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diff --git a/75238-0.txt b/75238-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..c41bc15 --- /dev/null +++ b/75238-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5499 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75238 *** + + +[Illustration: THE START OF A STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE MAN AND PEP BEGAN TO +ATTRACT ATTENTION + + _Motion Picture Chums’ New Idea._ _Page 163_] + + + + + The + Motion Picture Chums’ + New Idea + + OR + + The First Educational Photo Playhouse + + BY + VICTOR APPLETON + AUTHOR OF “THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ FIRST + VENTURE,” “THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS,” + “TOM SWIFT SERIES,” ETC. + + _ILLUSTRATED_ + + NEW YORK + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS + + + + +BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON + +_12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume, 50 cents, postpaid._ + + +THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES + + THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ FIRST VENTURE + THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS AT SEASIDE PARK + THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS ON BROADWAY + THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ OUTDOOR EXHIBITION + THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ NEW IDEA + + +THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES + + THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS + THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST + THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST + THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE + THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND + + (_Other volumes in preparation_) + + +THE TOM SWIFT SERIES + + TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE + TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT + TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP + TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT + TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT + TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE + TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER + TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE + TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS + TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE + TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD + TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER + TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY + TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA + TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT + TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON + + + GROSSET & DUNLAP + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + COPYRIGHT, 1914, BY + GROSSET & DUNLAP + + _The Motion Picture Chums’ New Idea_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + + CHAPTER PAGE + + I. SOMETHING NEW 1 + + II. AN ABSENT-MINDED VISITOR 10 + + III. THE MISSING SATCHEL 20 + + IV. THE RAILROAD WRECK 30 + + V. A NEW MYSTERY 39 + + VI. ON BOSTON COMMON 48 + + VII. RIVALS IN ACTION 57 + + VIII. A TRICK OF THE ENEMY 67 + + IX. A GLOWING PROSPECT 76 + + X. FIRE 84 + + XI. THE HERO FRIEND 93 + + XII. AN AMAZING STATEMENT 100 + + XIII. THE SHIPS OF THE DESERT 107 + + XIV. PLYMOUTH--DERELICT 115 + + XV. HIGH HOPES 123 + + XVI. THE LOST CAMELS 130 + + XVII. A GRAND SUCCESS 141 + + XVIII. THE “NEW IDEA” 149 + + XIX. DONE WITH A CLICK 155 + + XX. PEP A PRISONER 163 + + XXI. A GRAND SUCCESS 173 + + XXII. A FEARFUL LOSS 180 + + XXIII. “GETTING WARM” 188 + + XXIV. THE MOVIES CAMP 201 + + XXV. EXCELSOR!--CONCLUSION 209 + + + + +THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ NEW IDEA + + + + +CHAPTER I + +SOMETHING NEW + + +“Boys, it’s a splendid idea!” cried Frank Durham. + +“What is?” asked his friend and business partner, Randolph Powell. + +“You look as if you had something big to tell,” chimed in Pepperill +Smith, moving his chair nearer to his two comrades. “Out with it, +Frank.” + +The motion picture chums were seated in the cozy office of the Empire +photo playhouse on upper Broadway, New York City. It was “their” +playhouse, they might proudly say. Their energy, patience and genius +had made it a success. They were lively, up-to-date boys, the kind who +work as well as dream and play. They had learned business ways. The +animated yet earnest face of their leader just now showed that it was a +genuine business proposition that he was bringing to the notice of his +companions. + +“Why,” returned Frank, “you know what our motto has always been--to +keep abreast of the times.” + +“And a little ahead of ’em, Durham!” added a new voice, as a bustling +man of middle age entered the little office. It was Mr. Hank Strapp of +Butte, Montana, the liberal, cheery-hearted financial backer of the +boys. “It appears to me that this last venture of ours up at Riverside +Grove has about capped the climax.” + +“Let Frank go ahead with his story, Mr. Strapp!” cried Pep, who was a +privileged character, his constant willingness to help out making full +amends for his sometimes boisterous manner. “We’d have been good and +sorry if we had missed running the Airdrome; wouldn’t we, now?” + +“Well, it has doubled the value of our investment, that’s sure,” +admitted Mr. Strapp, with great satisfaction. + +“Then how do you know but what Frank now has a proposition up his +sleeve that is twice as good? He’s always looking for new ideas. What’s +the last one, Frank?” + +“Well,” explained the latter, “to tell it in a word: What do you say +to opening a photo playhouse that shall be devoted exclusively to +educational films?” + +Each of Frank’s auditors received this declaration in a characteristic +way. Pep came to his feet with a bound and seemed to be ready to voice +his opinion in his usual tumultuous fashion. Randy’s eyes snapped +as his vivid imagination seized upon the new thought. The impulsive +ex-ranchman, Mr. Strapp, brought his bronzed hand down upon his knee +emphatically with the words: + +“Durham, I believe you’ve struck a big thing! It catches my fancy. +There’s one first point we’ve got to look to, though: Can it be made to +pay?” + +“I feel sure that it can,” replied Frank, “in the right place.” + +“And where is that,” inquired the impetuous Pep. + +“Boston,” was the reply. “Boston is the home of culture. Anything high +up in the entertainment line is encouraged there. I first thought of +the plan a week ago. Yesterday, quite by accident, I ran across a +gentleman who crystallized my vague ideas.” + +“How was that, Durham?” asked the interested Westerner. + +“It was down at the film exchange. I was waiting for the crowd to thin +out, as I had some special business with the manager, and sat down on +a bench. Right next to me was a thin, intellectual looking man whom +nobody could help but notice as entirely out of the ordinary. He was +nervous, abstracted, impatient. He took out his watch to look at the +time. + +“I saw that he had opened the back case instead of the dial. I heard +him say: ‘Remarkable! Extraordinary!’ Then he began poking in all his +pockets. He made a vain search. He got up and looked all over the +bench, and knelt down and searched under it. + +“‘Can I help you, sir?’ I asked. + +“‘Well, yes, I’ve lost my glasses,’ he informed me. + +“‘Why,’ I told him, ‘you’ve got them on.’ + +“‘Aha! So I have,’ he admitted. ‘Ridiculous!’ + +“‘And you’re looking at the wrong side of your watch,’ I added. + +“‘Dear me!’ he groaned. ‘Preposterous!’” + +“Say, he’d make a good character in a funny film,” chuckled the +mischief-loving Pep. + +“Well,” continued Frank, “he came out of his absent-mindedness and +gathered his scattered wits. Those dreamy eyes of his pierced me like +a gimlet. + +“‘Movies man?’ he asked. + +“I told him yes. You ought to have seen how eager he was. He began +firing questions at me so fast I could hardly answer. They were all +about motion pictures. He was like a curious youngster hungry for +facts. We got so interested in my experience, before he got through +with me, that he found out about all we know or have down in the movies +business. Finally he jumped to his feet. + +“‘See here,’ he said, grabbing my arm, ‘you are just the fellow I’ve +been looking for. You come along with me.’ + +“‘Where?’ I asked. + +“‘To my hotel,’ he replied. ‘I’ll make you rich and famous.’ There was +no resisting him, so I went.” + +“Who was he, anyway?” asked Randy. + +Frank took a card from his pocket and held it so that all could read +the name inscribed upon it: + + _Professor Achilles Barrington._ + +“And what was he after?” pressed Pep. + +“Someone to exploit his ideas about a great educational film photo +playhouse,” replied Frank. “I never saw a man so enthusiastic over an +idea as he was. It seems that he had been a professor of astronomy at +Yale, or Harvard, I forget which. A rival professor set up a new theory +as to the red spots on Jupiter in opposition to his own. There was a +wordy war. Professor Barrington stood on his dignity and resigned. He +had a little money and an ardent ambition to ‘enlighten the masses,’ as +he termed it. He has mapped out a wonderful series of films for popular +exhibition. I tell you, they’re great. He wants to start the finest +photo playhouse in the world, facing Boston Common, and his plan has a +lot of good points.” + +“It would seem so,” nodded Mr. Strapp, whose face showed that he was +intensely interested. “Go ahead, Durham. I’m mightily attracted by what +you are telling us.” + +“The professor must have talked to me for an hour when we got to his +hotel. It appears he has been working on his pet idea for several +months. I was surprised at the way he had planned his film subjects +and sources of information and supply. He convinced me that his plans, +influence and scheme for working up business were magnificent. + +“It appears he was waiting to see what encouragement the film men would +give him in his scheme when I met him. Now he is thoroughly convinced +that there never was a combination so able to put through his plans as +ourselves. He was for getting my decision at once, so that some of us +could go at once to Boston and see the location he had picked out for +the new playhouse. I told him I would have to consult with you people +and I promised he should hear from me by noon. What do you think of it, +Mr. Strapp?” + +“Well, you know we have run across all kinds of dreamers in this +business,” replied the Westerner. “I’ve a great respect for college +folks, though; little education as I’ve had myself. You’re a shrewd +sort of a fellow, Durham, and don’t make many mistakes.” + +“That’s right!” came with emphasis from the ever-admiring Pep. + +“Thank you,” returned Frank, modestly, and with a laugh. + +“Yes, sir-ree! We can trust your judgment every time, Durham,” +continued Mr. Strapp. “As to the idea you’ve spoken of, it can’t be +beat. As to the man who has worked it up, I suspect we’d all better see +him before we come to a decision.” + +“I’ll bet he’s an odd genius,” commented Pep, with an expectant twinkle +in his eyes. + +“He’s smart, or he couldn’t have interested Frank the way he has done,” +observed the loyal Randy. + +“Well, if you leave it to me,” spoke the young motion picture manager, +“I’ll go back to his hotel, as I promised. I think I had better bring +him back here with me. It’s three hours before we start the show, so we +can have a good long talk.” + +“I’ll be glad to see this professor of yours, Durham,” said Mr. Strapp. + +“Hello!” broke in Pep, abruptly. “Here’s somebody.” + +The door of the little office swung open as someone knocked timidly on +it. + +Frank, craning his neck, discerned a man standing still and apparently +awaiting an answer to his summons. It struck Frank that the visitor +must be near-sighted, or very absent-minded, to thus mistake a wide +open door for a closed one. + +“Come in,” he sang out and the caller seized the knob of the door. As +he did this, the unexpected ease with which the door swung towards him +moved him off his balance, drove him back and banged shut, quite taking +him off his feet. + +“Stupendous!” gasped the caller, as he went sprawling upon the floor +headlong, his tall silk hat rolling in one direction, the goggles he +wore in another. + +“Why!” cried Frank, “It’s Professor Barrington himself!” + + + + +CHAPTER II + +AN ABSENT-MINDED VISITOR + + +“Outrageous--unpardonable!” gasped the professor, as he struggled to +his feet, thus rudely aroused from his habitual abstraction. + +Pep stooped to pick up the rolling hat and to hide a grin. Randy, as he +rescued the glasses, bit his lip to keep his face straight. Even Mr. +Strapp was amused; but he did not allow himself to show it. + +Frank was always the gentleman and the boy of business. He had arisen +to his feet. He extended his hand, sober as a judge, with the words: + +“I am glad to see you, Professor Barrington. We were just going over +that matter of yours and I was about to start for your hotel.” + +“Good--glad. Then you favor my plan?” + +“We are all very much interested,” observed Mr. Strapp. “Will you have +a chair, sir?” + +The eyes of the little coterie were fixed upon their odd visitor. +Knowing Frank as they did, his chums were as one in the conviction +that their bright young leader had brought about a situation that +promised interesting developments. + +It was not the first time that some such an incident had proved the +beginning of an important move in the business to which the three boys +had been now devoted for nearly two years. From the first day that the +movies idea had captivated these close comrades and friends, Frank had +been the main mover in discoveries, suggestions and activities that had +led them up to the present pleasant and useful position they filled in +their own little business world. + +It was Frank who had originally found a way to employ their little +stock of savings, to obtain an outfit for the starting of their first +motion picture venture in their native village of Fairlands, known as +the Wonderland, as related in the first volume of the present series, +entitled, “The Motion Picture Chums’ First Venture; Or, Opening a Photo +Playhouse In Fairlands.” + +It was Frank who, when the winter season was past and local trade grew +dull, had discovered a promising outlook for a Wonderland No. 2 at +Seaside Park. This was a popular outing resort some fifty miles from +New York City. Their success with that venture has been told in a +second book, called, “The Motion Picture Chums at Seaside Park; Or, The +Rival Photo Theaters of the Boardwalk.” + +When they retired temporarily from that enterprise with the departing +excursion crowds, a higher ambition had led them to seek a wider sphere +of action. + +In the third volume, entitled, “The Motion Picture Chums On Broadway; +Or, The Mystery of the Missing Cash Box,” has been narrated the +struggles, trials, and triumphs of the boys in founding their Empire +photo playhouse on upper Broadway in New York City. All along the line +they had found rivals, even enemies, but friends as well. + +Mr. Strapp, who now sat in their midst, was one of the latter, and +a loyal, helpful, companion he had become. Frank had saved the +unsophisticated Westerner, fresh from ranch life, from being swindled +out of a large sum of money. The ex-ranchman had appreciated this and +the good qualities of the three chums, and had become their partner, to +the benefit of all. + +Ben Jolly, a musician of no mean ability, was another who had come into +their lives. Then there were several lads whom Frank had found poor, in +trouble, and needing a friend badly. He had given them a helping hand. + +In the last preceding book of the series, named, “The Motion Picture +Chums’ Outdoor Exhibition; Or, The Film That Solved a Mystery,” the ups +and downs of a new venture, the Airdrome, at Riverside Grove, located +on the Palisades of the Hudson River, have been recited. + +Each of the group was now filling some efficient part in the operations +of the Amusement Company organized by Mr. Strapp and the motion picture +chums to bring system and success to the chain of photo playhouses they +conducted. + +An old comrade of Ben Jolly, a professional ventriloquist named Hal +Vincent, had managed the Wonderland No. 2 at Seaside Park during the +season. At Fairlands a capable young fellow was in the harness, and +another deserving lad was operating the Model, a small affair at +Belleview, up the Hudson. Dave Sawyer, whom Frank had rescued from the +clutches of a cruel taskmaster, named Slavin, had assisted Frank and +his partners in making a success of the famous Airdrome, and was now +located at Riverside Grove. + +Now, at the beginning of the autumn season, the little group had taken +up their headquarters at the principal playhouse of the chain. The +Empire was the most profitable institution of the group. It was a +model, up-to-date, and well patronized the year around. It was like +getting back home to once more enjoy its coziness. The motion picture +chums had plenty to do with so many ventures on their hands, but “the +Tip Top” was the constant ambition of the partners. + +Frank was always on the lookout for something new to keep them abreast +of the times. As has been seen, he had made an attractive discovery +that day. Now its progress was signalized by the extraordinary +appearance of Professor Achilles Barrington. + +The odd intruder upon the little group seemed now at ease through the +generous reception he had received. He set his glasses straight and +brushed his hat with his coat sleeve. Then he tapped his head sharply +with his knuckles, as if punishing truant ideas that had led him into a +blunder, and summoning up new ones. + +“Embarrassed--decidedly so,” he observed. “Deep in thought--and all +that. Scarcely respectable--bolting in on you this way. Made a bad +impression, I fear.” + +“Not at all, sir,” responded Mr. Strapp, indulgently. “Our friend, +Frank Durham, has paved the way for a genuine welcome. Let me introduce +myself--Strapp is my name, and I never say what I don’t mean. I am very +glad to meet a person of your education, Professor Barrington. This is +Randolph Powell, and this Pepperill Smith.” + +“I declare, it’s like home to be among you,” said the professor, +smiling expansively at the friendly greeting he received. “I must +apologize for coming here uninvited, gentlemen; but I couldn’t rest +thinking over the possibilities suggested by Mr. Durham. You don’t know +how my heart is set on my great enterprise, nor the bother and trouble +I have had getting at the right people.” + +“I reckon you’ve found ’em this time, sir, if your scheme holds water +at all,” declared Mr. Strapp, in his blunt fashion. + +“Thank you--it makes me happy to hear you say that. I ought to +apologize, Mr. Durham, for showing childish anxiety about you; but I +was fooled once and I do not wish to waste any time. Now that I see +what a really pretentious business you have here, I realize that you +did not tell half. You see, I fell into the hands of a fellow who made +all kinds of false representations, beside fleecing me out of money. +It’s made me nervous about getting things started before someone else +exploits the idea. I’ve become so afraid of speculators and promoters +that I shall breathe more freely when I get back to my home city.” + +“Meaning Boston, I assume?” asked Mr. Strapp. + +“That’s right, sir! And it’s the right place, and the only one where +the educational film will be accepted with open arms. I know the +people, Mr. Strapp. They know me, too, in my humble way.” + +“And exactly what do you expect us to do?” inquired the Westerner, in a +business-like tone. + +“Why, I have not the capital myself to start such a photo playhouse +as my plan deserves. Another thing: I am not a practical showman in +any sense of the word; I have, though, enough money to arrange for +the films. The films, gentlemen, comprise the whole essence of this +proposition.” + +“You have a special interest in that direction; eh?” intimated Mr. +Strapp. + +“I may say that--yes,” declared the professor. “Mediocre stuff will +not do at all. The scarce, the odd, the new, the remarkable--I saw my +needs when this idea first occurred to me. In my satchel at the hotel, +locked up in its strong safe, are credentials showing that I am to-day +in touch with film producers all over the world.” + +“Why--what for?” burst out the curious Pep. + +“What for--what?” in turn challenged the professor, with wondering eyes. + +“Locked up--in a safe! Valuable, I suppose?” + +“So much so, that I am satisfied a group of unscrupulous men are after +it,” asserted Professor Barrington, solemnly. “You see, in planning +out my campaign I have had to proceed with caution, so that rivals +would not forestall me. I have even designed a telegraphic code so +that messages sent and received may not be deciphered by others to my +disadvantage.” + +Frank’s eyes were opening wider with mingled interest and excitement. +As their eccentric visitor warmed up to his subject, the young leader +of the motion picture chums saw that the professor had used order and +system in his preliminary work. + +“I have a primary list of many subjects, some of which are already in +the hands of the picture takers,” continued the professor. “My object +has been to have really educational films.” + +“For instance, what?” questioned Mr. Strapp. + +“Well, showing how flowers grow--animal, bird and insect life--the +mysteries of the deep. Then again, in the mechanical arts--the great +industries--factories, lighthouses, conventions. I am now working out a +scenario for a natural wonder that will electrify the thinking public. +I simply give you an outline; details will come later if we make a deal. + +“I have already invested several thousands of dollars in the venture. +What I propose is that someone else finance the exhibition of the films +in the right way. I will defray the expenses up to that point.” + +Mr. Strapp arose and paced a few steps in a restless manner. This was +always his way when interested in something of a business nature. Frank +caught a glance from his eyes and at once saw that his clear-headed +business partner had made up his mind. + +“I have listened to you, sir,” remarked Mr. Strapp, bluntly, “and +I will say I am very much interested. In plain words: I favor your +proposition. I’m not much on education, though, and Durham is. What do +you propose, sir?” + +“That you come to Boston and look over a location I have selected, go +over the papers I have in my satchel, look me up to see if I am the +kind of man to deal with, and make your decision.” + +“Fair enough,” agreed Mr. Strapp. “Let Durham act as our +representative. He’s only a boy, professor, but smarter than most +grown men. I’d trust his good judgment any time; and if he says go +ahead, that settles it.” + +“Most satisfactory,” exclaimed the professor; his thoughtful face +brightening magically. “I feel I can trust you.” + +“When would you wish me to go to Boston, Professor Barrington?” asked +Frank. + +“Right away!” cried the professor, consulting his watch and jumping to +his feet with the celerity of a pleased schoolboy. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE MISSING SATCHEL + + +“That’s queer!” said Frank Durham. + +He said it to himself, for he was seated alone in the railroad station +awaiting the arrival of Professor Barrington. When that personage heard +the decision of the young movies leader and his business partners, +he was for getting to Boston forthwith. After Frank had glanced at a +time-table, the arrangements had been made quickly. + +“There is a through express at eleven o’clock,” he reported. + +“Then we must make it,” insisted the professor, briskly. “Meet me at +the station. I will just have time to go to my hotel, settle up affairs +there and get my satchel. That train will land us in Boston in five +hours, leaving a chance to do some business there by daylight.” + +Then he had departed, and after a brief talk with Mr. Strapp, Frank had +made his way to the railroad station. As his mind and eyes were always +active he became interested in studying human nature about him. Some +peculiar actions on the part of three men seated on a bench opposite +him attracted his attention and caused him to utter an exclamation. + +What seemed queer to the mind of Frank was the fact that one of the +trio, a slouch-shouldered, furtive-eyed man, after some confidential +talk with the two others, took up his satchel from the floor. He +glanced keenly all about him to see that he was not observed. Then a +crafty smile came to his lips as he partly reversed the satchel. To the +amazement of Frank the satchel appeared to have no bottom. + +Some coiling springs seemed to fill the inside space. The man chuckled +as he righted the satchel again. One of his companions laughed and the +other slapped him on the shoulder as though it were all a great joke. +Then the three men walked towards the waiting trains. Frank felt that +somehow the incident was suspicious. He wondered if the hollow satchel +might not after all be some new invention. But just then the professor +put in an appearance. + +He swung a satchel in one hand and seemed flustered as he rushed to the +ticket office and thence with Frank to the train. + +“Just made it!” he explained, sinking breathlessly into a seat. “Got +sort of bothered.” + +“How was that, Professor Barrington?” inquired Frank. + +“Why, I’ve told you I bungled into talking over my plans with a man +who, I am now convinced, was bent upon stealing my ideas. When I went +back to my hotel I noticed this fellow skulking about the entrance. +When I came down from my room to get my satchel, the hotel clerk said +someone had been to him asking when I was leaving and where I was +going. I don’t like the look of things.” + +“You are probably rid of the man, now you are leaving the city,” +suggested Frank. + +“I sincerely hope so,” returned the professor, with a relieved sigh. +“Now we’re by ourselves and comfortable, let us have a thorough talk +over our affairs.” + +There was a double seat directly behind the one they were in, occupied +by a lady and her two children. The little ones were romping and noisy, +and after a glance at these neighbors the professor plunged into his +subject, not fearful of any eavesdroppers. He had carelessly thrown his +satchel in the space behind the seat, just off the aisle. One of its +straps had come loose and trailed forward under the seat. + +Frank had placed his foot on this. He had no right to suggest or +interfere with the personal affairs of his companion, but a memory of +what the professor had said about the valuable contents of the satchel +in the safe at the hotel, led Frank to wonder if this was the one. In +his engrossed way the professor might have lost sight of the necessity +of keeping guard over his treasures. Frank pressed his toe against the +buckle on the end of the loose strap and resolved to keep it there. + +Professor Barrington was a very entertaining man when he conversed on +his pet subject. As he related the slow, patient and careful work he +had done to have at command movies parties all over the world, ready +for any rush order he might give, Frank was amazed. + +“Think of it!” remarked the professor, “the photo play speaks the +silent but universal language of sight, and the eventual triumph of +motion photography is the educational film. I can see this movement +lead to education in schools, exhibitions, in conventions. + +“I can see marvels of nature we have heretofore only read about brought +right into natural action before our eyes. I have already forty-two +thousand feet of negatives, including the split reels. I have in view +double that volume, and not a film to be released to outsiders until +we have gathered the first cream of profit and popularity. It will +startle you, my young friend--more, it will thrill you, when you go +into the details of the outfit gathered and gathering. Did you know,” +demanded the professor, “that there are insects that wash their faces, +just as humans do?” + +“Why, no, sir--” began Frank. + +“You shall see the proof of it, taken from nature. Of course you know +what the telepathic sense means?” + +“As I take it, it is the ability of dumb creatures to use a mysterious +sixth sense that enables them to scent danger at a distance or +communicate with one another.” + +“Right--especially with ants,” responded the professor. “In Africa +scientists have marvelled that an army of these intelligent little +creatures should halt in a second when their leader strikes an +obstacle. This is done with system and order, when the last ant is half +a mile distant and shut out of sight of the head of the procession by a +hill or some other object.” + +“That seems wonderful,” remarked Frank. + +“Well,” declared Professor Barrington, triumphantly, “I have solved +the mystery. I have had photographs taken with such an insect army in +motion. It took twenty machines to catch the subject, but the film is +made continuous. The king ant halted at a stream. Instantly it shot out +a hind foot. Almost as quickly as electricity the ant next behind and +those beyond it transmitted that signal down down the line. We estimate +that it took just fifty-four seconds to deliver the ‘Halt’ message to +the last ant. The photo, magnified, shows the most interesting kicking +picture you ever saw.” + +For over an hour the professor kept up such an interesting discourse +that Frank was charmed. The train was slowing up, and the professor, +leaning close to Frank, was pouring into his ear a description of a +leaping kangaroo film among his treasures, when Frank straightened up +suddenly and fixed his eye upon a man who had just left his seat and +was coming down the aisle. + +In a flash Frank recognized him as the person he had seen at the city +railway station with the hollow satchel. The fellow carried the article +now. He swung along as if it was heavy, which Frank knew could not be +the case. He stumbled as he passed the seat containing the professor +and Frank and seemed to momentarily drop his satchel to the floor as if +to regain his balance. + +Frank’s nerves thrilled as the man picked up his satchel again. A jerk +moved the strap upon which Frank had his foot. He arose quickly and +turned his head. The professor’s satchel was gone! + +The man, who Frank knew in a flash must have taken it up inside his +“patent” satchel, was hurrying to the door of the car. With a bound our +young hero, guessing at the shrewd trick attempted, was after him. + +“Hold on, there!” shouted Frank, so sharply that he attracted the +attention of everyone in the coach. + +“Meaning me?” retorted the fellow he was after, as Frank ran up to him +and grabbed one arm. + +“Yes, I do,” cried Frank. “You just took a satchel from behind that +seat yonder and I want it.” + +“Nonsense! What are you talking about?” shouted the man. “Don’t delay +me. This is my station. Let go!” But Frank had slipped his hand down +to the satchel the man swung about, and deftly reversing it, unset the +stolen satchel from the coiling springs that had caught it up and held +it. + +“You meddler!” he hissed savagely. The man saw that he was unmasked and +outwitted, and with a vicious swing brought his own satchel against +Frank’s head. The latter went spinning to the floor, but he held on to +the professor’s property. + +“Astonishing!” exclaimed his fellow-traveler, arising in wonder to his +feet. “Stop that man!” But the fellow whom Frank had baffled darted for +the rear door of the car, leaped outside, slammed it shut after him and +sprang to the platform of the station before the train stopped. + +A dozen curious passengers questioned Frank as to the details of the +strange incident they had noticed. + +“A slick thief with a trick satchel,” Frank explained, briefly. “Keep +tight hold of your property, Professor,” he told his mystified friend. +The train halted only for a moment to let off a few passengers. Frank +had gone to the car platform. He leaned from it, gazing keenly down the +length of the platform to see if he could find any trace of the thief. + +The latter was nowhere in sight, however, until after the train had +started. Then Frank saw him come into view around the distant end of +the depot building. The fellow made some motions with his hands as if +conveying a signal to someone. Frank turned and sharply took in the +interior of the car. He saw a man just shutting down a window. He had +not noticed this person before. Now he recognized him as one of the +men who had been with the thief in the city railway station. + +“The professor’s fears are well founded, it seems,” reflected Frank. +“There has been a plot afoot to get possession of that satchel. Well, +the schemers haven’t done it so far. I don’t think they will get it if +I can help it.” + +Frank found the professor seated with the rescued satchel in his +lap, holding it tightly in both hands. He looked both bewildered and +timorous. + +“That fellow was trying to steal my satchel!” he declared, in a +nervous, alarmed way. “Mr. Durham, that means something.” + +“Yes,” assented Frank, “I suppose he singled out your satchel with a +purpose.” + +“You mean he has followed us from New York with the intent of depriving +me of my property?” asked the professor. + +“It looks that way, sir,” answered Frank, gravely. + +“It is a good thing you were with me,” said Professor Barrington, with +a grateful look. “Audacious! Unheard of! Dear me! What villainy there +is in the world!” + +Frank felt that all was safe now, and tried to allay the concern of his +companion. He thought it best not to alarm the latter by revealing his +suspicion that the man six seats ahead of them was probably a member of +the group that was after that precious satchel. + +Frank kept his eye on this man, who pretended to be absorbed in a +newspaper. He showed no outward sign that the incident had affected or +interested him. Frank was about to ask the professor to walk to the +front end of the car and take a look at the man’s face, when there came +a sharp whistle from the locomotive. + +Almost instantly the brakes were set. There was a grinding jar, then a +shock and a crash. Frank realized that something was coming and grasped +the seat brace. + +Not so the professor. As the train came to an abrupt stop amid the +jangle of broken glass and parting timbers, he was lifted from his seat +violently. He shot past Frank and landed in the aisle like a lump of +clay. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE RAILROAD WRECK + + +Frank had never taken part in a scene of greater disorder and +excitement. He knew at once that the train had run into some heavy +obstacle or had been derailed. A dozen of the passengers were thrown +from their seats. Women were shrieking, and the two little children in +the seat just behind the one the professor and Frank had occupied were +wailing in fright as their mother caught them in her arms and crouched +speechless and dazed. + +Frank saw that they were not seriously injured. The car had tilted and +then, as a great shock passed through its strained woodwork, come to +a stop. The frightened passengers were rushing for the doors. One or +two men threw open windows and tumbled outside. Frank’s first thought +was of his new friend. He sprang to the spot where the professor lay +senseless and just in time managed to drag him out of the path of the +terrified people crowding the aisle in an attempt to escape. + +“I declare!” spoke the dazed savant, as Frank pulled him into a seat. +“What happened?” + +The speaker rubbed a contusion on his head and gazed about him +vacantly. Then his eyes closed and he swayed to and fro. + +“Come out,” directed a train hand at the rear doorway. “It’s a wreck; +but nobody is seriously hurt.” + +Frank piled over the backs of half a dozen seats and got at the water +tank. He wet his handkerchief, returned to his charge, and applied it +to his head. In a minute or two the professor recovered his senses. + +“There’s been a collision, I assume,” he remarked. “Look at that front +end all smashed in! We’re lucky. Let us get out of this and see where +we’re stranded.” + +“Why, yes,” agreed Frank, “only--where’s the satchel!” + +For the first time Frank thought of it. The car was pretty well vacated +by this time, and many had left wraps and satchels behind in their +haste to reach a place of safety. Frank made a casual and then a more +careful survey of the floor of the coach. He finally returned to his +anxious-faced friend. + +“Professor Barrington,” he said, “I fear, after all our vigilance and +trouble, we have been outwitted.” + +“What do you mean, Mr. Durham?” + +“Your satchel is missing.” + +“Perhaps somebody caught it up by mistake. See, a lot of people have +left their belongings behind them all mixed up. Maybe someone took it +in the excitement of the moment.” + +“I’d like to think that; I hope you are right,” rejoined Frank. “We +must get outside and make a search right away.” + +Frank had not told the professor about the man who had sat just ahead +of them, and who he felt sure was an accomplice of the fellow who had +tried to steal the satchel. In his own mind Frank felt sure that this +accomplice had obtained the professor’s satchel during the confusion in +the passenger coach. + +Frank’s mind was centered on the satchel, but when he got outside the +uproar and confusion took up his attention. It appeared that in making +a curve the express train had run into a derailed freight car, ignoring +the danger signal of a red flag, another somewhat back having been +overlooked by the engineer. + +The locomotive and baggage car were badly damaged. They had plunged +into the rear of a freight train and demolished it. Both tracks were +blocked. No one apparently had been seriously hurt, although there had +been a bad shake-up all around. + +The accident had occurred in a lonely cut crossed by a typical country +road. The train hands were getting the passengers into the rear coaches +that had not been badly damaged. Frank gathered enough from the talk of +the trainmen, amid the hurly-burly of the emergency, to understand that +it would be several hours before a wrecking train could arrive. + +“We’re stalled here, probably till midnight,” Frank heard the conductor +say to the engineer. + +“You had better get into that coach while I make another search for +that satchel, Professor Barrington,” Frank suggested. + +“I sincerely hope you will find some trace of it,” was the anxious +reply. “I declare! I thought all my troubles had ended when I left New +York City with you, and here I find myself in a worse mix-up than ever.” + +Frank kept a sharp eye out for the man to whom the fellow with the +hollow satchel had signalled. Although he inspected all the coaches and +looked over the crowd along the tracks, he could gain no trace of the +one he was so anxious to find. + +By the time Frank rejoined the professor the conductor of the train +had got word to and from a towerman, about a mile away. He announced +that it would be some hours before the track could be cleared, a fresh +engine obtained, and the journey resumed. + +“Any trace of the satchel, Mr. Durham?” was the first question the +professor asked. + +“I fear we shall never see the satchel or its contents again,” returned +Frank, and thought it best to impart all of his suspicions. His +companion listened with attention. + +“You’ve got it right,” he decided, reluctantly. “They have been bound +to get at that satchel all along. As soon as they did so they got +away--crossed over to some other railroad line or went into hiding. I +don’t see how we can trace them from this forlorn, out-of-the-way spot.” + +“Are the contents of the satchel so very valuable, Professor +Barrington?” inquired Frank. + +“To men who I am assured are trying to steal my plan, immensely so,” +was the reply. “You see, in the bag are all my private memoranda, lists +of my connections, and the details of the very important lease I expect +to close on playhouse quarters in Boston. If they get an inkling of +that and obtain an option on the lease ahead of us, it takes away +about half of the merit of our proposition.” + +Frank realized that they were in a pretty bad predicament. To think of +running down the thief or thieves with the start the latter had would +be folly. Long since, undoubtedly, the knaves had rifled the satchel +and possessed themselves of the secrets of the professor’s project. + +The pair grew tired of sitting in the coach and strolled outside, but +the ardor of the professor seemed dampened. He did not say much, but +acted as though depressed. They walked up and down the level space +beside the track, each busy with his own thoughts. Finally Frank +touched the professor’s arm and directed his attention to a group +gathered about a figure on a stump, who was apparently addressing them. + +“Someone seems to be making a speech,” observed Frank. “I wonder what +he is saying.” + +“Yes, it looks that way,” assented Professor Barrington, after a casual +glance at the individual Frank had indicated. + +Both walked towards the center of the group of people. As they neared +the spot Frank saw that a bronzed, intelligent-faced lad of about +sixteen was the orator. He was dressed in blue jeans and had the +appearance of a typical farm boy. + +“Gentlemen and ladies,” he said, “this train will be delayed for +several hours. Half a mile up the road is Home Farm, where I work. Mr. +Dorsett--that’s my boss--sent me down here to tell you that there will +be a lunch ready for all that want it from now up to dark.” + +“What kind of a lunch, sonny?” asked a big man who seemed happy over +finding himself with a whole skin after his shaking up on the train. + +“Doughnuts, pumpkin pie and cider--apples thrown in, price fifteen +cents,” was the prompt response. “Besides that, there’s a big veranda +up at the house, with easy chairs, and hammocks and a swing.” + +“I think I’ll take that in,” said the fat man, smacking his lips. + +“That sounds refreshing,” observed Professor Barrington. “I declare! +I have been so taken up with our business that I forgot lunch in the +city.” + +“I think I would like to try this home-made fare,” said Frank. “If it’s +as good as it is cheap, it’s worth testing. Will you act as pilot?” he +asked of the boy. + +“All aboard! It’s just the walk for an appetite,” declared the lad, +briskly, jumping down from the stump and starting for the road. Frank, +the professor and several others followed and they soon came in sight +of a pleasant old homestead. Under a towering oak tree was a long +picnic table, a bench on either side. The thrifty farmer and his wife +ministered to the needs of their guests. + +“That was prime,” remarked Professor Barrington, after they had eaten +of the plain but appetizing fare. “A great relief, this cool shady +spot, after the bustle and excitement down at the railroad. There’s a +rustic bower over yonder; let us rest there for a bit. I would like to +get my scattered wits together.” + +Frank assented to this arrangement. Others of the visitors installed +themselves on the porch or went into the big “company room” of the +house. The professor became talkative again. He went over the playhouse +project, which brought up the loss of the precious satchel. + +“We had better forget that loss,” suggested Frank, “for I don’t see any +way to remedy it. If certain schemers are going to become our business +rivals on what they stole from you, they won’t succeed. Such people +never do in the end. I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. It’s +your brains that have worked up this idea, and you are bound to have +the best of it. + +“Oh, did you want something?” Frank interrupted himself, as the boy +who had piloted them from the railroad appeared at the doorway of the +bower. + +“Why, yes--no--I don’t know,” stammered the lad, in an embarrassed way. +“Say, I don’t want you to think I’m any eavesdropper. I was resting +outside here, though, and couldn’t help but hear your talk. I’m so dead +gone on shows that I just had to listen, and when you spoke of the +satchel----” + +“Ah!” broke in the professor, eagerly, “you know something about that?” + +“I think I do--I don’t know for certain,” was the reply; “but if you’ll +wait here for five minutes I’ll find out if what I guess amounts to +anything.” + +And then the strange lad was off like an arrow, leaving Professor +Barrington in a state of great suspense and Frank wondering what the +next happening of their eventful journey was to be. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A NEW MYSTERY + + +“Incomprehensible!” exclaimed Professor Barrington, gazing after the +excited lad who had scudded up to them and then away. “What do you +think that young fellow means by all this?” + +“It is simple, to my way of thinking,” responded Frank. “He heard us +talking about that missing satchel and knows something about it.” + +“But what can he know?” inquired the professor, arising to his feet and +pacing the floor of the summer house in his quick, nervous way. + +“Well, he strikes me as an unusually keen and intelligent boy,” +returned Frank. “He is of the kind who keep their eyes open, and may +possibly have noticed the man who got the satchel. Here he is back +again, to report for himself.” + +At an amazing pace, his bright young face showing keen interest, the +farm boy was steering straight for the summer house. As he approached +he waved some object in his hand. Frank started as he recognized its +familiar outlines. + +“Is that it?” questioned the farm boy, breathlessly, dropping his +burden on the little round table. + +Frank’s eyes brightened and Professor Barrington uttered a cry of +delight The farm lad had placed upon the table the stolen satchel. It +seemed to Frank as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind. +Certainly the situation had cleared wonderfully. + +Professor Barrington grasped the satchel in both hands. Frank had never +seen him so excited as he tore it open. Then the old savant dug down +into the open receptacle with feverish haste. Its contents covered the +table. He fell back, stared at the various articles in astonishment and +began to rub his head in a bewildered way. + +“I declare!” he said, feebly. “Confusion worse confounded! Not mine, +after all.” + +“If you mean the satchel,” spoke Frank, quickly pouncing upon the +article in question, “it is the one I got back from the fellow who +tried to steal it with the hollow satchel. Of that I am positive--see, +here is the strap and the buckle I kept under my foot when he got +aboard.” + +“But that--truck?” objected the professor. “Why, just look at it--a +pair of gloves, a veil, a lady’s toilet outfit and a dressing sack.” + +“That’s so,” assented Frank, for the moment all at sea. Then he took up +an envelope bearing an address. It read: “_Mrs. Clara Barnes_,” and had +been directed to the hotel in New York City, where the professor had +lived during his recent stay there. + +“I think I understand,” said Frank to himself, and his thoughts +cleared. He placed the envelope in his pocket and proceeded to repack +the satchel, while he inquired of the boy who had brought it to them: + +“How did you happen to come across this satchel?” + +“Why, you see I saw two men squabbling over it,” explained the farm lad. + +“That was when?” pressed Frank. “I wish you would describe what they +were like.” + +The boy proceeded to do this while Frank listened attentively. When the +narrator had finished Frank recognized one of the persons as the man +who had received the signal from the fellow with the trick satchel. His +companion did not tally with anyone Frank could recall just then. + +“When I first went down to the train,” went on the farm boy, “I heard +voices behind the hedge of the old farm house that burned down. Two +men were talking. One had just flung that satchel to the ground. + +“‘You’re a blunderer,’ he said to the other man. ‘You’ve missed on +everything.’ + +“I went on to guide the people to the farm and thought no more of it, +until I overhead your conversation here. Then I made up my mind it was +the same satchel you were talking about. I went back to the hedge and +found it, but the men were nowhere about.” + +“I don’t know how to solve this problem,” remarked Professor Barrington +with a groan; “but there has been tricky work somewhere. At all events, +my precious papers are gone. We had better get to Boston and head off +these men. Then we can get to work to see if we cannot mend matters in +some way.” + +“You have done us a favor,” said Frank to the farm boy, and he handed +him a dollar bill. “You know the lay of the land around here. Can you +figure out any way of our going on without waiting for that wreck to be +cleared away?” + +“Sure I can,” responded the lad, briskly. “If you’re willing to foot +the bill I think Mr. Dorsett will let me hitch up the surrey and take +you over to Woodhill.” + +“How far is that?” inquired Frank. + +“Eighteen miles. You see, a branch road runs from there and hits the +main line further along.” + +“That’s good,” said Frank. “Go ahead and make the arrangements. We’ll +pay what’s fair for the service.” + +The professor sat at the table absorbed in making some notes in his +memorandum book. Frank walked to a little distance and sat down on a +rustic seat. He was thoughtful, but his face showed energy. + +“I think I have figured out about the mystery of the satchel,” he +told himself with some satisfaction. “I don’t think, though, that +I will raise the professor’s hopes or burden his mind with any +further suspense, until I am sure of my ground. As soon as I reach +Boston--hello!” + +The farm boy had again come up to him. He regarded Frank shyly, then +wistfully, and then blurted out: + +“Say, I’d like to ask you a few questions.” + +“Fire away,” responded Frank, with an encouraging smile. + +“Mr. Dorsett is getting the rig ready, and I’m to drive you over to +Woodhill. You’ve sort of riled me all up coming here and I wanted to +get it off my mind.” + +“How is that?” asked Frank, wonderingly. + +“Why, from what I heard you say I guess you’re show people,” said the +lad. + +“Well, we are in what is called the movies line--yes,” admitted Frank. + +“That’s still better,” declared the boy. “Here’s the way it is! I want +to break into the business. It’s a new idea and I want a chance before +it gets stale. I was sort of born to the show line. You see, my father +was a lion tamer. He’s dead now. My uncle is with a menagerie out West. +He settled me in a comfortable home here, but I just dream all the time +about the show life I know I’d just love. Many a time I’ve had a mind +to go to my uncle, whether he liked it or not, or run away from here +and join a show.” + +“Oh, you mustn’t think of doing that,” declared Frank. + +“I know that,” confessed the lad, naively, “and that’s why I spoke +to you, thinking maybe you would help me break into the business +respectably. See here, my name is Vic Belton and a letter directed in +care of Mr. Dorsett will reach me by rural free delivery. If you have a +show or are going to have one, can’t you try and give me a chance?” + +Frank had to smile. He was constantly running across ambitious young +fellows who saw nothing but glare and glitter in the movies line--and +wanted to “break into it,” as the lad put it. Frank in a few words +explained some of the cold facts of the business, which did not seem to +make much impression on his lively auditor. + +“That’s all right,” said the young fellow, in an offhand way; “but I +may line up right to do what I want some day. Won’t you give me your +address? I may want to write to you some time.” + +Frank obliged the persistent Vic, telling him of the Empire at New York +City and the possibility of locating in Boston. Then the surrey was +ready and there was a brisk drive to Woodhill, where they had to wait +nearly three hours for a train. + +It was late in the afternoon when they reached Boston. It was Frank’s +first view of the great center of culture. Its crooked streets confused +and puzzled him as they walked the short distance from the station to +the Parker House at the corner of Tremont and School streets, just a +block from the famed Boston Common. + +“We will not be able to do much in the way of business until +to-morrow,” announced the professor as they were shown to a pleasant +room in the great hostelry. “I want to show you around the Common in +the morning, however. Then we will map out our programme.” + +Professor Barrington was pretty well tired out with the excitement and +cares of the day. Frank was glad when he announced that he would go to +bed, as it was then past 10 o’clock. + +“Now for it,” Frank said to himself, following out an idea he had +carried in his mind for several hours. Frank went to the telephone +booth in the hotel, directing the operator to call up long distance. + +New York City was the connection he desired, specifically the hotel at +which Professor Barrington had been a guest. Frank was at the ’phone +for some time and left the booth with animated step and a bright face. +He returned at once to the room upstairs. The Professor was slumbering +peacefully as a child. Frank closed the door softly after him and +proceeded to lift to a stand the satchel he had found, and which he had +brought to Boston with him. + +Frank repacked the satchel carefully, wrote an address on a card and +tied it to the handle. Then he also went to bed. The next morning Frank +was astir early and was dressed before the professor awoke. The latter +blinked at Frank, then at the satchel. + +“H’m!” he observed. “Disagreeable impression. That satchel. Mystery, +too--clouded. What you doing with it now?” + +“I am sending it back to the owner, Professor Barrington,” explained +Frank. + +“Why, how can you do that? Do you know the owner?” + +“Yes, sir,” replied Frank. “In the same connection, I have a very +pleasing announcement to make to you. I have located your own satchel +and expect it will be in your hands safe and sound again within the +next twenty-four hours.” + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +ON BOSTON COMMON + + +Professor Barrington jumped to his feet as though he had received an +electric shock. He fumbled about for his glasses, adjusted them and +then stared at Frank. + +“You can’t mean it, Durham,” he declared, quaveringly. “The satchel all +right? I’m to get it back?” + +“Yes, sir, I promise that,” returned Frank. “I didn’t want to bother +you, Professor Barrington, with all you had on your mind. Besides, I +wasn’t sure of my ground until after you had gone to sleep. I will +explain, if you like.” + +“You’ve dazed me,” declared the professor, sinking to a seat. “I can’t +understand it at all.” + +“It is very simple,” stated Frank, but there was pride in his tone. +“You see, what you did when you left the hotel in New York City was to +pick up a satchel which did not belong to you.” + +“Dear me!” gasped the professor. “Just like me. I declare! My wits +will go wool-gathering some day and get me into all kinds of trouble. +Stupidity--unutterable!” and the old gentleman gave his head a sharp +crack with his hand. + +“The idea came to me when I found an envelope in that satchel there,” +continued Frank. “It bore the address of a lady at the hotel you had +just left. I got the hotel on long distance. Your mistake----” + +“Incalculable blockheadedness!” corrected the professor. + +“Your mistake,” went on Frank, mildly, “had already been discovered +by the clerk. He did not know where to reach you, but when I took the +liberty of ’phoning to him as your representative, we straightened out +affairs at once. He will ship your satchel by the first express. I must +get this one back to its owner.” + +Professor Barrington was moving about the room briskly when Frank +returned, after expressing the satchel that had gone through so many +adventures. He rubbed his hands together in a pleased way and beamed on +Frank with satisfaction as he remarked: + +“I’ve been told I ought to have a guardian; you have proven it, Durham. +I declare, it was fortunate I had you with me. You see, those fellows +who followed us on the train are a desperate lot.” + +“There is no doubt that they are a dangerous crowd,” assented Frank. + +“And they won’t let us alone now, I’ll warrant,” observed the +professor. “If I didn’t know I was in such safe and able hands, I +believe I’d call in the police for protection.” + +“There will be no occasion for that, I fancy,” responded Frank. “I +believe as you do that these men realize that you have an idea of +value and want to steal it from you. That comes up every day, though, +especially in the movies line. Everybody in that field is trying to get +ahead of his neighbor. We must expect lots of rivalry. Of course you +would know the man you met in New York City who pretended to be able to +help you in your plans?” + +“Oh, yes, I should recognize him on sight,” the professor assured +Frank. “He knows my plans, and he knows that the elaborate outline of +its details in my satchel is well worth stealing. He doesn’t know the +main essential of my project, however.” + +“You mean, Professor?” queried Frank. + +“The big chance there is in getting an ideal location here in which to +start the educational photo playhouse.” + +“You have got that; have you?” asked Frank, very much interested. + +“I certainly have,” replied the professor, with manifest pride. “I +saw at once at the outset that there might be some difficulty in +introducing a new kind of motion picture feature to the public. I spent +fully two months in deciding as to the best city. Of course it was +Boston.” + +“A very wise choice, I should say,” agreed Frank. + +“Then I also knew that location was everything. I devoted days and days +to visiting every section of the city. It was an educational experience +for me and brought me against many practical, business facts. At one +time I fancied I must locate in a very cultured neighborhood and hire a +prim, eminently respectable hall. Then for a spell I favored a location +near several educational institutions. + +“It dawned on me, though, that my possible patrons would be +comparatively few in number; that maybe they had already a surfeit of +learning. So, I decided on one point--it was that if I couldn’t in some +way interest the masses and popularize my project as an entertainment, +I couldn’t make a lasting success of it.” + +“I think your idea was a good one,” commented Frank. + +“Thank you, Durham,” replied the professor, “and I think a great deal +of your good judgment. Well, I finally determined that there was one +best location and that was on Boston Common.” + +“Why, Professor Barrington,” spoke Frank, “can it be done?” + +“It can,” answered the professor, positively. “It’s taken some digging +to find that out, but I accomplished what I was after. It is true that +Boston Common is a limited and very exclusive bit of territory, but it +is changing, as all business centers do, and the quick and ready man +with capital can get his opportunity by watching out for it and acting +quickly when the right time comes. + +“I’ve brought you down here because I’ve got to decide on a location +within the next two days or lose my option on a most valuable lease. +I don’t expect you and your people to go into this thing blindfolded, +although you’ve got to act quickly. I suggest that we fortify ourselves +with a good breakfast. Then I will take you for a stroll, that will +show you the exact situation far better than I can tell it to you.” + +“That will be fine, Professor Barrington,” said Frank. “I shall be +interested in more ways than one, as this is my first view of Boston.” + +Everything seemed going so smoothly now that the professor was as gay +as a schoolboy on a lark. As they reached Tremont street just opposite +the Common, Frank halted involuntarily, caught by the novelty of the +scene. His first glance singled out several playhouses already located +there. His companion pointed out the Temple, given over to educational +exhibitions, concerts and the like; a well-known vaudeville theater, +and several popular playhouses. + +“There’s the subway to Cambridge, on Tremont street,” explained the +professor, “and that is the State House at the far end of the Common. +This is the hub of Boston, just as the city itself is the ‘Hub of the +Universe.’” + +Frank as yet knew little of the city, but he was quick-witted enough +to realize that the professor had selected a fine location for his +enterprise. The places of entertainment already established, the +presence of the crowds, the general environment decided Frank, just +as it had done when he had picked out the vacant structure on upper +Broadway in New York City that had become the best venture of the +moving picture chums--the Empire. + +“Yes,” observed Frank, thoughtfully, “location is everything. I am at +your command, Professor Barrington, to go through with the proposition +as speedily and thoroughly as possible.” + +“There are two places on the Common that are available,” explained the +professor, “although the fact is not generally known. We will take in +the first one, as it is nearest at hand. Here we are,” announced the +speaker, stepping to the curb out of the way of passing pedestrians and +halting his companion by his side. + +They faced a narrow building of an old type. It was not yet open, but +the lettering on the windows apprised Frank of the fact that it was a +large stationers’ supply store. + +“The people here are going to move as soon as their new building on +Washington street is ready for them,” spoke the professor. “The place +is not yet on the market, but the present occupants are anxious to +transfer their lease.” + +“Why,” remarked Frank, “the place does not strike me very favorably. It +is narrow, it can’t be of very great depth and would not hold much of +an audience.” + +“Oh, well, I never thought seriously of it,” explained the professor. +“There’s some kind of a warehouse at the rear goes with it. I just +mentioned it because it is one of the only two places on the Common +where there is the slightest chance of getting space.” + +“And the other place?” questioned Frank, who was not at all impressed +with the one just inspected. + +Professor Barrington led the way for about a square. A double building +used as a restaurant finally faced them. The depth was fair, it showed +plenty of floor space, but, unfamiliar as he was with the city, Frank +did not like the location. The structure suggested business rather than +entertainment. It was out of the amusement belt. + +“How do you like it?” questioned Professor Barrington, eagerly. + +“To tell you the truth, it appears sort of lonely and isolated to me.” + +“But look at the roominess!” urged the professor. + +“That is something; but not everything,” replied Frank. “The place +would have to be remodeled, and in constructing an attractive entrance +and rounding the stage end so all of the audience can see the pictures, +a good deal of room must be used up.” + +“You must remember, Durham, that you might not find as large a space as +that again on the Common within the next ten years. You see--” + +In the midst of his earnest championship of his pet location, the +professor came to so abrupt a pause that Frank was startled. His +companion had grasped his arm violently. With his other hand he pointed +at two passing men. + +“Look--look sharp, Durham,” he whispered in a low, quick tone, “there’s +the man I spoke about; the fellow I told my scheme to in New York City.” + +Frank’s glance swept the two persons. The one nearest to him he +recognized at once as the man who had sat in the same car with them on +the train and who had stolen the satchel. + +It was the companion of this person at whom the professor was pointing. +In a flash Frank identified this individual. + +“Why,” he said instantly, “that is Slavin!” + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +RIVALS IN ACTION + + +“Slavin?” exclaimed Professor Barrington, not understanding Frank’s +remark. “Why, in New York City he told me his name was Taylor.” + +“He was deceiving you,” declared Frank. “If that is the man who tried +to worm your secrets out of you, all that has happened since we left +New York is easily explained. He is a dangerous man. I am glad I now +know who is at the bottom of all this mischief. We need not work in the +dark any longer.” + +“What do you mean, Durham?” inquired the professor, curiously. + +“That he is a criminal,” replied Frank, “and if he troubles us any +further I shall hand him over to the police.” + +“Tell me--” began the professor, but Frank took his arm and moved along +in the direction pursued by the two men in advance of them. + +“I will explain all this to you later,” he told his companion rapidly. +“I want to see where those men are bound. They must have just arrived +in the city. I suspect where they are headed. Yes,” added Frank, “I +thought so.” + +“Thought what, Durham?” inquired the professor. + +“They have turned towards our hotel. They must guess or know that you +would put up there. They have gone inside. We will go in too, Professor +Barrington, but please keep in the background as much as possible while +I try to find out what they are up to.” + +Without making himself at all conspicuous Frank soon found out what the +precious pair were doing. He saw them go to the clerk’s desk. One of +them looked over the register. He seemed to find what he was looking +for in the list of guests and pointed it out to his companion. Then +they left the hotel. + +“We had better get up to our room, Professor,” suggested Frank, +rejoining his friend. “There is a good deal to talk about.” + +“I should say there was,” replied Professor Barrington, quite +disturbed. “About that man who told me his name was Taylor--I want you +to explain, Durham. Dear! Dear! The pitfalls of business that yawn for +an innocent old fossil like myself!” + +“His real name is Slavin,” explained Frank, as they seated themselves +in their room. “He is a man who has been a sort of brigand and pest in +the movies line for two years. The fellow has no standing with the good +film exchanges and I fancied he had been forced out of the field months +ago.” + +“He fooled me completely,” declared the professor. “From what he told +me I thought he was hand in glove with all the big movies men.” + +“You were lucky to get out of his clutches as easily as you have,” said +Frank, “for he is a crafty swindler. I knew him when we first started +the Airdrome at Riverside Grove. He had a hold on a poor lad named +Dave Sawyer, whom we rescued from his clutches and who is now looking +after the Airdrome. Slavin got mad because we were first in securing +a lease he was after. He annoyed us in a dozen mean ways, shunting a +searchlight down into the