at Seaside Park for another day at least. The appearance of Ben Jolly somehow infused all hands with renewed vim and cheerfulness. The chums were glad also to meet Hal Vincent. He had done them a big favor in the past and they realized that he could be of considerable advantage to them in the future in case they located at Seaside Park.

Vincent had the reputation of being an accomplished all-around entertainer. He was an expert ventriloquist and parlor magician, liked the boys and had told Frank on the occasion of their first meeting that he would be glad to go on their programme at any time for a very moderate compensation.

Ben Jolly burst in upon his young friends with his usual bustle and buoyancy about six o’clock that evening. He merrily chinked a pocket full of silver and was all ready for what might next come along, and eager to tackle it.

“Left Hal finishing one of the few full meals he has had since his show broke up,” reported Jolly. “Got rid of the last one of the bird houses—and, see here, Frank,” and the volatile speaker exhibited a comfortable-looking roll of bank notes. “That was a fine speculation, the way it turned out, and leaves me quite in funds. Now then, what’s the programme?”

Frank became serious at once and all the others as well. He told his loyal friend all about their plans and hopes. Jolly shook his head soberly when Frank produced some figures showing that the amount necessary to operate a new photo playhouse was beyond their ready means.

“I’ve got nearly one hundred dollars you are welcome to,” reported Jolly promptly, “but that’s about my limit. You see, when I got the money to buy that piano and the ‘noise wagon’ I practically sold my prospects for a last mess of pottage. I’m willing to pitch in and live ’most any way to give the new show a start, but when it comes to raising the extra five hundred dollars needed, I’m afraid I can’t help you much.”

Randy looked glum at this, and Pep was almost crying. Ben Jolly sat chewing a toothpick vigorously, his thinking cap on.

“Perhaps we had better give up the idea of coming to Seaside Park until we are a little stronger in a money way——” Frank had begun, when there was an interruption.

“Someone to see Mr. Frank Durham,” announced a bellboy, appearing in the open doorway.

Frank arose from his chair promptly and went out into the corridor.

“In the ladies’ parlor, sir,” added the bellboy, and Frank went down the stairs, wondering who this unexpected visitor could be.

CHAPTER VI—A FRIEND IN NEED

“In what way, madam?” asked Frank, with an embarrassed smile, and flushing at the compliment conveyed.

“Why have you not accepted our invitation to come up to the house, as I requested?” demanded Mrs. Carrington, pretending to be very severe.

“I certainly appreciated your kindness in thinking of me,” replied Frank; “but I have been very much occupied with business and did not know yesterday how long I would remain at Seaside Park. Then, too, some friends arrived this afternoon.”

“I am used to being obeyed, young man,” Mrs. Carrington, with a playful frown. “I have no doubt, though, that I sent a blundering messenger. Oh, that Peter of mine! I never know how to place him. He came back perfectly wild over going into the motion picture business with you. He has been tormenting me all day long about it. I have told him decidedly that I should not encourage him in any way.

“To tell you the truth, Mr. Durham, Peter is a sad failure at anything that requires application and work. I would not do you the injustice of having you hampered by a person who has no business training and does not know the value of money. The fact is, Peter has been a great cross to me of late, and I am now in correspondence with a military school, with the idea of getting him where a year’s discipline may do him some good.”

Frank had not for a moment seriously entertained the thought of taking Peter Carrington into partnership. He felt immensely relieved, however, to find that his visitor did not press that phase of the subject.

“I have come, first and foremost,” went on the fussy but good-natured lady, “to thank you for what you did for us. When I think of how near we were to drowning or burning up it makes me shudder! My friends, who happened to see your picture in this morning’s paper——”

“My picture?” exclaimed Frank, in bewilderment. “What picture, Mrs. Carrington?”

“Why,” cried Mrs. Carrington, “he actually is so modest he hasn’t realized what a hero he has been! I refer to the splendid account of your bravery in the Brenton Daily News.”

Brenton was the nearest city, about twenty miles from Seaside Park. Frank began to get a faint glimmering of the situation now. The reporter who had snap-shotted him with his camera from the pier must have sent his story to the paper Mrs. Carrington mentioned.

“I think I have the clipping about the rescue,” observed Miss Porter, groping in her hand bag while her merry eyes twinkled as she observed the increasing embarrassment of Frank. “Yes, here it is.”

Frank only glanced at the clipping that was held forward for his inspection. He could not help but notice the glowing head line; “A Signal Act of Bravery,” and observe that a very fair picture of himself in the launch was shown.

“You can have it, Mr. Durham,” continued his mischievous tormentor with a smile. “Your friends are named also in the paper and they may not dislike honest praise, as you seem to do.”

“Now then,” broke in Mrs. Carrington, in her self-assertive way, “let me say what I specially came down here to say. Oh, I was telling about my friends. They have fairly overwhelmed me with congratulations over my fortunate escape.”

“Yes, and some of them who saw the newspaper account said—what was it, Mrs. Carrington? You must tell Mr. Durham,” declared the younger woman.

“About the handsome picture and what a sensible, thoughtful young man our rescuer must be?”

“Oh, Mrs. Carrington,” pleaded Frank. “I beg of you!—it is I who am being overwhelmed now. You will make me so vain I will really begin to think I did something of consequence. Why, there isn’t a young fellow anywhere who wouldn’t hasten to help ladies in distress.”

“Don’t belittle what you did,” said Mrs. Carrington, and her face and tone grew very serious. “You did so much of consequence, Mr. Durham, and you did it so manfully and nobly that I would not think of affronting you with any offer of a reward. I fancy I read you deeper than you think as to that feature. I will say this, however, and I came here especially to say it, that I am your true friend and I am anxious to help you and your young companions in a practical, useful way.”

“You are very, very kind to say what you do,” said Frank earnestly.

“Let me be really kind,” suggested Mrs. Carrington, “and I shall be satisfied. My nephew has told me enough about your business plans to convince me that you are at a critical point in your career, where a little capital may be everything to you. I am a wealthy woman, Mr. Durham. I do not wish to offer you a gift. Simply as a business woman who has confidence in you, let me know about your affairs and help you in a business way.”

Frank’s head drooped. The boy who never flinched from pain or fear was so deeply moved by the friendly interest of this kind-hearted woman, that he could not keep back a long-drawn sigh of appreciation and gratitude.

“You make me think of my own kind mother,” said Frank quite brokenly. “It is worth living to find such friends.”

“You dear boy!” cried Mrs. Carrington, placing a hand on Frank’s arm, “I can imagine what a lovely mother you must have and for her sake you must let me help you along in your business enterprise. Come, Mr. Durham, explain your needs to me and let me co-operate with you.”

The invitation was irresistible. Long since Frank had calculated all the risks and chances of success in his new enterprise and had decided that it could scarcely fail.

“Mrs. Carrington,” he said in a straightforward way, “I would not allow any person to invest money in a business where there was the remotest risk of loss. We lack a few hundred dollars to start a photo playhouse at Seaside Park in the right way. If you feel in a position to advance it or become responsible for what we need, I wish to secure you so that in case the venture goes wrong we will be the only losers.”

“I not only feel willing to assist you,” said Mrs. Carrington, “but I insist upon it. It is very simple—how much capital do you require? Have you my check book in your hand bag, Miss Porter?”

“No! no! no!” interrupted Frank urgently, “you must not think of doing such a thing as that, Mrs. Carrington. It isn’t business, you see. If you have some agent or lawyer who will act for you, that will be the best way.”

The kind lady looked disappointed at the suggestion. In her free-hearted way she wished to trust Frank without restriction. He saw that her feelings were hurt and he hastened to say:

“My partners will feel ever so much better to have everything arranged in a regular way and set down in black and white.”

“Very well, have your own way, Mr. Durham,” said the lady, “only promise to come to me if you have any troubles or further lack of funds.”

“Oh, we shall not,” declared Frank, brightening with courage and confidence as he saw all obstructions to the success of the new show removed; and before he realized it, in his quick, vivid way he was reciting his plans and prospects in detail. Frank told more than he had started out to do, for the reason that every time he paused his auditors plied him with new questions and urged him on with his story.

“How very, very interesting,” commented Mrs. Carrington.

“It is simply delightful!” declared Miss Porter, with sparkling eyes. “Oh, dear! it must be such a splendid thing to be a boy!”

“I must see your young friends,” insisted Mrs. Carrington. “I owe them sincere thanks for their part in the rescue, and wish to tell them so.”

There was nothing for it but that Frank should go for his chums. Randy was naturally bashful in the presence of strange ladies, but Pep was “all there.” Both Mrs. Carrington and Miss Porter were interested in the lively lad whom they attracted from the start and made Pep feel completely at home with his impetuous, original ways and remarks.

The boys promised to call upon Mrs. Carrington as soon as they got settled at Seaside Park. Then all three escorted the visitors to an automobile waiting at the curb. Beside the chauffeur they found Peter Carrington seated. He nodded familiarly to the chums. Then he caught Pep’s eye.