Airdrome while an entertainment was going on, +and finally trying to blow us up with dynamite. When we got the proofs +of that he disappeared, leaving all kinds of unpaid bills behind him.” + +“A regular rascal; eh?” observed the professor. “If he’s as bad as +that, won’t he bother and harry us?” + +“He won’t be permitted to do that,” replied Frank, decidedly, “for I +shall not allow it. There is no doubt to my way of thinking but that +he is bound to find out how and where you are going to locate and try +and get ahead of you. I think, too, he dislikes me, so he would be +glad to injure me. Being fully advised of his probable intentions, I +am forewarned. First and foremost, we must guard against those fellows +discovering where we hope to locate.” + +“They’ll spy on us and follow us,” said the professor. + +“Then leave it to me to throw them off the trail,” returned Frank. “The +great point in this plan of yours is the chance of finding a suitable +stand on Boston Common. Can it be done? If it can, then I feel sure +that my partners will think as I do that your educational film project +is a first-class proposition and that we will be glad to go in with +you.” + +“That is good news,” declared the professor, his frank face betraying +the pleasure and satisfaction he felt. “As to the location, I’m sorry +you do not look with favor on the ones I had selected.” + +“I don’t say that,” Frank hastened to explain. “I am only thinking that +there may be a better one. I always look for the best, and it may pay +us well to search more closely before we decide on something that only +half satisfies us.” + +“You forget, Durham,” responded the professor, earnestly, “that I have +spent nearly a month seeking a location. I have visited nearly every +building facing the Common, and have interviewed owners and agents. +I would almost guarantee that there is not another lease existing +or prospective that could be secured. It took a deal of inquiry and +probing to find out about the two we have in view.” + +“Well,” said Frank, “I would like to go over those two in a thorough +way, and I suggest that I investigate them in detail later in the day.” + +“That’s all right,” was the reply, “in fact the very thing,” and then +the speaker went on to explain the condition of the two leases and the +terms, with which Frank familiarized himself. + +“When my satchel arrives,” the professor added, “I want you to see what +a splendid programme I have laid out. Nobody will get ahead of us as to +that, Durham, for it has taken months to arrange my connections and get +up the material to start with films that are simply wonderful.” + +From the later talk of the professor, Frank was satisfied that the +operating end of the proposition was no dream. The rarity, nature and +variety of some of the films his companion described quite enthralled +the young leader of the motion picture chums. + +He was neither uneasy nor alarmed as to the enmity and plotting of +Slavin and his cohorts. Every inch of the way in his former progress +in the movies line Frank had been called upon to fight for his rights. +Keen wit and straightforward action had heretofore scored success for +him. He was now ready for a new battle, if occasion demanded it. + +Frank had every reason for believing that his enemies would be on the +alert to spy on their movements. They had been baffled in getting hold +of the precious satchel; but a knowledge of the ideas of Professor +Barrington was theirs. Outwitting a business rival by getting ahead of +him in securing some desirable lease was a favorite line of tactics for +Slavin. He was notorious for this kind of scheming, generally seeking +to block the plans of the people he was after, relying on their paying +a big bonus to buy him out. + +Frank was about his business shortly after luncheon. The satchel had +not arrived, and the professor was so anxious about it that he decided +to remain at the hotel until it came. Frank was glad of this. He had +been put in possession of all the facts about the leases by his +new friend and had calculated the risk of Slavin or his emissaries +shadowing them. Alone, he knew he could more easily evade his rivals +than if the slow-going, blundering professor were in his company. + +“I’ll give the big double store fair play,” Frank decided; “but it +isn’t exactly what we want.” As he approached the place and looked it +over from the outside and took in its entire environment, he was less +in favor of the location than ever. + +However, he entered the place and inquired for a Mr. Page. This was the +person with whom the professor had been negotiating. Frank introduced +himself. + +“I had not heard from Professor Barrington as I expected, and I began +to think he had given up considering us,” said Mr. Page. “In fact, I +felt warranted in looking out for a new tenant. I have not definitely +found one, but several business firms are figuring on the lease. You +know that the verbal option I gave to the professor expired yesterday.” + +“I did not know it,” replied Frank, in some surprise. “The professor +must have got confused in his dates, for he supposes the choice is open +for him for some days to come.” + +“Well, it must be a free chance for everybody if you do not decide +quickly,” announced Mr. Page in a business-like way. “Will you look +around the place?” + +This Frank did and his inspection was a thorough one. His past +experience was a great guide to him. A good deal was at stake, Frank +realized. He was able to picture just how the place would look when +transformed. He was also able to calculate the cost, the opportunities +for improvement, and the conveniences as to light, heat, ventilation, +exits and seating capacity. + +Frank devoted nearly an hour to his investigation. At the end of that +time he informed Mr. Page that he would see the professor and decide +upon what they would do at once. He came out upon the street to again +look critically over the exterior. He was thoughtful and serious as he +stood on the edge of the sidewalk taking in the surroundings. + +“Now for the other place,” soliloquized Frank, and he passed down the +square until he came to the old stationery store. All the time he had +kept a sharp lookout for Slavin and his friend. As he entered the +store, however, Frank was satisfied that no one had been following him. + +The interior of the stationery store certainly was not very inviting, +but Frank was not inclined to form a decision from a superficial +inspection. The store was indeed narrow, as he had observed in the +morning, but Frank had in view the old warehouse at the rear that the +professor had told him about. + +The proprietor of the place directed him to this. The present rental +was less than half what the people at the other location asked. Frank’s +eyes took on a speculative expression as, after crossing a few feet of +yard space, he looked into the building that covered waste room at the +rear of the store. + +“Why, this is simply great!” he told himself a minute later. “This old +building is as big as a theatre. What a palace paint and gilt could +make of it!” + +Frank had entered the stationery store rather cool in his views of the +location. He came out of it with some new ideas in his mind. His face +was bright and he walked quickly. As he passed the first store he had +visited he chanced to glance through its windows. + +“Hello!” he ejaculated. “Slavin and his friend were earlier birds than +I thought.” + +He hurried his steps in the direction of the hotel, but not until he +had fully recognized the two men inside the store. They were talking +with Mr. Page, its proprietor. + +“They must have seen me go in; they must have been watching me clear +from the hotel,” mused Frank. “They are after that lease. Perhaps they +are now closing their negotiations.” + +A queer smile crossed Frank’s face. It was as though some pleasing +thought occupied his mind. Then he said, with satisfaction: + +“Well, I’m going to fool them!” + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A TRICK OF THE ENEMY + + +Frank hurried back to the hotel. A brilliant picture filled his +thoughts, his eyes sparkled, and the harder he cogitated the more +alluring became the prospect. + +“There never was a chance like it,” he said almost breathlessly, as he +reached the hotel. “Why! Professor Barrington is not here!” he added, +as he entered their room. + +Frank was about to go downstairs again, counting on finding his friend +in the lobby, when he noticed a sheet of paper with writing on it lying +across the table in the middle of the room. + +“What’s this, now?” he spoke, picking up the document and scanning it +closely. It read: + + “I am in serious trouble and wish you to see me and take some + messages to friends. Please come at once to 22 Burdell Row.” + +The scrawl was signed “Aaron Bissell.” It seemed to Frank that he +had heard the professor refer to a person of that name high up in +educational circles. It appeared as though the message had called the +professor away from the hotel and that this explained his absence. + +Frank noted that the message had been hurriedly scrawled and that it +had not been folded. In one corner was the notation in pencil: “Tel. +3:43,” and Frank readily discerned that it had come over the hotel +telephone about fifteen minutes before. + +“I’ll make sure of that,” he reflected, and he verified his surmise +from the operator downstairs. There was no valid reason why Frank +should entertain any suspicions. It was natural that a friend in +distress should send for the professor, who was kind to everybody; +still, a memory of the sly nature of Slavin and his adherents flashed +into Frank’s thoughts. He went to the clerk at the desk. + +“Do you know if anything came by express for Professor Barrington +to-day?” he asked. + +“Why, yes--just now,” was the response. “Is that it?” and the clerk +searched in a rack behind him and produced a satchel with a tag +attached to it. + +Frank noted that it was addressed to his friend, and bore the printed +name of the hotel in New York that he had ’phoned to the evening +before. The clerk pushed the satchel towards him as if he expected +Frank to take it away, but the latter said: + +“I won’t take it just now; not until I see Professor Barrington. +It would be a great favor to me if you would place that satchel +under special lock and key, and not deliver it to anybody under any +circumstances except to the professor himself.” + +“It contains something of value, then?” asked the hotel clerk. + +“Immensely valuable, yes,” responded Frank. + +“I’ll put it in one of the safes, then,” declared the clerk, and did so. + +Frank went back to his room. He was satisfied now. If the professor had +been called away to leave the coast clear for some new rascality, then +Slavin and his friends would be disappointed. Frank’s faint suspicions +faded from his mind as he sat down at a table and began figuring on a +pad of blank paper. + +For an hour he was wrapped in many calculations. Then he sat back like +a person planning and dreaming. Finally he got to pacing the floor, his +face still wearing an expression of deep thought. + +“Hello!” he exclaimed at length, gazing in surprise at his watch. “Why, +here I’ve been dreaming the time away for nearly two hours. And it’s +strange, with all the interest the professor has in those leases, that +he doesn’t return or send me some word. I can only wait, though.” + +Frank sat down again at the table, and resumed his figuring on +dimensions and estimates. The result seemed to please him. A great many +thoughts flashed through his active mind. + +“I’ll do it!” he exclaimed at last, rising to his feet and putting on +his hat. “I’ll send the telegram, so there may be no delay. I don’t +know how Professor Barrington may take it--perhaps Mr. Strapp may not +come into my ideas; but I feel I’m right and I’m going ahead on my own +hook.” + +Frank went downstairs and wrote out and dispatched a telegram to New +York City. It was addressed to Mr. Hank Strapp at the Empire photo +playhouse. Then Frank went out to the Common, after making sure that no +lurking spy was watching him. When he arrived at the stationery shop he +dodged in quickly. + +It was nearly half an hour later when he reappeared. Thoughtfulness had +given place to a buoyant, confident manner. Frank snapped his fingers +briskly, and hurried back to the hotel as if he had taken a definite +stand on the subject of his recent cogitations, and had done something +final regarding it. + +“I don’t care much if a dozen Slavins are watching me now,” he +soliloquized. “I’ve blocked their game for certain.” + +Frank was first impatient, then amazed and finally anxious as six +o’clock arrived and no word came from his absent friend. His early +suspicions took a more definite form. He finally went downstairs again +and asked the hotel clerk the location of Burdell Row. He found it to +be about four miles distant, but a street car would take him there. +By this time Frank was worried. It was strange, he thought, that the +professor should remain away so long when his mind was so set on the +leases they had under consideration. + +Within an hour Frank reached Burdell Row. It was a narrow, crooked +thoroughfare in a poor section of the city, and lined with cheap +stores. Frank came to No. 22 to find it a low, rickety building +occupied by an ice cream parlor. + +The proprietor, a coarse featured, shabbily dressed man, was the only +person visible through the grimy front windows. Frank entered the place +and was about to question the man when, glancing past the straggly +strings of curtains festooning the archway leading to the back room, +he descried a familiar form at a table. It was Professor Barrington. + +“I came about that gentleman,” said Frank, going straight into the rear +room. “Why, he is asleep.” + +The professor sat in a chair, his eyes closed and his head leaning +over. Frank went up to him and seized his arm and shook it. + +“Professor--Professor Barrington!” he called loudly. “Wake up! What +does this mean?” + +Frank eyed the proprietor of the place suspiciously as his friend +stirred, mumbled some meaningless words and sank further down in the +chair. + +“Why, he’s asleep, as you see,” retorted the man, indifferently. + +“How long has he been here?” inquired Frank, both suspicious and +alarmed now. + +“He came here about three o’clock this afternoon and asked if a man +named Bissell was here. I told him no; but that a man had been here an +hour before who said that if anybody inquired for a Mr. Bissell, he +was to wait. So this man took a seat, as you see. In a little while +the first fellow came in again. He talked with this one here. Then he +ordered two glasses of lemonade. Then he came out. He said the old man +was asleep, that some friends would call for him, but to let him sleep +until they came. He gave me a dollar for the privilege. That’s all I +know about it.” + +Frank doubted this. The speaker had a bad face and looked sneaking and +untruthful. More than ever did Frank distrust the man. He was satisfied +from the professor’s condition that something to make him drowsy had +been mixed with the lemonade. + +“I think I see it all,” mused Frank, succeeding in getting his friend +to his feet. He led him to the street, where the fresh air began to +revive him. + +“Eh? Ah! Why, Durham, have I been asleep? No, no--I must not leave +here,” he resisted, as Frank strove to move him along. “I must wait for +a friend.” + +“You have waited for him for over four hours already, Professor,” +observed Frank, “and he has not come, nor will he come----” + +“But I received a telephone message from Mr. Bissell.” + +“You are mistaken,” insisted Frank. “I have reason to believe that the +person who sent the message to the hotel, did so to keep you out of +the way until he carried out some new nefarious scheme to block your +educational film project.” + +“Durham!” almost shouted the professor. “You amaze me. You do not mean +that that man who told me his name was Taylor has been playing a new +trick on us?” + +“Just exactly that, I fear,” replied Frank. “You have certainly been +lured away and kept away from the hotel for some purpose.” + +“Why,” cried the professor, fully roused, “it’s a new plot to get that +satchel!” + +“No, not that,” declared Frank. “The satchel is all right. It arrived +just before I started in search of you. I got the clerk to place it in +the safe and instructed him to deliver it to nobody but yourself.” + +“You relieve me greatly, Durham,” declared the professor. “But what +could be the object of sending me on this fool errand?” + +“I can only guess,” replied Frank, “but I think our enemies are busy on +that lease.” + +“You don’t mean the big place I’m so anxious about?” questioned the +professor, growing excited again. + +“Just that,” said Frank, and explained about being followed by Slavin +and his confederate and about seeing them in the place afterwards. + +The recital had an extraordinary effect upon Professor Barrington. He +became greatly excited and wrung his hands. Then, noticing a taxicab +coming down the street, he ran out in front of it, heedless of danger. + +“Hi, there!” he shouted; “stop that machine! Jump in, quick,” he +directed Frank, and then to the man: “Boston Common--and drive for your +life!” + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A GLOWING PROSPECT + + +“It’s ruin! All my fine plans gone for nothing! Durham, those rascals +have outwitted us! They have got the lease of that place and our +educational film project has tumbled to pieces like a house of cards!” + +Professor Barrington came bursting out of the store building into which +he had just rushed precipitately, like a man out of his senses. His +spectacles hung from one ear. With one hand he clutched a bunch of his +sparse hair. His hat was on awry and he looked as if he had lost his +last friend. + +“Hold on,” said Frank gently, as he caught hold of the speaker, who +seemed about to collapse from excess of emotion. “See here, you’re all +wrong. Those fellows have fallen into a trap. I’ve got something ten +times better than that lease and-- Help me in with him,” Frank had to +appeal to the driver of the taxicab, for his charge was swaying to and +fro. + +The man jumped out of the machine and got their burden safely into the +seat of the machine. The professor sank back among the cushions with a +groan. He did not hear or was heedless of what Frank had said. + +“Drive to the Parker House,” directed the latter. “He is not able to +walk there.” + +The doctored lemonade, his recent excitement and the shock of +disappointment he had sustained, or all together, had overcome the +sensitive savant. Frank supported him in the seat. When they got to the +hotel he partly roused him. + +“We will get to our room at once,” he suggested. “I have some good news +for you.” + +“Atrocious! Disreputable!” mumbled the professor, indifferent to +everything but the apparent blasting of all his high ambitions. Frank +managed to guide him into the lobby of the hotel and thence to the +elevator. He got his charge up to their room. The professor weakly sank +to a couch. + +“I’ll be back as soon as I settle with the chauffeur,” said Frank, but +his friend did not appear to hear him. He was moving his head from side +to side and mumbling incoherent words, such as “pick of locations,” +“the ideal place gone--gone!” + +Frank paid the chauffeur and came back into the hotel. He paused at +the clerk’s desk long enough to order a pitcher of ice water for their +room. He was starting for the elevator when a hearty slap on the back +caused him to turn sharply. + +“Hi, hello!” piped a cheery voice, and there was Pep Smith, brisk and +lively as ever, his face on a broad grin. + +“I had to bring him along, Durham,” spoke Mr. Strapp, extending his +hand to his favorite. + +“You bet he did!” cried Pep. “Why, as soon as that telegram came saying +‘All right,’ I told Mr. Strapp you had run against something big or +you would never have wired so soon. We were at the depot inside of ten +minutes and just caught the fast train.” + +“Is it ‘All right,’ Durham?” inquired the ex-ranchman, showing more +curiosity than doubt, as to the judgment of his young business +associate. + +“Mr. Strapp,” replied Frank animatedly, “it’s more than all right. +It’s so good that I couldn’t take the risk of any delay. If I am not +mistaken I have stumbled across one of those chances that come around +about once in a lifetime.” + +“Say, what is it?” pressed the excitable Pep, fairly wriggling with +suspense. + +“There’s something to tell before we get down to the real kernel of +the proposition,” explained Frank. “Come up to the room and I’ll unfold +my story. It has been quite an exciting one.” + +“You don’t say so!” observed the Westerner. “Our wise old friend been +making you some trouble?” + +“Not a bit of it,” dissented Frank, “but other people have. You +remember that fellow Slavin, who nearly put us out of business at +Riverside Grove?” + +“Hello!” exclaimed Pep. “Has he bobbed up again?” + +“I should think he had,” replied Frank, and as they went upstairs, he +recited briefly the eventful history of the missing satchel. Mr. Strapp +looked pretty grim and his firm mouth set in a stern way. Pep’s fists +worked as though he was ready and anxious for a fight. + +“And you outwitted the miserable schemers after all; eh?” asked Mr. +Strapp, as Frank told of his long distance message to New York. + +“Yes, the satchel is here safe and sound,” replied Frank. “That hasn’t +squelched Slavin, though. Come in,” he added, for they had reached the +door of the room. + +Professor Barrington lay on the couch with his eyes closed. He was +apparently asleep. Frank ranged some chairs at the other end of the +apartment and beckoned his friends to seats. + +“Professor Barrington has just had a pretty bad shaking up,” Frank told +them. “He must be weak and exhausted after the shock. I don’t think he +had better be disturbed, and I will have an opportunity to tell you the +rest of my story.” + +Frank had left off at a recital of his starting out that morning to +decide upon a location. He now told of the plot to trap the professor +and keep him out of the way until Slavin and his fellow schemers got +ahead of him, as he supposed. + +“My! All that would make a regular motorphoto film,” broke in Pep. + +“It makes me furious,” exclaimed Mr. Strapp--“to think that honest +people are to be so pestered by such riff-raff! I have a good mind to +hand this Slavin fellow over to the police on the charge of blowing us +up at the Grove.” + +“His associates would go right on with their plans, just the same,” +said Frank. “They think they have got ahead of us.” + +“Why, it looks so; doesn’t it?” observed the Westerner in a rather +sober tone. + +“It looks that way; but it isn’t,” answered Frank, a twinkle of +confidence in his eye. “The big double store was never the place for a +first-class show--I saw that at a glance.” + +“But--being the only one?” suggested Mr. Strapp. + +“Not at all,” was Frank’s confident reply. + +“Why, you said the other store was so narrow it wouldn’t allow for four +rows of seats.” + +“Just that,” returned Frank, rather enjoying the perplexity of his +friends. “But you see that was the professor’s point of view. This +morning I made a discovery. The people who occupy the stationery shop +have a lease as well of a big building at the rear. It almost connects +with the shop. There is just a narrow passageway, and then you are in a +great structure nearly fifty by one hundred and fifty feet. It’s been +used as a warehouse. Look here.” + +Frank took up from the table the sheets of paper he had been figuring +and sketching on half the afternoon. He showed one which reproduced in +diagram the space covered by the lease. Then he held up the columns of +figures on the other sheets. + +“Mr. Strapp,” he said, “I have figured it all out. We get that big +building almost thrown in. It will make the finest auditorium you ever +saw, as it will seat over five hundred people. Paint, gilt and other +improvements will make it a playhouse. It’s away from the noise and +crush of the street.” + +“Yes, that’s all right, and it’s a dream; but what about the store +space?” + +“We will make a foyer and entrance of it,” declared Frank, growing +enthusiastic as he painted the picture of his imagination. + +“Think of it--the finest, roomiest entrance in Boston! Not a little box +of a place, where people crowd and crush one another, but a beautifully +tiled and decorated room. It will be dazzling with electric lights. The +walls, frescoed, will be covered with pictures. There will be chairs, +settees, comfort and elegance. We will have vases of real flowers set +on graceful stands. Our patrons can rest, chat, fill their souls with +their beautiful surroundings, waiting for the dispersing crowd to make +room for them. We can make of the outside the most attractive front of +any place of entertainment on Boston Common.” + +Frank paused in his description as Mr. Strapp gave him a nudge. He +turned quickly to observe that Professor Barrington had arisen from the +couch. The old man, it seemed, had heard all that had been said. His +eyes were eager, his face was flushed and his lips were parted in a +delighted smile. + +“Durham,” he said, “you’ve saved the day. It’s like a dream!” + +“Which we are going to make come true,” cried Mr. Strapp, springing to +his feet and waving his hand excitedly. “Durham, you’re a wizard, and +we’re going to have the finest photo playhouse in the world!” + + + + +CHAPTER X + +FIRE + + +“There was never anything like it in the movies!” exclaimed Randy +Powell, enthusiastically. + +“It can’t be beat,” echoed the excited Pep Smith. “We’re up at the +top--we can’t get any higher.” + +“When this playhouse is all done and the electric lights on--say, it +will be a real fairyland!” continued Randy. + +“And to think of the poor back country Wonderland we started with less +than two years ago,” said Pep. “It’s like a dream--all of it.” + +“Then don’t wake me up!” begged Randy. + +He and Pep stood just within the great building at the rear of the +former stationery store fronting Boston Common. + +How swiftly the time had passed since the day Mr. Strapp and Pep had +arrived in the city in answer to the urgent wire from Frank Durham, +his lively lieutenants had not realized until the present moment. The +events crowded into a few weeks’ time ran through Pep’s active mind as +swiftly as an unwinding film. + +Frank had soon convinced his friends that he had not overestimated the +value of the new location. “Right on the nail head” the impetuous Mr. +Strapp had paid down a sum to bind the lease. When Frank had shown +them what capital, taste and art could do, they mentally saw the old +warehouse structure transformed into a veritable palace. + +And to that end work had been promptly begun. The stationer moved out +at the end of ten days and the front of the store building was boarded +up. The motion picture chums made no public announcement of their +intention. Everything was done on a carefully thought out plan. + +It cost money to obtain the services of a skilled architect and +builder, but the partners knew they would get good results from the +investment. The outside houses of the amusement company were put on a +basis of independent operation, with agents in charge. The Empire was +too well-paying a proposition to drop, and it continued to be their +official headquarters. + +For all that, however, the main interest was centered on the new +educational film project. Randy and Pep, with Ben Jolly, who had +joined the main party, were in love with it. There were many initial +steps to take. The details employed all hands busily and Hal Vincent +was called to New York and a capable movies man substituted for him at +Seaside Park. Jolly, Randy and Pep would be needed at Boston when the +new photo playhouse was opened. + +“It’s going to be a permanent thing, if I don’t miss my guess,” Mr. +Strapp had declared. “The lads are aching to rummage around the new +show. Let ’em do it, Durham, and get acquainted with it and the city +generally. To my way of thinking this is going to be a high-toned sort +of proposition. Let the boys get the Boston flavor--see?” + +So arrangements were made for a suite of rooms at a cheaper hotel than +the Parker House. Daily the new venture took on form and substance. It +was delightful to see the “Standard” grow. That was the name Mr. Strapp +had picked out after meditating for nearly a whole day. + +“There may be a better one,” Frank told Randy; “but Mr. Strapp feels +proud over his selection and we must let him have his way.” + +Professor Barrington was probably the happiest man alive; at least he +declared he was. He proved how little he knew of business methods by +signing the partnership contract without even looking at it. Then +when Frank insisted that he should read it over, his face beamed with +confidence and delight. + +“It’s too fair on my side,” he declared. “I knew you were the right +kind and I find you are the very best kind. Thanks, and I’ll deserve +all you are doing for me.” + +All the professor asked was to be told the date on which the Standard +would open. His mind became engrossed with his own particular section +of the project. No one intruded any bothersome details upon his +thoughts. He was expected to get his many correspondents ready to send +in the special films he had ordered and think up new subjects. + +Of his ability to do this there was not the slightest doubt in the +minds of his associates, after the eager enthusiast had opened up the +treasures of that wonderful satchel of his. It was a marvelous evening +for all, upon which he did this. + +It was not what the professor had to show ready for use that comprised +the essence of his scheme. It was what he could get. There was scarcely +a subject--educational, classical or historical--that he had not +covered in the tabulation he had prepared of interesting themes that +would appeal to the public. + +“It’s just--compelling!” declared Randy Powell. “Wise old fellow! He’s +got a programme that will fascinate an audience from a four-year old +boy up to a centenarian.” + +“Say, I’ve got a new idea myself,” broke in Pep, but Randy squelched +him by proceeding: + +“It’s the wonders of nature features that are going to win. Why, it +looks as if the professor had just slashed up the map of the world, +figured out what each section had that was odd and wonderful, and set +his agents at work to produce results.” + +“You see, this scheme of mine is a big idea for opening night,” +persisted Pep. + +“Oh, bother!” shrugged his comrade. “This is no cheap nickel business +to fool with.” + +“Huh!” returned Pep. “Maybe you don’t know what I’m thinking about.” + +“Well, then, tell it,” said Randy. + +“No. I won’t now. I guess I’ve got some brains. And I’ve got a big +thought. You sha’n’t even have a hint of it. I’ll tell Mr. Strapp--I +bet he’ll encourage me.” + +“If there’s a wild horse of the plains in it you’ll catch him--sure!” +remarked the mischievous Randy. + +Pep nursed a grudge against Randy all one day for snubbing him so. +If he went on with his “big thought,” he did not tell his comrade. +However, Pep forgot any rancor he might have harbored as greater things +coming along turned the current of his thoughts. + +The two young friends fancied they had reached the height of their +ambition the afternoon that opens the present chapter. Mr. Strapp was +at their hotel auditing some bills. Ben Jolly was touring the local +music houses looking for a pipe organ and a piano for the Standard. +Frank had gone to New York the evening previous to visit the Empire. +He was also to meet Professor Barrington, who was getting his films in +order. + +The workmen had just left the building they were reconstructing. Randy +had a key to the rough door set into the slanting board front. He and +Pep had wandered about the place taking in its details. + +It would take another week to complete the decorations of the entrance, +but enough had been done to show what it would look like. An exquisite +tiling had been laid, handsome chandeliers set in place and the ceiling +had been arched. The effect aimed at was that of a brilliant, roomy +space suggesting a big reception room. + +The rear wall of the store had been torn away and the fifteen-foot +space behind it built over so as to join the warehouse. The latter had +been turned into a spacious auditorium. The stage and its surroundings +were handsome and massive and the fresco work on the walls was the +finest that money could produce. The floor had been inclined so that +there was not a poor viewpoint in the house. The folding seats, piled +up ready to set in place, were comfortable, and broad and deep as easy +chairs. The floor was covered with a tinted canvas cloth that deadened +the sound of persons moving about. + +“Well, this part of the show is pretty nearly done,” remarked Pep. +“Mr. Strapp tells the truth when he boasts of this as the finest photo +playhouse in America.” + +“I’d like to stay a whole hour looking it over,” said Randy, “but it’s +getting dusk. Come, we’ll get to the hotel and tell Mr. Strapp what we +think of it.” + +“I wonder what that Slavin crowd think of our doings?” remarked Pep, +curiously. “Of course they know what we’re up to.” + +“Yes,” replied Randy, “I heard Frank say there was no doubt of that. +They’ve found no way to bother us, though, so far. Frank says they’ve +got their hands full with their own affairs.” + +“How do you mean?” asked Pep. + +“About fixing up their place. They’ve had a fight with the city +building department about fire regulations, exits and all that. +Then they’ve discovered what Frank, our clever Frank, saw the first +thing--that the place was too broad and shallow to make a roomy +auditorium. They’ve got to make it still more shallow if they have any +kind of a decent front.” + +“Say, talking about exits, no trouble here; eh, Randy?” + +“I should say not. There couldn’t be a safer playhouse,” was the reply. + +It had already pleased Frank and the others to have the city inspector +compliment them on the splendid arrangements for the safety of the +audience. On two sides there were vacant spaces. At the rear there was +a roofed-over building only one story high. A part of this structure +was used for storage purposes. The rest of it was a day garage. This +accommodated the automobiles of persons who did business in the +vicinity. + +The Standard had doors all around two sides which would slide back by +the mere turning of a lever, which opened as many as twenty immediate +avenues to the outer air at one time. In case of fire the audience +could disperse through the garage space or the side courts, and the +house could be emptied in less than two minutes. + +The upper part of the doors had a small sash set in. Several of these +near the rear were now open. The workmen had adjusted them thus to +carry out the close air, pungent with turpentine, and dry with paint. + +“All right,” spoke Pep, reluctantly, turning to leave by the street +entrance. He cast a last look about the place. Then he started and +sniffed the air. + +“Why, Randy!” he cried. “It smells like burning wood.” + +“What’s that?” asked his comrade, sharply. + +“Say--” and Pep’s tones seemed sharpened by alarm, “there’s smoke +coming in through those windows. Worse--look! Oh, Randy, _it’s fire_!” + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE HERO FRIEND + + +“Gracious!” cried Randy. “See! See! Flames!” + +Both boys ran to the rear of the place. A puff of smoke had entered +the open window of the last door. Then there came a tongue of +flame--fierce, devouring--then more smoke. + +Pep uttered a shrill cry--half moan, half sob. His vivid imagination +depicted the splendid playhouse going up in flames. He was trembling +all over as he approached the open sash. He tried to look out, but a +great cloud of dense black smoke drove him back, choked and blinded. + +“It’s a real blaze!” shouted Randy. He had stuck his head through a +window farther from the rear. He saw that the garage was all ablaze, +the flames leaping towards the rear wall of the playhouse. + +In an instant Randy guessed that oil or gasoline stored in the shed had +become ignited. + +“Fire! Fire!” he yelled at the top of his voice, dashing toward the +street. “Follow me,” he called to Pep. “There’s no good staying here. +Send in an alarm!” + +Pep paid no heed to the words. By the time Randy had reached the +entrance lobby and was half-way down its length, his comrade had run to +the lever operating the side exit doors. He gave this a turn. Then he +dashed outside. + +Pep headed for the rear of the playhouse to see how far the fire had +progressed. Turning the corner of the building a great quantity of +water struck him in the face. + +It drove him back and he dodged out of range. In half a second, +however, there came a drenching shower. Then it turned from him again, +and Pep descried the cause of the flood. + +Half-way down the vacant space between the garage and the playhouse, +stood a boy. He held in his hand the nozzle of a large hose, connected +with a water plug farther away. + +The lad was shielding his eyes with one arm and bending over as smoke +and cinders enveloped him. He staggered back as a sheet of flames +swept over him. Resolutely, even defiantly, however, he maintained his +position. + +He would direct the hose at the flaming garage. Then he would sweep +the stream around. This was why its cascade had showered Pep. Then +the boy would shoot the torrent up and down and across the wall of the +playhouse. This was blistered with the heat, and smoking. + +Some projecting timbers were ablaze. He extinguished these, turned the +stream back of him and directed it towards the garage. There, however, +the blaze was too fierce--had gained too strong a headway to subdue. +In fact, the lad seemed more anxious to protect the playhouse than the +sheds. + +“Oh! will he make it? Why don’t somebody come? Fire! Fire!” screamed +Pep frantically, and then from the rear of the buildings fronting +on the Common their occupants began to pour. Randy must have acted +quickly, Pep realized, for he heard clanging bells in the distance. + +Suddenly the boy with the hose staggered as a dense cloud of smoke +enveloped him. Pep saw him fall, the hose dropping from his hand. Pep +ran to where he lay and dragged him out of range of the leaping flames. +He darted at the hose, lifted it and began playing the water on the +rear of the playhouse, now burning in half a dozen places. + +“If they’d only hurry!” he gasped. “I can’t stand this!” + +Pep was obliged to stand to one side as the end of the garage was now +a mass of flames. The wooden wall of the playhouse would smoulder, then +it would blaze up. All Pep could do was to play the stream of water +against this. + +A great uproar rang through the vacant space alongside the garage shed. +Amid shouts and orders the groups crowding from the rear doors of the +surrounding buildings drew back, as a dozen helmeted firemen came +dragging a hose through one of the stores. Pep sprang out of the way as +a great rush of water came shooting from a nozzle. It drenched him from +head to foot and almost carried him off his feet. Then the stream was +steadied and played upon the burning shed. + +Pep continued his efforts against the playhouse wall. He felt a thrill +of hope as the dousing extinguished the blazing timbers and they did +not relight. For two seconds the big hose was played across the wall. +This dashed out farther danger to the playhouse and the firemen began +to fight the blaze in the garage shed. + +“It’s safe--it won’t burn!” quavered Pep. “And that boy--he did it! You +brave fellow!” he cried, running up to the strange lad. + +The latter had by this time gotten to his feet. While he rubbed his +eyes, supporting himself by leaning against the show building, he +swayed to and fro. In his excitement and gratitude Pep put his arms +around him and almost hugged him. + +The strange boy gazed at Pep blinkingly. Then rubbing the cinders from +his eyes he took in the scene about him. He uttered a glad cry. + +“The theatre’s all right; isn’t it?” he asked. “That’s all I care for.” + +“What?” stammered Pep, opening his eyes wide at this manifestation of +interest in the Standard. + +“Yes, you see I know the fellows who own it. They’re friends of +mine--that is, I hope they are.” + +“Oh, is that so?” observed Pep, wonderingly. “You mean Mr. Strapp.” + +“Who’s he? No, I don’t know him. It’s Frank Durham whom I know, and +Professor Barrington. Say, look at the fire, I reckon they’ll save the +storage house yonder; but the garage and shed are gone. They’ve got it +under control now. Heigho! There goes my lodging--my supper, too, if I +don’t see Mr. Ridge, the man who runs the garage.” + +“Why, what do you mean?” asked Pep. + +“I’ve been working there. It wasn’t much of a job; but you see I was +waiting for Frank Durham--” + +The speaker shook himself as if to get the chill out of his limbs. He +pulled off his coat and began wringing out the soaked sleeves. + +“Br-r-r!” he shivered, as the coarse cloth grazed a seared and +blistered hand, “that hurts.” + +Pep caught hold of the lad’s arm, his face full of sympathy. + +“See here,” he said, “you’re hurt and chilled. You’re a hero; do you +know it? You’ve saved Our beautiful playhouse----” + +“Who played that hose?” demanded a hoarse voice, and looking up the +boys faced a tall fireman wearing a silver badge of office on his white +rubber coat. + +“This boy did,” Pep hastened to reply. + +“Yes, sir,” explained the strange lad, “you see the hose is always +attached to wash the mud off the machines. I sort of hang around here +and have been sleeping in the office for two nights. I don’t know how +the fire started; but when I came out some rags soaked with cylinder +oil were ablaze. I did what I could.” + +“What you did saved that theatre building,” announced the battalion +chief. “If that frame end there had got blazing--good-bye to the whole +block, maybe. You’d make a good fireman, son.” + +“You come with me,” said Pep, grasping the arm of the lad firmly. + +“Why, what for?” inquired the boy. + +“To get dry clothes--to be made just as comfortable as can be--to give +me and my friends a chance to show you what we think of the fellow who +has saved our beautiful new playhouse!” + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +AN AMAZING STATEMENT + + +“Shake!” spoke bluff Hank Strapp,--then, quite as expansively--“and +shake again!” + +It was the lad who had saved the Standard from destruction to whom +the genial Westerner spoke. The hero of the hour had been taken in +tow by Pep from the moment that the latter was assured that the photo +playhouse was safe. Randy had seen to the closing up of the place. Then +he had become second pilot in the march to the hotel. + +The honest-faced, wonder-eyed youth whom they ushered impetuously in +upon Mr. Strapp had not resisted their urging. Perhaps he had not +possessed much power of resistance after his fire-fighting experience. + +“You’re sort of drifting me along; aren’t you?” he had observed, with +a quaint smile. “I don’t know where; but if you’re friends of Frank +Durham, and I guess you are, it’s all right.” + +Pep’s mind was in a turmoil over this repetition of the name of the +young movies leader. The strange boy seemed to know no other. To him it +appeared to be one to conjure by. Pep was devoured with curiosity as to +how this poorly dressed refugee, working at odd jobs and sleeping in a +garage, could know Frank. + +Unceremoniously the chums ushered their companion into the presence +of Mr. Strapp at the hotel. The Westerner stared hard at Pep, whose +attire was disordered, and then at the strange lad, who resembled a +half-drowned rat. + +“Well, what’s all this?” he demanded, and Pep burst out in a breezy +account of what had happened at the Standard. It was then that the +impulsive ex-ranchman sprang to his feet, seized the hand of the +visitor and gave it a grasp that made the latter wince, accompanying +the welcome with the hearty words: “Shake--and shake again!” + +“You sit down,” said Randy, urging their guest to the softest chair in +the room. “Mr. Strapp, he’s dead beat after that bout, I guess, and +he’s soaked through. Look at that hand--all blistered, too. If you’ll +tell me where your baggage is, I’ll go and bring you a change.” + +The stranger startled his auditors with a laugh that made the echoes +ring. + +“Baggage?” he repeated, and he chuckled. “Change? Why, I never had +more than one suit of