With an air of great importance and a quick glance at his aunt and her companion, as if making sure that they were not observing him, he placed a finger to his lips.

“S-st!” he uttered, and winked in an altogether mysterious manner at Pep Smith.

“‘S-st!’” repeated Pep, as the machine started on its way—“now what in the world does Peter Carrington mean by ‘S-st?’”

CHAPTER VII—BUSINESS BOYS

The new photo playhouse at Seaside Park was a certainty. When the boys came down from their rooms at the hotel the morning after the visit from Mrs. Carrington and her companion, the clerk called to Frank as he was leaving the place.

“Telephone message for you last night, Mr. Durham,” he said. “It came about ten o’clock and as it was not urgent and I did not wish to disturb you, I thought I would keep it until this morning.”

The speaker handed a memorandum slip to Frank. It read: “Attorney William Slade, on request of Mrs. Carrington, would like to see you in the morning.”

Frank showed the memorandum to Randy and Pep. The chums at once realized what it meant. It evinced the determination of the strong-willed Mrs. Carrington to have her own way. In fact the boys had come to the conclusion that she should do so. With Ben Jolly, up in their room after their visitors had departed, they had gone over the entire proposition in detail.

“You would be foolish to allow this chance to get the capital you need in this business go by,” advised Jolly. “Putting aside the fact that this lady feels indebted to you, her offer is fair, square and business-like.”

Frank thought over the affair in its every phase long after Randy and Pep had gone to sleep. Jolly and Vincent had gotten a free shelter for their rig and left the hotel to sleep in the wagon.

“Used to that, you know—the only way in the world to live,” asserted Jolly, and then they made an arrangement to meet in the morning. The ’phone message at once set things in motion. The chums had breakfast, Frank learned the address of Mr. Slade, and about nine o’clock started for his office, which was located over the bank of the town.

“You had better meet Mr. Jolly, as we agreed,” directed Frank to his companions.

“Where will you pick us up again?” questioned Randy.

“Why, I think I shall not be with this Mr. Slade more than an hour,” explained Frank.

“Say, then,” suggested Pep, “suppose we go over to the empty store you’re thinking of turning into a motion picture show and hang around there?”

“That empty store has a remarkable fascination for you, Pep,” smiled Frank.

“You bet it has,” confessed Pep. “Mr. Jolly is just as wild over it. I shouldn’t wonder if he was looking it over carefully the first thing this morning.”

“Very well,” said Frank, “we will all meet there say at eleven o’clock.”

Then Frank had gone on his way to report at the empty store half an hour earlier than he expected. He found his chums and Ben Jolly anxiously awaiting him. Vincent had remained with the horse and wagon at the barn.

There were some old chairs at the rear of the vacant building, and Mr. Morton invited them to make free use of them. It was quite a business conclave that grouped together while Frank told his story. It was clear and simple. Mrs. Carrington had instructed her attorney to advance up to one thousand dollars to Frank and his friends as needed.

“I insisted that we give the lady a bill of sale of all our belongings as security,” explained Frank. “The lawyer laughed at me. ‘You don’t know a good thing when you see it,’ he said. ‘Perhaps not,’ I told him; ‘but I know an honorable way to protect those who have confidence in me, as far as I can.’ Well, anyhow, I made him write out a memorandum of the whole transaction and signed a bill of sale. Was I going too fast in setting myself up as the one man of this very enterprising firm? I hope I did exactly right.”

And then followed the hearty sanction of Jolly and the boys to all Frank had done.

“I’m only a sort of drifter-in,” observed Jolly, “so what I say is only out of friendly interest. I would advise that just one of the firm take the responsibility, if he’s willing, on the lease and in all business dealings. It simplifies things, you see.”

“It’s got to be Frank, then,” spoke Randy.

“It will always be Frank,” echoed Pep. “He’s the brains of the business; isn’t he?”

“I don’t like the way you put it as to your being a drifter-in, as you call it, Mr. Jolly,” said Frank. “If it wasn’t for you I am afraid the Fairlands venture wouldn’t have amounted to much.”

“Sho!” derided Jolly modestly.

“It’s true. You had your way about that and drew just as little money as you could. Of course that was an experiment, and I let you have your own way. Now we are on a broader basis and I’m going to have mine.”

“Are you?” challenged Jolly, with twinkling eyes.

“Yes, sir, I am. I shall make a definite new deal all around.”

“Will you?” said Jolly.

“Don’t you doubt it. You’ve been a staunch, helpful friend and it’s equal partners, if we come to Seaside Park.”

“That is, you think you are going to make a business man of me?”

“You’ve been one all along,” vociferated Pep. “Why, that noise wagon idea alone——”

“A freak,” interrupted Jolly, but Frank was resolute and it was settled that their interesting friend should have a quarter interest in the profits of the new venture.

Frank called Mr. Morton into their confab. He explained to him precisely their plans and the extent of their capital.

“Mrs. Carrington backing you; eh?” he observed. “That makes you pretty solid, if you only knew it, young man, although I had about made up my mind to accept you as a tenant without any guarantee. Shall we call it settled—you lease the premises until October first, pay me the first month’s rent before you come in and give me your word that you won’t break the lease?”

“I wouldn’t take the place on any other arrangement,” said Frank.

“It’s settled, then,” said their landlord, and Pep followed him as he went to the window where the “To Rent” sign was placed, removed it and began to tear it up. Pep was pretty near dancing. If they had been given a palace he could not have been more pleased.

“S-st!” sounded a sudden hail and the ubiquitous and mysterious Peter Carrington came into evidence just outside the open doorway.

“Hello!” challenged Pep, who could not repress his dislike for a fellow who had played the eavesdropper and left a relative to the risk of drowning. “What you snooping around for?”

“Wanted to see you.”

“All right,” nodded Pep carelessly. “You don’t have to ‘S-st’ at me regularly to get my attention, though. What’s on your mind?”

“I see the rent sign is down.”

“Yes,” proclaimed Pep grandly, “we have leased the premises.”

“Well, I’m dead gone on being a partner. Aunt Susie discourages me, but I don’t care for that. There’s an uncle of mine over in Brenton who says he will back me if the thing shows up good, and I want to have a talk with you fellows——”

“Say, we have all the capital we need,” announced Pep.

“Oh, you have?”

“A new partner just came in.”

“Huh!” snorted Peter. “Say, you don’t mean my aunt?”

“She is not a partner, no.”

Peter looked abashed, then disappointed, then angry.

“’Tain’t fair!” he declared.

“What isn’t fair?”

“I spoke first and I deserve to have a show.”

“No one asked you to speak first; did he?” propounded Pep bluntly.

This staggered Peter. He stood thinking deeply. Then he looked Pep over and seemed to be studying something.

“See here,” he said with a half-cunning expression in his face, “I suppose you know a heap about the movies?”

“Oh, tolerable, tolerable,” responded Pep, who did indeed think so.

“And you remember Greg Grayson, of Fairlands?”

“I have a perfectly clear memory of Mr. Gregory Grayson,” answered Pep, his nostrils dilating, but Peter was too obtuse to read between the lines.

“Well, I’ve got an idea,” chuckled Peter. “Anybody has a right to start a movies show; haven’t they?”

“If they want to, I suppose.”

“Well, since I can’t make a deal with that Durham, I’m going it on my own hook. I can raise the money; Greg’s father is rich and he can help. All we need is someone who knows the practical end of the business. Say, you come in with us and I’ll give you double what you expect to make with those fellows there.”

Pep doubled up a fist. He was angry clear through. At a mere hint of disloyalty to his famous friends he took fire. He gave Peter a push.

“You get out!” he ordered staunchly.

“Hey?” goggled Peter.

“And stay out!”

“Humph!”

Peter got to a safe distance. Then he shook his fist at Pep.

“Say,” he snarled, “you’ve waked up the wrong customer. I’ve given you the chance of your life and you’ve turned me down and insulted me. I’ll show you something. Greg Grayson and I will put a spoke in the wheel of that Frank Durham and your whole precious crowd; see of we don’t!”

CHAPTER VIII—KIDNAPPED

Two days had made considerable difference in the situation at Seaside Park. All hands had entered with enthusiasm into the proposition of starting in on the new deal, with the certainty in view of sufficient capital to finance them for at least two months ahead. The chums spent so many delightful hours figuring, planning, and mapping out details that Randy got to talking in his sleep, and Pep aroused all hands by screaming out in the midst of a nightmare in which he had started a photo playhouse in China, and the natives had mobbed him when a film showed one of their favorite mandarins being carried away in an airship.

It was Jolly, however—bustling, practical Ben Jolly—who had won the laurels on the present occasion. When the vacant store had been used, at the rear was a temporary kitchen. This was a frail structure set on stilts, but roomy and just the thing for summer occupancy. Jolly was a natural born trader. It seemed that he found some difficulty in disposing of the old horse and wagon for cash. Finally, however, he came across a dealer in second hand furniture. Jolly had got the idea in his head of cutting down living expenses and utilizing the old kitchen tacked on to the store building.