clothes in my life, and that a poor one. I only +brought a couple of shirts and some handkerchiefs with me to Boston, +and they’re burned up in the fire.” + +“Here, Randy!” broke in Mr. Strapp--taking some money from his pocket. +“You take this young friend of ours in hand. Mend him up, dress him +up and bring him back here. I want to get better acquainted with you, +young man. Let me see--what’s your name?” + +“Vic Belton,” was the prompt reply. “I come from Home Farm. That was +where I met Frank Durham. And Professor Barrington. It was when the +train was wrecked----” + +“Why, I know--I remember!” cried Pep. “Frank told us about that. You’re +the boy who wanted to join the movies.” + +“Yes,” nodded Vic gravely, “I’m here to break into the show business.” + +Randy and Pep took the young fellow in charge, and at the end of an +hour they reappeared before Mr. Strapp. The latter stared hard, for a +transformation had indeed taken place. Attired in a neat suit, brushed +up and cleaned up, Vic Belton appeared like quite another person. The +expression of Mr. Strapp’s face showed how greatly he was pleased. + +“After supper you’ll tell us something; eh, Vic Belton?” he remarked, +and he linked the arm of their young guest into his own as they +proceeded to the dining room of the hotel. + +Vic was a puzzle to Pep. The boy simply followed where he was led, +seeming to have sublime confidence in his new friends. He made no demur +nor resistance to their guidance. In a pleased way he put himself +completely in their hands. It was after he had dispatched what was +probably the first hotel meal he had ever sat down to, that he made the +observation: + +“I don’t know what I’ve fallen into; but you’re treating me fine.” + +“There was no insurance on the Standard,” remarked Mr. Strapp, +pointedly. “I reckon we’re going to adopt you, son.” + +“Well, I need it,” remarked Vic, so artlessly that Pep had to laugh. +“No folks, no home--I’d be glad.” + +They all had to smile. It was plain to be seen that the boy was without +guile. + +“You see,” he continued, “when Frank Durham saw me down at the farm +I told him how I was sort of born to the show business and wanted to +break into it. He gave me his New York address; but advised me to +stick to the farm.” + +“Which in a general way is good advice; don’t you think, Vic?” asked +Mr. Strapp. + +“Not when a fellow hates farming and hears the call of the show +business,” dissented Vic, in his plain, matter-of-fact way. “These two +best fellows in the world and Durham himself branched out; didn’t they? +Then why not me?” + +“That’s so,” agreed Pep. “There’s an argument for you, Mr. Strapp.” + +“Well, something came up and I wrote to the Empire in New York City,” +went on Vic, “and whoever got the letter wrote back that Mr. Durham was +in Boston, at the Parker House. Then I came here, day before yesterday. +They told me at the hotel that he had moved here. The clerk here said +he was in New York. I found out he was going to run the Standard, so I +hung around there a bit. Then the man running the garage gave me a job. +I took it until Mr. Durham got back, to take me into his show.” + +“Oh, you think he will do that; do you?” grinned Pep, carried off his +feet by the amazing confidence this odd boy had in his friends and +prospects. + +“Yes, I know he will,” declared Vic, with assurance. “You see, when +he talked to me I was only a poor farm boy, anxious to get away from +haymows and turnips. Then something came along--something amazing.” + +“Is that so?” inquired Pep, his curiosity aroused. + +“Oh, yes. You see, when I talked to Mr. Durham I had nothing--no money, +no property, no prospects.” + +“And it’s different now; is it?” questioned Pep, wondering what was +coming next. + +“I should say so!” exclaimed Vic. “I don’t come to Mr. Durham now, +though, asking him to pull me along like a helpless raw recruit. No, +sir. I can help him, I can.” + +“Well, well, here’s an original one,” murmured the amused Westerner. + +Randy puckered his lips. Pep grew big-eyed at viewing the boy who slept +in a shed yet talked with the confidence of a millionaire. + +“How do you mean help him, Vic?” inquired Mr. Strapp. + +“Well, I can lend him some money--put in some capital, I suppose you +call it. Say, you’re laughing,” Vic interrupted himself to say, but +solemn as a judge. “That’s all right. I know it must seem funny to you +to hear this kind of talk, when I haven’t got enough in real cash to +buy a meal. But I never tell a lie. I’ve got some capital--quite a +heap of it. It’s in property--not money; but it can soon be changed +into money.” + +“How much, now?” insinuated the interested ex-ranchman. + +“Well, maybe several thousand dollars.” + +“Whew!” ejaculated Pep. “That’s a pile for a boy.” + +“Yes, sir,” went on Vic, earnestly, “it is for a fact. When I first +found it out I was stunned. But, I’ve got it. It’s too big, that +property, to carry around with me; but it’s mine, just the same. It’s +value. It can be sold.” + +“Say, what is this property of yours?” fairly exploded Pep, consumed +with curiosity. + +“Four camels,” replied Vic Belton, calmly. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +THE SHIPS OF THE DESERT + + +Pep Smith had never before seen a boy who owned camels. It was such +a big thought that he was at a loss what to say. He stared at the +extraordinary youth before him. + +“Yes, I own four camels,” repeated Vic Belton, as evenly as if he had +said that he owned a pocketknife. + +“It sounds like a fairy story,” said Randy Powell as he glanced quickly +at Mr. Strapp to see how he took it. The Westerner sat with his eyes +fixed on Vic. He was studying him curiously. However, he made no +comment. + +“What kind of camels?” suddenly burst out Pep. “Real camels--live ones?” + +“Awfully alive,” replied Vic, promptly. “Guess you’d think so if you +knew some of their doings when they get on a rampage.” + +“Where are these animals you speak of?” asked Mr. Strapp. + +“Either at Wardham, a little town in Connecticut, or on their way +there.” + +“How?” inquired Pep. + +“On a train, of course,” was the reply; “for they came clear from the +Pacific Coast. You see, it’s this way: My dead father was a circus +man. So was my uncle. It was Uncle Gregory who put me in charge of Mr. +Dorsett at Home Farm. He’s sort of looked after me for the last two +years. Well, just a week ago I got a letter I didn’t expect. It was +from Bill Purvis.” + +“Who’s Bill Purvis?” queried Pep, almost breathlessly, so immersed was +he in the outcome of Vic’s narrative. + +“Bill is an old menagerie roustabout,” explained Vic. “He used to be +with my father. Afterwards he was Uncle Gregory’s handy man. No one +could ever keep Bill straight except those two. Well, Bill had got +someone to write me the letter I’m telling you about, for he can’t +write himself. The letter told me that Uncle Gregory was dead and +buried and the show he was with had broken up. They divided the animals +and their traps among the people they owed for salaries. Besides that, +my uncle had a lot of money invested, so he got the camels for his +share.” + +“And you say that this uncle of yours is dead now?” inquired Mr. +Strapp. + +“Yes, sir,” replied Vic. “He died right after he got the camels. It +seems he had told Bill just what to do before he died. It was to take +them East, as there wasn’t any market for camels on the Coast. Maybe +there isn’t any here--I don’t know, and Bill didn’t know. He wrote me, +though, that he had raised enough money to pay for the transportation +of the camels to Wardham. He wrote, too, that a few miles from there +a distant relative of his, named Wright, had a farm. His idea was to +stake the camels there until he could look around and take his time +finding a good place to keep them.” + +“Has he got there with the camels yet?” asked Randy. + +“I think he has. I was to join him there, but I had a row getting away +from Mr. Dorsett at Home Farm. He said that my uncle owed him some +money for my education. Humph! I never got any at that dead old place. +I had no money and Wardham was a long way off. So I tramped it to +Boston after I found that Frank Durham was here. + +“You see, Frank Durham is mighty smart. I know he feels friendly +towards me and I was going to ask him to stake me to go down and join +Bill Purvis. Then I wanted Mr. Durham to help me sell the camels. Then +I was going to buy into your show here--see?” + +The earnestness of the speaker made Mr. Strapp smile. Then, too, a +pleased expression crossed his bronzed face. The ex-ranchman was fond +of boys and the sincerity of Vic appealed to his rugged nature. + +“See here, Vic,” he said, “you tell a clear story and I can see you are +straight. Besides that, we owe you a lot for this fire business down +at the Standard. We can’t do too much for you. I think Durham and the +professor will be here to-night; but they may possibly be detained in +New York City over to-morrow. So, if you are at all anxious to go to +Wardham and see about your camels, you can draw what money you want +from me.” + +“Why, thank you, sir,” replied Vic; “but I think I’ll wait. You see, +I’ve sort of set my mind on seeing Frank Durham and getting his advice. +You’re all the finest people I ever ran across; but I know him best. If +you’ll take my note against those camels for a dollar or so till I see +Mr. Durham, I’ll be obliged to you. I’ll have to hunt up somewhere to +sleep to-night, you know, for I’d muss up these nice clothes bunking in +at the old garage, even if there’s any place there left to sleep in.” + +“Well, you are an original and no mistake!” cried the ex-ranchman, with +a laugh. “No, no, my young friend--you can have a hundred dollars if +you want it and free gratis for nothing; but we’ll not let a fellow +with a ten thousand dollar quartet of camels go bunking around hit or +miss. You’ll stay right here with the rest of us. And if I don’t miss +my guess Durham will find a place to work you into at the Standard.” + +Mr. Strapp proceeded to lay down the law, as he called it, in his +pleasant way. Vic was to stay at the hotel. He suggested to Pep that he +take the boy in tow and show him something of the town. + +“I’d like to do that,” said Vic. “I’ve never seen but two moving +picture shows. I’d like to see some more.” + +“You come with me, then,” suggested Pep, and he beckoned to Randy to +join them. The boys put on their caps and started to leave the room. +They had just got to the elevator, Pep chattering in his usual way, +when the elevator door swung back and Randy uttered a cry: + +“It’s Frank--and Professor Barrington!” + +“Hello!” exclaimed the former as he recognized Vic, and gazed in some +surprise at his natty appearance. “Why, how do you come to be here?” + +“You’re glad to see me; aren’t you?” asked Vic wistfully, fixing his +appealing eyes on Frank. + +“So glad,” replied the young leader of the motion picture chums, with +a hearty handshake, “that I want to know right away all about you. +Professor Barrington, you remember our young friend of the railroad +smash-up?” + +“H’m--surely,” nodded the professor, after an inspection of Vic. “Looks +older; don’t he?” + +“That’s because I’ve got a new suit, and it fits, you see,” replied +Vic, naively. + +“Say,” broke in Pep, as they moved towards their rooms, “Vic saved the +Standard from burning up this afternoon.” + +“What’s that?” demanded Professor Barrington. Then as Pep related the +circumstances of the blaze, the professor moved towards him and placed +an affectionate hand upon Vic’s shoulder. + +“Excellent--heroic--great boy--grand boy!” he exclaimed. There was a +genial greeting from Mr. Strapp when they entered the sitting room of +the suite. Vic gently pulled Pep’s arm. + +“The movies,” he whispered. “You know we were going to see them.” But +Pep was so immersed in the bustle and hubbub of the moment that he +was reluctant to leave at once. Then Frank came up to Vic and drew him +to one side, questioning him with interest as to what had led to his +giving up farm life. + +Professor Barrington had but one thought as soon as he had got through +answering some questions put by Mr. Strapp. + +“My mail,” he said, and Randy noticed that he seemed anxious and +nervous as he hastened over to a desk between the windows and picked up +a dozen or more letters and telegrams. + +“Told them to wire here,” Randy heard him mumble. “No--no--no,” he +added as he hurriedly ran over letters evidently of no importance. “Ah, +from Halifax. No news--too bad! Magdalen Island--no news. Dear! dear!” + +Finally he tore open a third telegraph envelope. Its inclosure +fluttered in his fingers. His eyes bored into the contents Then it fell +from his nerveless hands. He looked so agitated, and sank back in the +chair with such a piteous face, that Randy called out sharply in alarm: + +“Frank!” + +“Eh?” questioned the young movies leader, and then observing that +something was amiss with his old friend he ran up to him. + +“Durham--telegram!” muttered the professor in a weak, gasping tone. +“From Trinity, Newfoundland.” + +“Bad news?” questioned Frank, supporting the professor, who seemed +about to faint. + +“The worst!” replied Professor Barrington, with a hollow groan. “The +schooner Plymouth--” + +“Yes! yes!” urged Frank, his own face growing drawn with anxiety. + +“The great film--lost! Gone!” + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +PLYMOUTH--DERELICT + + +“The Great Film!” Somehow those words impressed Pep deeply. He stood +still, staring at Professor Barrington. Randy moved a step nearer to +him. Vic had been forgotten. + +“Bless me!” murmured Mr. Strapp. “Something new and lively in the +movies line all the time, it appears to me.” + +From the first the professor had outlined his films in a way that led +his business friends to expect great things of the future. More than +once, too, he had given an exciting hint as to some novel and original +themes that were being worked out by his foreign assistants. They +would startle the movies world, he had declared. Thinking of that, Pep +instantly decided that his present emotion was caused by some slip in +his plans. + +“You have received bad news, Professor Barrington?” inquired Frank, and +the elderly man roused sufficiently to select one of the telegrams he +had just opened. + +“Read,” he said. “You know how I wired to all northern points from New +York City, directing the replies to come here. The Plymouth has not +been seen at a single point until this message from Trinity. Read,” and +the speaker, overcome, could say no more. + +They were a family, in a sense, those in the room. Frank read the +dispatch which had so affected his old friend. It ran: + + “Plymouth sighted in a great sleet storm off Despair Bay two nights + since. Dismasted, no one seen on board, and a drifting wreck.” + +“And Randall was aboard of the Plymouth,” quavered Professor +Barrington, “and the film--the great film!” + +“Don’t take it so hard, Professor,” said Frank in a soothing tone, +placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Your friend may have escaped.” + +“No, no, Durham,” groaned the professor. “It would not be the way of +Randall to neglect advising me by the first wire if he had met with a +disaster and had escaped.” + +“And as to the great film--is it really that, now?” went on Frank. + +“Can you ask that, after knowing that half I had in the world was +staked on the securing of motorphoto pictures on a subject never +yet covered by the film maker? Think of it! That unique variety of +subjects, showing the crowning glories of the universe. Ah, it is a +cruel blow!” + +“Frank, is it something serious?” whispered Pep, stepping to the +side of his chum. Frank did not reply. He stood for a moment lost in +thought, his eyes fixed on Professor Barrington. He appeared to be +groping mentally to find some means of relieving the distress of his +friend. + +Suddenly Frank’s face lit up as if he had solved a problem. His hand +went to an inside pocket and he drew out a wallet well filled with bank +notes. He ran them over, estimating what sum they represented, rather +than actually counting them. The inspection seemed satisfactory and +Frank replaced the money in his pocket. Then Pep, who had watched every +shadow that crossed his face, saw the impression there that always told +that his clever chum had made up his mind to something. + +Professor Barrington crouched in his chair as if all his hopes had been +crushed. He had sunk into a kind of lethargy of despair. Frank roused +him with the words: + +“I am going to find out.” + +“You are going to find out what, Durham?” questioned the professor in a +hollow tone. + +“The best--the worst--whatever it is. Don’t give up hope. We will know +a good deal more when I return than we do now. That, at least, is sure.” + +There came a dash of rain against the window. Frank glanced out at +the wind-swept street. Then he went to a wardrobe, and donned a heavy +raincoat. + +“Hold on, Durham,” spoke Mr. Strapp, worked up to a high pitch of +excitement. “Isn’t there something to say before you go away?” + +“Just step into the hall for a minute, Mr. Strapp,” asked Frank. Pep, +with ears wide open, tried to catch some inkling of what was going on, +but Frank had closed the door after himself and the Westerner. Then in +about half a minute the ex-ranchman returned to the room alone. He sank +into a chair with a grave face, speaking the words half aloud: + +“If anybody can do it, Durham can.” + +A gloom had spread over the apartment so recently filled with +cheeriness. Professor Barrington sat with his face buried in one +hand. Mr. Strapp got up and moved about in a fidgety way. Vic, half +understanding that something of serious importance had interrupted his +interview with the young leader of the motion picture chums, retired +to a corner of the room, feeling uneasy and out of place. Pep came up +to him. + +“I say, Vic,” he observed, “I wish you’d put off this tour of the +movies for to-night.” + +“Why, certainly,” responded Vic. “Say, what’s the matter--some trip-up +in the plans of you people?” + +“Yes,” returned Pep, with a disturbed face, “and it’s taken the heart +clear out of me for any junketing or fun.” + +Randy had gone out into the hall. Pep soon joined him and then Vic +followed them. + +“I feel as if I was in the way, somehow,” he observed. + +“You needn’t,” responded Pep. “It’s a kind of a mystery to me, all +this; but you can trust Frank Durham to clear things up if it’s +possible. What do you think’s up, Randy?” + +“Why it’s plain to be seen that some ship that Professor Barrington +sent out, or that was coming to him, had someone aboard with ‘the great +film,’ as they called it. The professor seems to have set great store +by it, the way he acts.” + +“But if that telegram says the ship is wrecked and nobody saved, what +Frank expects to do is what is puzzling me,” observed Pep. + +The trio tramped up and down the hall to pass the time. Then they went +down to the lobby of the hotel. They sat down in arm chairs and tried +to get interested in the guests about them. Pep, however, could not +keep still. He had Randy on the jump, keeping track of his movements. +Vic never spoke a word, but followed them about like a faithful dog. + +Finally Pep ventured but into the street. The rain soon drove him and +his companions under shelter again, however. Then they returned to +their room. The professor still sat as they had seen him last. Mr. +Strapp still seemed worried. + +“See here, boys,” he spoke after a period of silence, “you had better +get to bed. Durham may not be back for hours.” + +“I sha’n’t stir a step until he comes back,” declared Pep, “I’m too +worried to sleep.” + +Randy seemed of the same mind, for he sat down as if planting himself +for an all-night vigil, and Vic placidly followed his example. In about +half an hour, however, Pep, glancing toward them, saw that both were +napping. + +“H’m! this is dismal enough,” he commented, stirred up by the suspense. + +He must have nodded and dozed for some time, Pep realized, for he awoke +with a start as the knob of the room door clicked. Mr. Strapp was +yawning and stirring himself. + +“It’s Frank!” cried the quick-eared Pep, springing to his feet, and, +half-way across the room, he faced Frank as he entered. + +“Good news or bad, Durham?” asked Mr. Strapp, arising stiffly. + +“The best in the world!” replied Frank promptly, his eyes snapping, his +face one smile of satisfaction. + +“Why, where have you ever been?” inquired Pep in wonder, for Frank’s +coat was glistening with rain, his cap was dripping and his face +weather beaten and flushed. + +“I’ve been trying to find out something,” explained Frank, “and I have. +It’s a queer adventure. There was one thing only to try in an effort to +gain news of the wrecked Plymouth, in whose safety or loss there is so +much at stake for us.” + +“Frank, quick! Is she a goner? Is the great film----” + +“Safe, I have every reason to believe,” replied Frank. + +“Hurrah!” shouted the excited Pep, with a fervor that brought Randy out +of slumberland and to his feet. + +“For fifteen minutes,” went on Frank, “under special orders from the +Government, the wireless service has been combing the North Atlantic +and the air above it with orders to every station and ship in the +service to find out what has become of the derelict, Plymouth.” + +“What’s that? What’s that?” shouted Professor Barrington, scrambling to +his feet with wide eyes. + +“From off the Newfoundland coast, near Trinity,” went on Frank Durham, +“one response, among over a hundred, came: ‘Steamer Montreal homeward +bound with the Plymouth in tow. All on board safe.’” + +“The great film! The great film!” chattered rather than spoke the old +professor. Then he sank in a heap on the floor. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +HIGH HOPES + + +“Now then, Mr. Jolly,” called out Frank Durham. + +His voice echoed across a deal of hollow space, for there were only +six people in the auditorium of the Standard photo playhouse. With +the exception of Jolly, seated at the organ, and Pep, posted at the +electric light switchboard, all the others were standing in the middle +aisle--Professor Barrington, Mr. Strapp, Frank and Randy. + +The Standard was in complete readiness for the opening two evenings +later. Some of the furnishings of the reception hall had not yet +arrived, but the auditorium was equipped even to the electric fans, and +the organ and piano over which Jolly was to preside. + +The musical programme was to be a particular feature of the Standard. +Ben Jolly had been for days ransacking the music stores of the city in +search of select compositions. + +“We’re going to have a crowd ’way up on organ recitals and the like,” +he had said, “and I’m going to make that instrument just hum. On +the lighter parts I’ll vary with the piano, and its bell and string +attachments will go well in the livelier scenes.” + +Jolly was making the organ “hum” now. This was the first time that the +lights had been turned on in the finished auditorium. The introductory +notes of a swelling march echoed as Pep swung the switches. Then he, +too, joined the group of his friends and fellow workers. + +For fully a minute not a word was spoken. Five pairs of eyes swept the +splendid apartment from end to end. It was a rare feast of light and +beauty. There was more than comfort--there was luxury and richness; not +loud or tawdry, but artistic and harmonious. + +“I didn’t think it could be done,” was the utterance of Pep Smith. + +“You said it would be the finest playhouse in America, Durham,” +observed Mr. Strapp, his eyes expressing the liveliest satisfaction, +“and here it’s a proven fact.” + +“My dream has come true!” murmured the exultant professor. “Gentlemen, +I congratulate you on having set motor photography ahead ten years.” + +“It’s nice to have you say so,” remarked Frank, with a radiant smile. + +“It’s just perfection!” declared Randy, his eyes dancing with +excitement and pleasure. + +Frank’s heart beat fast with pride. It seemed a pretty long step from +the little Wonderland picture show he had started in his home village, +to this acme of an active business career. All the plots of rivals, all +the hard struggles, all the difficult problems met and conquered, were +obscured by the present moment. + +“If Randall had only arrived a little sooner!” spoke the professor, +with something of a sigh. + +“You mean the delay in featuring that great film of yours?” asked Mr. +Strapp. “Don’t let it worry you. That will keep. It will probably be +all the better to hold it off. Then we’ll spring it in a blaze of +glory--see?” + +“We have certainly got some fine specials to present,” declared Frank. + +“It’s the toy pictures that will catch the youngsters,” said Pep. + +“And the butterflies,” supplemented Randy. + +“I count greatly on the century plant,” observed Professor Barrington. +“Once before it has been exploited, at the famous Gaumont Palace at +Paris; but that was still life. My agent traveled one thousand miles +up the Amazon to catch our film. It is perfect.” + +“Wish you’d got something with hosses acting,” observed Mr. Strapp, +“for they can act.” + +“A little local touch--something right on the spot wouldn’t have been +amiss,” suggested Jolly. + +“Say, do you think that?” broke in Pep, eagerly. “I’ve thought of that, +too. It was part of the scheme I once tried to tell you about, but +Randy shut me up. Frank, I’d like to tell you about that.” + +“All right,” answered the young movies leader, indulgently. + +“Right after we came to Boston,” said Pep, “knocking around and poking +into everything that had to do with playhouses, I ran across a queer +fellow named Bohm, who runs a dramatic school. He can’t speak English +plainly, but he’s the most patriotic fellow I ever saw. It seems his +father was a soldier in the Civil War, and he was so brave they made +him a major. + +“Bohm flounders around in a muddy ditch of broken Dutch when he speaks, +but he’s all there on patriotism, and he’s got some great ideas. He +wears a red, white and blue necktie; his watch charm is a miniature +American flag, and most of the time he is whistling or humming ‘The +Star Spangled Banner.’” + +“Get down to the facts, Pep,” ordered Randy. + +“He’s bow-legged and so cross-eyed that if he cried the tears would run +behind his ears,” declared Pep, going on with his story in his own way, +in lofty disdain of his tormentor. “For all that, he’s a rare genius. +It seems that he got a big idea. It was for a play and pageant on +Forefathers’ Day. He wrote a sort of dramatic screed all around a lot +of subjects and scenes--historical--see?” + +“Historical,” repeated Professor Barrington. “That sounds promising. In +what way, may I ask, my young friend?” + +“Why, he got up a lot of scenery. Then his amateurs played the pilgrims +landing on Plymouth Rock. He worked in one or two well-known battles +the colonists had with the Indians. Then he has that tea-throwing act +in Boston Harbor. Oh, yes, and the Battle of Bunker Hill, and Paul +Revere’s Ride, and--oh, a heap of things!” + +“What good is a play for us?” asked Randy. “The Standard isn’t a +theatre.” + +“Wait till I get to the point; won’t you?” pleaded Pep. “Well, Frank, +Bohm intends to interest patriotic citizens in a big blowout with his +play and pageant Forefathers’ Day. Then the idea came to him that it +would make a good film, so he had all the scenes photographed in +order. They are full of action and they make a good one thousand-foot +reel. + +“I asked Bohm if he didn’t want to release it. He said perhaps, after +his own exhibition. Then I got him interested in what we were going to +do here at the Standard. He said that if he was paid a fair price and +got the announcement before the public that the film was to be pictured +on Forefathers’ Day, he might consider it.” + +“Why, see here,” remarked Ben Jolly, “that would make a fine special. +It’s local and it would take, I am sure. A ‘Tabloid of History.’ Don’t +you think that sounds right, Durham?” + +“I do, indeed,” responded Frank. “Pep, I would like to see this Mr. +Bohm.” + +“Come along; I’ll take you to him,” urged Pep. + +“If there’s anything to it, Durham,” spoke up Mr. Strapp, “you want to +get that film for opening night.” + +“It would give variety to the entertainment,” observed the professor. + +“I believe I’ll see what there is to it right away,” declared Frank. +“Come on Pep.” + +The two chums left their friends in the auditorium and passed through +the reception hall. A canvas sheet had been spread across the street +entrance to protect the new paint and gilding, and a guard had been +stationed there. + +“Oh, Mr. Durham,” the latter spoke, as Frank approached him, “there’s +a boy outside who has been trying to break in to you for the last five +minutes. Says he knows you; but my orders were to admit no one.” + +“A boy--wonder who he is?” said Pep speculatively. + +“Why, it’s Vic!” replied Frank, as the guard pulled the edge of the +canvas aside, and the lad in question became visible, seated astride a +nail keg and dolefully surveying the ground. + +Three days before, furnished with money by Frank, the farm boy had gone +by rail to Wardham to look up his friend, Bill Purvis, and the camels. + +“Why, hello, Vic,” spoke Frank in a friendly tone as he came outside. + +Vic looked up rather falteringly. He grasped Frank’s extended hand. His +face lengthened and his lips puckered. + +“What’s the matter, Vic?” asked Pep, puzzled at the downcast appearance +of their young friend, who had left them so full of hope. + +“Nothing,” answered Vic, dismally, “only someone has stolen my camels.” + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE LOST CAMELS + + +“Your camels stolen!” exclaimed Pep in his excitable way. “Say, that’s +bad. Are you sure of it?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied Vic, in a dispirited fashion. “They’re gone.” + +“Come inside,” invited Frank. “I’ll fix it after this so you won’t have +to ask permission,” and, after indicating to the guard that Vic was a +favored friend, he led the way to the auditorium. + +“Oh, say! but you’ve fixed it up fine; haven’t you?” ejaculated Vic the +moment his eyes took in the scene about him. + +“These are pretty busy times, Vic,” said Frank as they sat down in the +rear row of seats. “You see, we are getting ready for the opening. All +the same, we must find time to help our friends where we can. Now then, +tell us your troubles.” + +“There’s only one, the big one, the camels,” replied Vic, soberly. “You +know how kind you were in giving me the money to go down to Wardham, +and advising me how to set about selling the camels. I felt pretty good +when I started out. You know I met an old circus man. He said that it +would take time to find just the show that wanted some camels, but +there were city parks, and using them advertising, to fall back on. +He said that four healthy camels ought to sell for several thousand +dollars.” + +“Yes, Vic,” observed Frank; “go ahead with your story.” + +“Well, I got to Wardham and found the farm where Bill’s relatives live.” + +“Was he there?” inquired Pep. + +“Yes,” responded Vic, “he’d been there for three days, in bed, his leg +broken and out of his head.” + +“The camels--” began Pep. + +“No, they would never hurt Bill,” protested Vic. “Bill had turned up +one night at his relatives’ house dragging his leg behind him, smelling +of liquor and acting strange. The first sensible spell he had was just +after I got to Wardham. + +“Bill was all broken up, crying and ashamed. He told a queer, rambling +story of leaving the freight train thirty miles across country from +Wardham. I’ve got to tell you that Bill’s failing has always been +strong drink.” + +“Too bad, that generally complicates things,” commented Pep, +philosophically. + +“He’d kept straight clear along the route. It was night time when he +got the camels off the car and started for Wardham. They were glad +to get on solid ground again, and so was Bill. He says he came to a +crossroads settlement where he got the camels a good feed. + +“He himself was foolish enough to drink some liquor. He says it went +to his head. Then he dimly remembers going to another town, and then +another. By that time he wasn’t able to take care of the camels. He +recalls traveling along a lonely country road, following directions as +to Wardham. Then it’s all a sort of mist to him. When he came to his +senses, he was lying in an old stone quarry with his leg broken. How he +got to the Wright farm he doesn’t know.” + +“Why,” suggested Pep, “the camels must have wandered away from him, and +must be roving around somewhere. Didn’t you try to find out?” + +“Didn’t I?” repeated Vic. “I guess I did; and so did Bill’s folks. +They found out where Bill had shown off some tricks with the camels +at a tavern. Three strange men who had been drinking with him went off +when he did. I suppose we had as many as twenty people looking for the +camels all over the country.” + +“And you found no trace of them?” inquired Frank. + +“Hide nor hair--none,” was the dejected answer. + +“It looks queer to me, that does,” asserted Pep. “Four camels are too +conspicuous to drop out of sight like a horse or a dog.” + +“I think somebody stole them--I feel sure of it,” declared Vic. “Maybe +Bill got to talking too much and telling all about the camels, and +those three men thought they saw a chance for a speculation.” + +“They couldn’t hide the animals very easily,” observed Frank. “Whoever +has them must be at some distance from Wardham.” + +“That’s the way I figure it out,” agreed Vic. “It’s made me almost +frantic, losing those animals and all they mean to me in a money way. +And poor Bill--he needs his share in them just now worse than he ever +did.” + +“I see that,” said Frank, thoughtfully, “and I shall try to get a man +right on the track. Don’t be so downhearted, Vic; we are sure to get +some trace of them.” + +“I hope so,” replied Vic, shaking his head dolefully. “You see, I had +pretty high hopes of the money I expected. I might have gone in with +you--see?” + +“You’re in with us now, Vic,” declared Frank in his friendly way. “You +put us under a great obligation by saving the Standard from burning up. +Here, Randy,” added Frank, calling to his chum, “you try and make Vic +see something cheerful in life till I get back.” + +Frank then started off on his mission to see the man, Bohm, whom Pep +had told him about. Randy then took Vic under his wing. He showed him +all over the place and tried to get his mind off his troubles. + +“You’re fine people,” declared Vic, gratefully, as they came out on the +street on their way to the hotel. “I wish I could do something to pay +you back for your kindness.” + +“You’ll feel all right when Frank finds your camels for you,” replied +Randy. “He’ll do it, too, you can count on that. And if you want to +join the movies, he’ll find a place for you.” + +They were at that moment passing the rival photo playhouse which +Frank’s enemies had been getting into shape. Those of the Standard +had paid little attention to Slavin and his friends of late. With the +securing of the lease on the double building, they apparently felt +that they had scored a victory over their competitors and had troubled +their minds about them no further. + +Slavin and his crew had made no further attempts to molest or annoy +Professor Barrington or his property. How they might feel when they +learned what Frank was up to with the Standard, the motion picture +chums did not know, or care. + +Frank had received a sneering smile from Slavin when he passed him on +the street two days after the Professor had been lured away from the +hotel. Several days later, however, this had changed to an angry scowl. +Frank decided that Slavin had learned of their new enterprise, and +realized that he had not scored so valuable a point against his rivals +as he had fancied. + +Just then Vic came to a halt and stood staring at a man who was just +entering the “New Idea,” as Slavin and his crowd had dubbed their +playhouse. + +“See that fellow?” asked Vic, pointing after the man. + +“What about him?” inquired Randy. + +“I know him,” declared Vic, apparently much roused. + +“Is that so? We know him, too,” retorted Randy,--“to our loss. He’s a +bad character. Ran movies against us at Riverside Grove and nearly put +us out of business. He’s the head and front of this new show--the New +Idea. Humph! it will be ‘new,’ all right, if he runs it.” + +“Well,” said Vic, “I’ve heard you speak his name and all that, but I +didn’t guess it was the man who was with the fellow who stole that +satchel from the train. He is the man I saw near Home Farm who was +rating the other fellow for getting the wrong grip. Say,” and a new +idea seemed to strike Vic, “is he up to any new mischief with you +people?” + +“No; but he likely will be,” replied Randy. “He’s a dangerous customer. +We have tried to keep the public, Slavin included, from knowing our +plans. He has probably had somebody spying on us, though.” + +“It would be a good thing to watch such a fellow, I should think,” +observed Vic, thoughtfully. “It would be a shame if anything happened +to your beautiful show here, after all your hard work. A rascal like +this fellow Slavin ought to be headed off.” + +“Yes, we’re going to keep a sharp eye out for him,” said Randy. + +He took Vic to the hotel, and gave him to understand that he was to +take up his residence with them until Frank decided what could be +done to recover the stolen camels. Then Randy went out to attend to an +errand for the Standard. When he returned he was surprised and puzzled +to find that Vic had disappeared. A scrawled note lay on a table in the +room, reading: + + “Got some business to attend to. Will be back this evening.” + +Frank, Pep, Mr. Strapp and Ben Jolly showed up at supper time. Frank’s +first inquiry concerned Vic. He was only half satisfied with the +report Randy made. Frank had read deeper into the odd farm boy than +the others. He knew that Vic, when he got an idea in his head, was +anxious to work it out. Frank felt sure that some such situation was +responsible for Vic’s unexplained absence. + +However, about eight o’clock Vic came quietly into the main room of +the suite. He did not appear at all excited; but that was rarely his +wont. The moment Frank scanned his face, however, he guessed that their +original young friend had something on his mind. + +Vic responded to the casual questions of those about him. Then he +sidled up to Frank in an uneasy sort of way with the words: + +“Say, Mr. Durham, I’ve been at the New Idea for the last three hours.” + +“Have you, indeed?” responded Frank, discerning something under the +surface in the declaration just made. “I didn’t know they were open for +business yet.” + +“Oh, they’re not,” answered Vic. “I’ve been working there.” + +“Working there?” exclaimed Pep, jumping from his chair in wonder. “You +don’t mean to tell us you’ve gone in with those fellows; do you?” + +“Yes, for one appearance only,” replied Vic, with his odd smile. “I +knew what I was about. I sort of hung around the New Idea with a ‘new +idea’ in my head. A lot of chairs were delivered from some wagons while +I was snooping around. Some fellow connected with the show came out, +saw me and asked me if I wanted to earn a little helping carry in the +chairs. That was my chance.” + +“For what?” inquired Frank. + +“To get inside and see the lay of the land,” declared Vic, with a +slight twinkle in his eyes as he noted Frank’s interest. + +“Say, how does it look?” asked Pep. + +“It looks too bulky, if you must know. There’s no grace to it, nor +elegance, nor taste, nor style. It’s clumsy. That big sprawling room +was never meant for a movies show. Why, I helped set some of the +chairs, and, honest, at the ends of the twenty-seat rows it makes you +cross-eyed to get in focus with the stage. But I got what I was after, +finally.” + +“What were you after?” inquired Randy. + +“To find out if those fellows had any idea of bothering you folks any +more.” + +“Say, you’re clever!” burst out Pep. “That was a fine move. Are they?” + +“I’m afraid they are,” answered Vic. “Mr. Durham, I want to tell you +something. It’s only suspicion; but I believe it. I managed to overhear +that man Slavin talking with his partner. I pricked up my ears when +they said ‘Standard.’ Then Slavin sort of chuckled, and I caught the +word ‘fire.’ I honestly believe that some of that crowd started the +fire in the garage shed back of the Standard.” + +“Oh, you mustn’t say that, Vic,” protested Frank. + +“Well, I have said it, and it may give you an idea of what a hard crowd +they are. They’re up to more mischief, too. Slavin was storming because +he said they could get only stock films. He said there were very few +that could be called educational, and called down his partner for not +hurrying some special films they seemed to be after. He said, too, that +if the Standard cut into business too much, there would be some wings +clipped.” + +“This looks as if we should be on the alert, Durham,” remarked Mr. +Strapp, seriously. + +“You certainly do,” observed Vic in his blunt way. “Slavin’s partner +made a remark about waiting to see what the Standard was up to before +they burned their fingers, as he put it. Then Slavin himself made a +significant remark.” + +“What was that, Vic?” inquired Frank. + +“He said roughly: ‘This is no time for a pillow fight; turn on the hot +stuff!’” + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +A GRAND SUCCESS + + +“I’m staggered!” spoke Pep Smith, breathlessly. “I didn’t think it +could be done this fine.” + +“Yes, Professor Barrington has certainly made good,” agreed Randy +Powell. + +The long and arduous efforts of the motion picture chums and their +helpers had come to a splendid climax. The Standard had just thrown +open its doors to the public. Like the unfolding of a fairy dream, at +seven-thirty o’clock that evening the protecting canvas covering the +entrance to the photo playhouse had been removed. + +Those passing by had been dazzled. Instantly the glowing front of +the building shone like a casket of jewels. Those in front viewed a +reception hall that suggested the tasteful portal to some royal palace. + +No placards had been placed--no advertising had been done in any +general way. Professor Barrington had pleaded for that opening night as +his especial own. + +“Gentlemen,” he had said, “the programme we put out the first night +must meet the unqualified approbation of the elite of Boston and the +local press. I have thousands of friends in Boston and I have as many +more in its vicinity, who for my sake would travel a good many miles. +Let admission the first night be by special card. I will guarantee that +the wealth and culture of the community put the seal of approval on +this great enterprise.” + +The old gentleman had not predicted wrongly. Over a thousand +invitations had been sent out. From seven-thirty until eight-forty +o’clock a constant string of private automobiles delivered load after +load of well-dressed people at the entrance to the Standard. They +showed themselves to be something more than mere invited guests. They +took a pleased interest in viewing the comfortable and luxurious +outfitting of the reception room and expressed their approval of the +venture of Professor Barrington when the artistic beauties of the +auditorium burst upon their view. + +Frank wore a smile of great satisfaction as he and Mr. Strapp stood at +the rear of the auditorium and looked over the assembled audience. + +“It’s pretty fine, Durham--playhouse and people,” observed the latter. +“I’d warm up quicker to the popular crowd; but their turn will +come after we get the good word from these people. There’re a dozen +newspaper men here.” + +“I suppose we will get quite a lot of free advertising,” remarked +Frank. “I’m sort of anxious about the programme. You see, the special +film we counted on is delayed. That historical reel that Pep so luckily +ran across has taken its place.” + +The house was well filled at eight o’clock. Probably a finer audience +had never before attended a motion picture show. Those who disdained +the cheaper grade of entertainments lost all consciousness of being out +of place. There was a flutter of interest and curiosity. The beauty of +the place had appealed to their artistic sense. + +There was a hush of expectancy as Ben Jolly, at the organ, started a +grand rolling patriotic tune. The outer curtain rolled up. + +At once a picture flashed upon the screen--it was that of the old flag +of the colonies. It came so suddenly, so keenly outlined, so