The chums were down at the hotel that afternoon and Jolly planned a grand surprise for them. It was now, upon their arrival at the playhouse building, that the pleasure and praise of the motion picture chums hailed him.

No one could have failed to approve of the wonderful transformation Jolly had made in a bare, cheerless lumber room. He had traded to good advantage. There was a substantial table, a half dozen chairs, a cupboard, a gas stove, a complete outfit of culinary utensils, dishes and table cutlery, neat curtains for the windows and drapery dividing the room in two parts, and one side section again into two compartments.

In each of these were three cots, a table and a bureau. The cots had double equipment of sheets and blankets, worn but attractive rugs covered the floor, and there were several pictures on the walls. It was no wonder that Pep Smith burst forth in his usual responsive way with the declaration:

“It’s simply great!”

“When you come to think that I got all those traps and forty dollars in cash to boot for that impossible old rig of ours,” observed Jolly, “you will see that I made a very interesting dicker. What do you say, Durham; we can make a neat cut in expenses, eh?”

“Why, it makes easy the hardest part of our whole proposition,” declared Frank.

“Yes, and here we can always be right on the spot,” spoke Randy.

“I’m something of a cook,” boasted Jolly. “I don’t say I could make bread or pie, but as to common, everyday food, an occasional strawberry shortcake, or even doughnuts—well, you stock up with the supplies and I’ll promise to do my best.”

“It’s just fine,” voted Pep. “The sleeping rooms look right across to the ocean and there’s a splendid sweep of air with all these openings. It will be cool and comfortable on the very hottest nights. I’ll wash all the dishes, Mr. Jolly, and set the table, and all that.”

“Oh, we shall get on famously, I am sure of that,” observed Frank with keen satisfaction.

The boys decided that they would at once move their traps from the hotel and make permanent headquarters at their home base. They had their first meal in their new quarters that evening.

“You have certainly given us a royal meal, Mr. Jolly,” declared Frank, as beefsteak, fried potatoes, bakery biscuit, and coffee and a really creditable corn starch pudding went the rounds.

“Sorry I’ve got to leave you,” remarked Vincent. “I’d ask nothing better than to camp right here for the rest of the season.”

“Then why not do it?” inquired the ready Pep.

“Yes, if you care to take pot luck with us till we get fairly on our feet, you can certainly help us along with all your varied accomplishments, Mr. Vincent,” declared Frank.

“I’ve got that in mind,” explained Vincent, “but I must get to New York first. You see, the show I was with that broke up owes me money. I want to see if I can’t get something out of the wreck and I want to call on the backers of the proposition. I’d better get to the city while I have the partnership profits Jolly has been good enough to say I have earned on that bird house speculation. If I don’t it will melt away.”

“I say,” here put in Jolly, “why don’t you and Durham go together? As it’s arranged, Durham, you have got to put in a day or two arranging for what new equipment we need and the film service.”

“That is true,” replied Frank, “and Mr. Vincent knows so much about the motion picture business his advice and help would be of great benefit to me.”

“I do know the ropes among the movies pretty well,” said Vincent. “I will be more than glad to take you the rounds and see that you get the very best service and figures, Mr. Durham.”

“And I am to go back to Fairlands and arrange about moving what we want of the old outfit?” inquired Jolly.

“I think that is the best arrangement, yes,” assented Frank. “Randy and Pep must stay here to look after the place and receive what I may ship and what you send on. Then, before we start, the three of us must run down to Fairlands to see the folks.”

Everything was settled on that basis. It would take about ten days to get the place fitted up as the boys wanted it, Mr. Morton told them. In the meantime there were many little things that needed to be done in which two handy lads like Randy and Pep might help. They and Jolly went to the train to see Frank and Vincent off the next morning. Two hours later Ben Jolly took a train in another direction, bound for Fairlands and carrying messages from the boys to their home folks and friends.

Part of the fixing up of the store room Mr. Morton had agreed to do at his own expense. There were, however, innumerable details that fell to the lot of the boys themselves. There were rolls of matting to buy for the center aisle, and the stage was to be built under Randy’s supervision. They had decided to use the old name, “Wonderland,” so as to utilize the ornate electric sign they had at Fairlands, and Pep was given charge of having this same name placed in a decorative way on the two front windows.

Nobody could work with Randy and Pep without coming under the influence of their sunshiny natures. Randy was willing, accommodating and tireless when he liked a job. Pep was no laggard, either, and in addition he kept up such a lively chatter and made so many funny remarks that he had Mr. Morton grinning half the time.

The result was that not only did the owner of the place do all that he had agreed to do, but did it just as the boys wanted. Then again when it came to things not in his contract, he supplied the material voluntarily and ended up by helping the boys at their tasks.

At the end of three days Randy and Pep prided themselves on having accomplished wonders. They had added several genuine comforts to their living quarters at the rear and had pretty well spread the news over Seaside Park that a first-class photo playhouse was soon to be opened.

A letter came from Frank Saturday morning. It told of his busy hours in the city and referred to Vincent as a splendid help in introducing him among the motion picture supply men. He sent on a bundle of film and song posters from which Pep could scarcely keep his hands. Frank mentioned some of the movies accessories he had purchased and told of some novel features in the way of films for which he had contracted.

“I tell you, Pep, we’re in for the best or nothing this time; eh?” questioned Randy, almost as much excited as his chums over the prospects of the new Wonderland.

“Oh, I’m ’way up in the clouds all of the time,” piped Pep. “Why, I’ll feel like a girl just going into society. I’m going to call it a short day and quit. There are some groceries to order, so I’ll attend to that and we’ll take in the beach this evening.”

“Yes, we’ve earned a little recreation, I think,” agreed Randy.

Pep started off, whistling like some happy lark. It was then five o’clock in the afternoon and he was due to return in half an hour. Double that time passed on, however, yet he did not appear.

“Wonder why Pep doesn’t show up?” ruminated Randy. “It’s time he did, as we wanted to get an early start.”

At half past six Randy was nervous and a little put out. At seven o’clock he put on his cap and started to lock up to go in quest of his missing comrade.

Just as he came out on the broad planking leading from the boardwalk to the entrance to the store, a man hailed him. He was a stout, lumbering old fellow whom Randy had seen before.

“Hi!” he hailed, “you remember me; don’t you?”

“Why yes,” nodded Randy. “You are the man Mr. Jolly traded his rig with for our furniture.”

“That’s it,” nodded the man. “I say, I thought I’d come and tell you. It was near my place that the accident happened.”

“What accident?” challenged Randy sharply.

“Automobile—that young fellow that’s joshing and jollying all the time——”

“You mean Pep—Pepperill Smith?” asked Randy.

“That’s him, I remember hearing Jolly call him by that name. Well, it was him that got hurt and——”

“Hurt!” cried Randy, alarmed at the word—“When? How? Where?”

“About an hour ago, by an automobile in front of my place,” was the reply.

“Was he—was Pep seriously hurt?” faltered Randy.

“Not but what he could walk and sass the chauffeur, and all that; but I reckon one hand was pretty badly crushed. The reason I came to tell you was, that isn’t all of it. From what I hear he is kidnapped.”

CHAPTER IX—PEP IN CLOVER

“Thought I had, but I guess you didn’t get it straight. This Pep of yours was passing my place when I heard a woman shriek a bit ahead. She had left her child in a baby carriage while she went into a dry goods store. There came a whiff of wind down the street just as she came out. I don’t wonder she hollered out, for that baby carriage was shooting across the street like a feather in a tornado.”

“But—Pep?” urged Randy, breathlessly. “What of him?”

“He saw it in a flash. The woman stood motionless and screaming. This Pep made a sprint. I never saw anything done so splendidly. In a flash he slid over the pavement—just seemed to fly over the street, making for that baby carriage. No wonder he hurried and no wonder the woman screamed, for exactly at that instant a great red touring car came tearing around the corner. It held the chauffeur and a fine looking old gentleman, who just rose up in his seat with a yell as he saw that baby carriage directly in the path of the machine.

“There wasn’t even time for the chauffeur to move the wheel. I actually shut my eyes, thinking the smash was bound to come. I don’t know how the lad did it, but when I opened them, just cold with horror, there he was lying on the ground and the baby carriage spinning safe and sound across the street.”

“How badly was Pep hurt?” inquired Randy, his face pale with suspense.

“I heard someone in the crowd say his wrist was broken. It seems, at the risk of his own life, he had made that dash for the baby carriage and given it a push out of the way of the auto just as it was pouncing down upon it.”

“Where is Pep now?” asked Randy.

“Why, that is the queer part of it. The passenger in the machine jumped out and picked him up. He lifted him into the auto. He didn’t seem to want to go with the man, but they speeded up and I supposed they were going to bring him here, or to the nearest doctor, or the hospital. A police officer came up right after the accident on a motorcycle. He made some inquiries, took some notes and went away again. Just now he came back and said that he could find no trace of machine or boy, and that he had learned that the auto had been driven out of town on the west road as fast as it could go. Don’t you see—kidnapped!”

“I don’t!” cried Randy almost frantically, “Wasn’t it enough that they ran him down, without carrying him away nobody knows where? Oh, I must get straight on his track—I must find Pep!”

“The police didn’t,” suggested the furniture man.

“I don’t care for that—I will!”

“Mebbe I’d better give you my address,” said his visitor. “There’s been several accidents here lately. It’s mostly tourists passing through the town who are reckless about how they drive—rich old fellows who don’t value life or limb, and get out of the way fast as they can when they’ve done any damage. I suppose the man who owns the machine that hurt your friend had heard of how one or two before him had been arrested and fined and forced to pay heavy damages, and just thought he’d grab up the lad and get him and himself out of the way before any investigation was made.”

“It’s shameful!” exclaimed Randy, wrought up now to the highest pitch of excitement and indignation. “Poor Pep! He may be suffering tortures and all those inhuman wretches think about is getting clear of being found out. I’ll find him—I’ll run down his kidnappers and bring them to account, even if the police can’t.”

The excited Randy did not even wait for the furniture man, but ran down the boardwalk and then in the direction of the man’s store fast as he could. There was not much to learn there outside of what he already knew. His next call was at the police station. He was incensed at the indifference of the officers. They had investigated the accident as far as required, they claimed. The injured boy had been taken out of their jurisdiction and that seemed to lead them to believe that it ended their responsibility.

Randy knew the direction the red automobile had taken. He proceeded to a livery garage where motorcycles were on rent, and made himself known. He was well up in running the machine and was soon speeding on the trail of his missing chum, as he supposed and hoped. The west road out of Seaside Park was the best in the section. It ran to Brenton and beyond that to the large cities. There was every reason to believe that the kidnappers, if such they were, would favor a smooth, easily traversed highway over inferior dirt and stone roads that ran parallel.

Randy stopped at the first little town he came to and made some inquiries, but they availed him nothing. Five miles further on, however, he got a clue. Here were crossroads and a “Roadside Rest,” a general halting place for road-men. Several autos were in view, their occupants taking lunch in a pavilion near the hotel or walking about stretching their limbs.

A man who wore a banded cap and a close fitting coat flitted around here and there in an important way, and Randy decided he must be a sort of major domo about the place.

“I would like to inquire about an automobile that passed or stopped here within the past hour,” spoke Randy, approaching this man.

“Where from? What number?” inquired the latter.

“I don’t know,” explained Randy, “but I will give you the best description I can from heresay. It was a big red car, and besides the chauffeur and passenger there was a boy about my age who had got his arm hurt——”

“Oh, I know now,” interrupted the man—“you mean Colonel Tyson’s car. They stopped to get a wet towel soaked in ice water to wrap around the boy’s wrist, I fancy, for he was holding one arm and seemed in pain.”

“Yes, yes—that is my friend,” declared Randy hastily. “Which way did the machine go?”

“To Brenton, of course, where it belongs.”

“Then you know its owner?”

“Everybody knows him—Tyson, the millionaire. Used to be a big bond man in New York City.”

“Thank you,” said Randy and was off on his travels again. “I hope Pep isn’t hurt badly,” he mused. “He doesn’t seem to be from what I hear; but why is this rich old fellow running away with him?”

It was quite late in the evening when Randy reached Brenton. He felt easier, now that he seemed sure of locating his chum, or at least running down the people who had carried him away. Once at Brenton there was no difficulty in finding the Tyson home. It was a very fine mansion with big grounds about it, but Randy was not at all awed by that. He ran his machine up to the stone porch and ascending the steps rang the door bell. A servant answered the summons.

“Is Mr. Tyson at home?” Randy inquired.

“He is at home, yes,” replied the servant, studying critically the dust-covered caller. “Business with him?”

“I have. You just tell him I am Randy Powell, from Seaside Park, and I came about the automobile accident.”

The servant left Randy standing in the vestibule until a portly, consequential-looking man appeared. He viewed Randy in a shrewd, supercilious way.

“What’s your business?” he challenged crisply.

“Are you Mr. Tyson?”

“Never mind that. What are you after?”

“But I do mind it,” retorted Randy boldly. “If you are Mr. Tyson, it was your machine that ran down a friend of mine back at Seaside Park a couple of hours ago, and I want to know what you have done with him.”

Mr. Tyson looked a trifle flustered; then very much annoyed. He said:

“I’ve done nothing with him. He just came along. Say, I hope you haven’t gone and stirred up a lot of notoriety and trouble for me along the line.”

“Why should I—unless you deserve it.”

“Ha—hum!” muttered the millionaire. “See here, come in. You look reasonable—more so than that young wildcat friend of yours unless he has his own way.”

Mr. Tyson led Randy into a magnificently furnished room, nodded him to a chair and sat down facing him.

“See here,” he spoke, “you just tell me how much rumpus you have raised about this unfortunate affair.”

“I’ve raised no rumpus,” declared Randy. “I’ve simply run down your automobile, which the police of Seaside Park didn’t seem able or inclined to do.”

“I’m glad of that,” said Mr. Tyson, apparently greatly relieved, “and there will be no trouble at all in fixing up things satisfactorily all around. You would have heard from me before midnight, for this Pep—ought to be called Pepper—just ordered that his friend at Seaside Park—I suppose it’s you?”

“Yes, it’s me,” declared Randy.

“Well, he wanted word sent to you.”

“Is he badly hurt?” inquired Randy solicitously.

“Not at all—but that isn’t it. See here, lad, because I’m supposed to have a lot of money I seem to be a mark for everybody. I have been unfortunate enough to have various accidents with my machine. A month ago I ran down a man. About all he did was to stub his toe, but he’s sued me for twenty thousand dollars damages and has a doctor ready to swear he is crippled for life. Last week I ran over a valuable dog at Seaside Park and the magistrate fined me fifty dollars for speeding over the limit, and said if there was another complaint he would give me a jail sentence. Ugh! fine thing to be rich; isn’t it?”

Mr. Tyson really looked so disgusted that Randy could not refrain from smiling.

“The newspapers got hold of it and pictured me as a regular ogre. Now it wasn’t our fault at all when this friend of yours got hurt this evening. He had no business in the street—don’t you see?”

“Say, if he hadn’t got there where would that child in the baby carriage be?” demanded Randy indignantly.

“Yes, that’s true,” agreed the millionaire slowly, “but even there they could not legally hold us. The baby carriage had no lights on it. Let all that go, though. This Pep was a brave fellow to risk his life for the child, and I’m glad he did it. My lawyer, after the last case, though, told me what to do in future accidents, so I followed his advice. I captured your friend and I intend to keep him captured.”

“I don’t think you will,” began Randy, rising wrathfully to his feet. “He’s a poor boy, but he’s got some friends and——”

“Pish! Don’t get excited. Keep cool, lad, hear me through. We rushed your friend here, summoned the best surgeon in Brenton, and this Pep of yours is snug and comfortable as a dormouse—in bed in the best room in the house. I’m going to give him the best of care and pay him for any loss of time he may sustain. Isn’t that fair?”

“Why—I suppose so,” admitted Randy. “Only—what does Pep say?”

“Well, at first he was going to fight us, lame hand and all. Then the surgeon talked some sense into him, by telling him that if he would use a little care and not use his arm he would be well as ever inside of a week. If he didn’t, he may have all kinds of complications in the future. To be frank with you, all I care for is to turn the boy out sound and well, so he can’t be coming along later on with another of those twenty thousand dollar damage suits.”

“Can I see him?” inquired Randy.

“You surely can,” replied Mr. Tyson with alacrity, “and I hope you will coöperate with us in urging him to stay here and follow the directions of the doctor.”

Mr. Tyson had not overstated the case when he told Randy that Pep was well cared for. As Randy entered a great luxuriously furnished room upstairs he saw his comrade propped up in bed, his arm in a sling and a table spread with dainties directly at hand.

“You tell him to stay here,” whispered Mr. Tyson in Randy’s ear, and left the two boys to themselves.

Pep grinned as he welcomed Randy. He moved his injured arm to show that he was by no means helpless.

“I’m booked here for a week, Randy,” were his first words—“but why not? There won’t be much to do around the new show for some days to come, and if there was I wouldn’t be any help with my crippled arm.”

Then Pep in a modest way went on to give details of the accident.

“You see,” were his concluding remarks, “I’m comfortable and well cared for here and, as the surgeon says, I might have trouble with my arm if I got careless with it. Mr. Tyson says he will pay me for any loss time, so don’t worry about me. I’ll show up at Seaside Park before the week is over with a neat little lot of cash in my pocket, and fresh and strong to help get the new Wonderland in ship shape order.”

Thus Pep dismissed the incident of the hour, so Randy went “home,” rather lonesome without his chum. Neither guessed for a moment that there was to grow out of the circumstance something destined to affect their whole business career.