rich in +coloring, that it startled the audience. It was no study in still life; +the wind waved its silken folds, the silver stars glowed and glittered. +There was a hum of pleased delight. The beautiful flag faded away, and +there showed on the screen: “A Tabloid of Home History.” + +It was not so much the well delineated but familiar scenes presented +that caught the audience. The flag view had stirred them up, and the +views of familiar scenes emphasized their patriotic ardor. + +“Sixteen feet of film to the second,” Frank told Mr. Strapp, but the +Westerner was too engrossed in viewing the screen to heed him. At +the “Boston Tea Party” there was vigorous hand-clapping. “The Battle +of Bunker Hill” caused a renewal of the enthusiasm. Half a dozen +Revolutionary battle and skirmish scenes followed, then the waving flag +again dissolved and the crowd “broke loose,” as Pep put it. + +“Say, it’s acted just like an appetizer--short and sharp,” spoke Pep, +moving to Frank’s side, a-quiver with delight. + +“That friend of yours, Bohm, was certainly a happy thought,” remarked +Frank. + +“I hope the heavy stuff is going to make as good an impression,” +observed Mr. Strapp. + +“Oh, it’s sure to strike these wise heads right,” assured Pep. + +“Is This the Kind of Fish That Swallowed Jonah?” was flashed across the +screen, and a great monster was depicted occupying the entire length +of a freight car. Against it was a placard giving a few facts, such as: +“Five harpoons and one hundred and fifty-one bullets used to subdue the +monster,” “five days required to finally kill it,” “towed one hundred +and twelve miles by a tug, weight thirty thousand pounds, length +forty-five feet, circumference twenty-three feet nine inches, diameter +eight feet three inches, mouth thirty-eight inches wide, forty-three +inches deep, several thousand teeth, tail ten feet from tip to tip, +hide three inches thick.” + +“The Florida Keys” was the next slide. This glided into a scene +where the biggest fish known in those waters was sighted by a Miami +sportsman. The chase began. The harpoons flew. It took half a reel to +give the exciting incidents of the battle and capture. + +One scene was thrilling. This was where the monster smashed a boat +into pieces and crushed the rudder and propeller of a thirty-one ton +yacht. Even after it had been landed and was supposed to be dead, the +leviathan, with a sudden flip of its tail, demolished a dockhouse. +There was a final scene where a fisherman was seen sitting in the +fish’s mouth as it was being hoisted to a flat car to be shipped to the +Smithsonian Institution. + +Pep, circulating about unobtrusively, but with eyes and ears wide +open as he directed the half dozen lads dressed in neat uniforms who +acted as ushers, had a constant smile on his face. He gathered a score +of compliments on the reel that he caught from august professors and +scientists in the audience. + +“Making A Pin” was the third film. Then the little ones in the audience +were given a show. Many had been purposely invited. They had shown +strict attention to the first three features. “Toy Making In Germany” +brought out the ecstatic “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” So many Santa Claus +specialities were exhibited that they fairly bewildered the little ones. + +“A Hard Sum” catered to the juvenile portion of the audience old enough +to attend school. There was an educational element in the school scene +where the teacher wrote a sum upon the blackboard. Those who attempted +its solution daubed themselves and the board with chalk as they +wrestled with the problem. The film worked in the laggard, the dunce +and other familiar characters of the schoolroom. When a bright little +fellow wrote out the answer, the juvenile spectators cheered and then +woke up as from a delightful dream, as a romping scene brought forth +gales of laughter. + +Professor Barrington’s face was one expansive smile as, after the +audience dispersed, he joined his business friends, rubbing his hands +gleefully. + +“An emphatic success,” he declared. “Gentlemen, there was not a flaw in +the entertainment from beginning to end. It was simply perfection.” + +“That’s my way of thinking,” crowed Pep. “Oh, but we’ve got the machine +in grand order. All we’ve got to do now is to keep it running.” + +There was a scramble for the morning papers at their room the next +morning. Pep was the first to discover what the leading journal said +about them. + +“A whole column,” he announced, waving the paper to and fro, wild with +enthusiasm. “Read, Frank--the Standard has awakened--famous!” + +There was to be a lapse of two days. Then the Standard was to give four +shows daily--two in the afternoon and two in the evening. There were +some general details to attend to, but it gave Randy, Pep and Vic some +leisure. + +“Say,” remarked the latter one afternoon, “the New Idea opens to-night. +I was just past there and saw their big sign.” + +“Is that so?” said Randy, with awakening interest. “What do they +announce?” + +“‘Life Among the Lowly--Great Philanthropic Film,’” replied Vic. + +“That sounds sort of good,” observed Pep. + +“Yes, there ought to be some human interest in that kind of stuff,” +said Randy. + +“Then they’ve got another specialty,” went on Vic. “‘The Beaver +Colony.’” + +“That’s old,” said Pep. “They had that in New York. It’s on the +educational order, though. What else, Vic?” + +“‘Training Camels,’” reported Vic. “Say, fellows, I’m interested there. +Let’s go and see how they make out.” + +“Agreed,” answered Pep, promptly. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +THE “NEW IDEA.” + + +“It’s too bad to pay out our good money here,” said Pep. “About half +the people going in have complimentaries.” + +“I noticed that,” answered Randy, “I suppose they want to make a good +showing, though.” + +“Yes, I overheard that man Slavin talking about ‘papering the house’ +freely,” said Vic. + +The three friends got beyond the ticket taker to look about the new +playhouse with a good deal of curiosity. The place looked clean, +but was poorly ventilated. There had not been much attempt made at +ornamentation. The auditorium looked barn-like on account of its great +width. + +“They might better have had the stage at the side,” was Pep’s criticism. + +“Say, fellows,” remarked Vic, “if you want to see anything clearly, you +had better get seats on a line with the stage.” + +“Yes, I see that,” nodded Randy. “Here we are. There’s quite a crowd,” +he added, looking around the room. “It isn’t half bad for a common +everyday movie, but it isn’t in the class of the Standard.” + +“I should say it wasn’t,” retorted Pep, spicily. “Say, upon my word all +the music they’ve got is an electric piano! Hope you see me,” added Pep +in a quick undertone, but loud enough for his companions to hear. + +As Pep spoke he stared back at a bustling, officious-acting man coming +down the aisle, who was staring hard at him. This individual paused, as +if taken off his guard. Then he scowled slightly, shifted his glance, +and went on his way. + +“Slavin,” observed Randy, with a shrug of his shoulders. + +“Yes, our old friend of Riverside Grove, sure enough,” responded Pep. +“And he saw us, too.” + +Pep followed the former rival of the Airdrome with his eyes. He noticed +Slavin approach an usher and give him some orders as to seating the +people as they came in. Then Slavin went over to a man lounging near +the back row of seats. Slavin looked at Pep and his friends, and the +man with him followed his example. In a minute the man started down the +center aisle. + +“Say, fellows,” whispered Pep, hastily, “I’ll wager the suppers that +Slavin has set a spy on us, who is coming to take a seat directly +behind.” + +“Why, what for?” inquired Vic, in a wondering way. + +“To listen to what we say about the show, and probably hoping we’ll +let out some points about the Standard that Slavin would like to know. +S--st, now!” + +Pep’s surmise was correct. The man he had noticed Slavin talking +to--evidently some hanger-on of the place--took a seat in the row +directly behind them. Pep gave Randy a wink. + +“Say,” he said, in a voice he did not try to restrain, “I’ve had enough +training in the movies line to see that these people here are going to +have a visit soon from the city building department.” + +“How’s that?” inquired Randy with affected artlessness. + +“Look at the exits--none on the sides and just one at the rear, and not +even a red light set.” + +“Sure enough,” nodded Randy, as if intensely interested. “In New York +they wouldn’t be allowed to run this way,” and Randy added to himself: +“That will give this spy something to set Slavin thinking.” + +“Did they tell you about the big features the Standard has coming,” was +Pep’s next purposeful break. + +“Oh, you mean the great film?” answered Randy. “Say, that must have +cost a lot of money. Just think! A man sent specially thousands of +miles away to get reels on things never before seen by civilized man, +and covering subjects never before caught by the camera! It will create +a sensation; won’t it?” + +“I should say so!” declared Pep, and then he subsided as their watcher +squirmed and rustled about in his seat. + +“That’s pretty fair,” said Randy, as the first film of the +entertainment was concluded. + +The subject was “Beaver Land.” It was old to Pep and Randy, but they +were fairly indulgent about it. Vic had never seen it before. + +“Those are real good pictures,” he observed. “Interesting, too. I know +something about beavers and they show them up quite natural.” + +“The Great Philanthropic Film--Among the Lowly,” was next announced +on the screen. The delineation began with a guide starting out with +a party of slummers to view the under life of a great city. The only +philanthropic part of the display was where one of the group gave some +money to a cripple, and another paid off a constable who was about +to eject an invalid widow, and her little family of children, for +non-payment of the rent. + +“The Modern Fagin” was the central feature of this film. This was an +elaborate showing of the life of petty thieves. There was a scene where +one street gamin tripped up a market woman, while his accomplice made +away with the contents of her basket. + +Then there was a training scene in the thieves’ school. A wretched old +man showed his apt pupils how to pick a pocket, snatch a purse, and pry +up a window. The film ended with the successful robbers making a great +raid by smashing in the window of a jewelry store. + +“Why!” gasped Randy, “that ought to be censored! It’s the kind of a +picture that gilds crime. Those pictures are the most dangerous I ever +saw.” + +“The camels next,” said Vic, as a new announcement flashed across the +screen. “I lived in a tent with some of them with my father when I was +a small boy. My!” he added rather dolefully, “I do hope we get some +word about my camels from the man Mr. Durham has hired to look them up.” + +“Frank always knows what he’s doing,” replied Pep, encouragingly, “and +the man he has sent to look up your camels, does, too, very likely. +You’ll soon hear some news, I feel sure.” + +The film showed a fenced-in space, the tops of trees beyond it. A +camel was standing feeding in one corner of the enclosure. A man with a +hooked pole came in by a little gate. He approached the animal and gave +it a jab with the pole. + +The camel turned around. As it did so, its other side came into full +view. It was a clean, intelligent looking animal and as the man tapped +one of its feet the camel lifted that leg and waved it. + +“Say, oh, say!” burst from Vic so suddenly and sharply that Pep +glanced at him in sheer wonderment. Vic had started from his seat. +His eyes were dilating. He seemed about to blurt out the cause of his +extraordinary emotion. + +“What’s the matter?” inquired the marveling Pep, placing a hand on the +arm of his companion to quiet him. + +Vic was trembling all over. He appeared to be in a paroxysm of +suppressed excitement. He was about to reply to Pep, when apparently he +was put on his guard by a glance back of him. The spy was leaning over +with an eager face to catch what he might say. + +“Just get out of this, Pep; will you?” whispered Vic in a positive +gasp. “I’ve something to tell you--something of great importance.” + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + +DONE WITH A CLICK + + +“What’s the matter, fellows?” propounded Randy, as he noticed Pep +arising to his feet and, also, the evident perturbation of Vic. + +Pep gave him a nudge and a look which told his quick-witted comrade +that something was up. The trio crowded past the others in the seat +and started for the door. Pep shot a glance backward. He caught sight +of the man who had sat directly behind them and whom they had every +reason to believe was a spy on their movements, staring after them in a +wondering and undecided manner. + +Pep led the way to the sidewalk, out of the way of passing pedestrians +and possible watchers from the playhouse. + +“Now then, Vic,” he challenged--“what’s new and strange?” + +“That film!” gulped Vic, his face pale and his frame in a quiver of +excitement. + +“You mean that camel reel?” inquired Pep. + +“Just that. Say, I thought I’d holler right out! That camel was mine!” + +“You mean to say it is a picture of one of your stolen camels,” asked +Pep. + +“Sure--don’t I tell you so?” retorted Vic. “Why, I’d know him anywhere.” + +“Camels are a good deal alike--” began Randy, but Vic interrupted him +with the words: + +“That’s so, but there’s only one marked as he is marked.” + +“Marked--how do you mean?” questioned Pep, tremendously worked up now. + +“On his right forefoot,” explained Vic. “Bolivar is branded there, +plain as day. It’s what they call a monogram. This one is ‘G. B.,’ the +initials of my uncle’s name. Bill told me about it--Bill Purvis, you +know?” + +“Yes,” nodded Pep assentingly. + +“That’s the clew we gave the people down at Wardham who went hunting +for the camels when they were stolen. It’s in the picture, too--that +mark.” + +“What picture?” demanded Randy. + +“Oh, didn’t I ever show it to you--the one Bill gave me? Here, get +nearer to the electric light--see?” and Vic drew from his pocket a fair +sized card photograph. + +At this both Pep and Randy gazed closely. Sure enough, as Vic had +told, on the right forefoot of the leading animal pictured the mark Vic +had described was clearly to be seen. + +“I didn’t notice that mark on the camel in the film,” said Pep, “but of +course I wasn’t looking for it. There’s something to this, Vic, sure.” + +Pep was always ready to jump at a speedy conclusion, especially if +something new and exciting was involved in the subject in hand. He +pushed his cap back in his impulsive way, as if here was a new mystery +to solve. + +“It looks as if that camel in the film was yours,” said Randy. “If +that’s so----” + +“It is so,” declared Vic confidently. “That being true, you can see +what it means. That camel is alive, and he’s being used as an actor, or +a model, or whatever you call it--” + +“In motion picture scenarios!” burst out Pep, seeing the light in a +flash. “You’ve hit it. Just that.” + +“Well, well, isn’t it strange to get a trace of the camel this way +now?” cried Randy. “All you’ve got to do is to find out where these +New Idea people get their films, and you’ve got the starting point to +running down the whole four camels.” + +“Hold on,” directed Pep at once. “Maybe that isn’t so easy. Say, +there’s some thinking to do here,” and his brow wrinkled in a +dreadfully wise way. He wriggled about as if his mind was acting at +lightning speed. “If anybody but this especial New Idea crowd was +running those films, I’d say you could get on the track of the people +who made that film right away. Where that rascal Slavin has a hand +in anything, though, look out, I say. Didn’t you tell me, Vic, that +you heard Slavin say something about the poor stock films in the +educational line?” + +“Yes, I did,” assented Vic, “and that they must get some special +features to keep up with the procession.” + +“Then you just make up your mind that this is one of them, and I’ll +bet that it doesn’t come from any of the regular exchanges,” declared +Pep. “A real live camel isn’t so common. A real clever scenario man +with a central feature like that could keep on getting out a whole +lot of real taking stuff. Slavin would steal a whole menagerie if he +had the chance. I can’t see how he might have come across your camel. +Maybe he didn’t. A bad crowd did, though, of course, or they wouldn’t +have stolen him. It’s just such people Slavin trains with. You can +figure it out your own way,” concluded Pep sapiently, “but Slavin is +clever enough to hide his evil work, if he really has any hand in this +business, and you’re not going to catch him napping.” + +“I think as Pep does, Vic,” put in Randy. “Some pirate movies have +got hold of your camel. They’re a kind decent folks in the line +won’t usually trade with. Slavin would. He must know the whole four +camels are being hunted and that they might be traced down by someone +interested accidentally seeing that film, so he has probably fixed it +so the crowd using the camel can’t be easily traced.” + +“I’ve got it!” exclaimed Pep, suddenly. “I’ve thought it all out! Say, +fellows, you wait here till I come back; will you? I’ll be gone only a +few minutes. Come farther away from here, too.” + +“What for?” inquired Vic blankly. + +“So if that spy of Slavin gets sight of us, he won’t guess what we’re +plotting and suspect us and head us off.” + +“What’s your idea anyway, Pep?” asked the curious Randy. + +“I’ll tell you when I get back. It’s only as far as the hotel. I want +to get to the New Idea in time for the second camel film.” + +Pep bounded away, leaving his comrades puzzled but hopeful. He was not +gone five minutes and came back with sparkling eyes. + +“I’ve got it,” he said, and tapped a side pocket of his coat which +bulged out considerably. + +“What have you got, Pep?” asked Randy, straining his eyes to guess +from the object in his pocket its identity and purpose. Pep drew into +view a flat book-shaped case. + +“Hello! your camera,” exclaimed Randy. + +“That’s it,” nodded Pep. “I am going to take a photo of that camel +film.” + +“Why, say, what’s the good?” inquired Vic, “I’ve got a bigger and +better picture of that camel than you can get.” + +“It isn’t the camel so much I’m after,” explained Pep. + +“What, then?” inquired Vic. + +“His surroundings. There may be some figure, or building, or view that +might give a hint as to where the picture was taken. Now, see here, you +two had better go to the hotel. The three of us going back to the New +Idea might excite suspicion. I’ll slip in quietly, watching out for the +fellow who sat behind us there. Leave it to me to get what I’m after.” + +“All right,” assented Vic, only somewhat dubiously. “The main thing, +though, is to find out where the film was made. If you’ll let me, I’d +hang around and run up against a couple of the boy ushers there. We +worked together carrying in the chairs, you see. Maybe it’s generally +known around the New Idea where the reels came from.” + +“It’s not, that I know,” declared Pep. + +“How do you know it, Pep?” asked Randy. + +“From the fact that the name of the film maker wasn’t shown in +announcing the reel. It’s an independent, in the first place--under +cover, I’ll wager. Say, fellows, don’t waste my time. Let me try out my +idea. There’ll be plenty to do after that to keep us thinking.” + +Rather reluctantly Randy and Vic started in the direction of their +hotel. Pep proceeded straight back to the Slavin playhouse. He knew a +good deal about photo work and he had an excellent small camera. Once +inside he waited in a rear seat until the third film ended. Then, the +dispersing crowd out of the way, he selected a seat near the center +aisle close to the front of the house, securing just the right focus on +the stage. + +Pep was so absorbed in his plans that he noticed little of those +around as the first film played on the screen. When the camel film was +announced. His eyes were in full use. Again he noticed that no credit +was given to the maker of the film. What he was looking for was the +introduction of some object, surroundings or person likely to give him +a hint that could be followed down. + +Pep kept the camera in his lap ready to raise, focus it and snap it at +the right moment. He had kept it out of view when the lights were on. +All of the time he held the camera in an unobtrusive way. He did not +wish to excite suspicion or even attention. + +From all that Pep could judge, the training scene in which half a dozen +characters appeared had been enacted in some kind of an enclosure. +He was disappointed in it. He did not like to let the slides pass +by without catching the faces of the actors, which might count for +something. + +“There’s something!” almost aloud in his excitement Pep soliloquized. + +A large box had been carried into the scene by two men. It was upside +down, but Pep could make out the words, a name made by a marking brush. + +“That is probably an address--maybe a shipment box to the scenario +camp,” mused Pep. “It’s a good time, too, for the actors and the camel +are nearly stationary.” + +Pep lifted the camera even with his chest. + +Click! the shutter closed back. The operation was over and Pep felt +that he had accomplished something. + +Just at that moment a hand shot out at his side. His neighbor, whom he +had not particularly noticed, grasped him suddenly by one wrist. + +“Give that up!” he ordered hoarsely, snatching out for the camera, +which Pep instantly thrust behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + +PEP A PRISONER + + +Pep Smith at once decided that the man who now held his hand captive +was another of the Slavin spies. He was sure of it as the latter added +to his fierce command the words: + +“I’ve been watching out for your sort--stealing, hey?” + +“Stealing what?” retorted Pep, vigorously. “No, you don’t!” he added, +as the man tried to reach the camera. “That’s my property, as it +happens.” + +Several persons had caught the echo of the snap-clip of the camera. The +rising up of the man and Pep, the start of a struggle, began to attract +attention. Pep’s captor took a new tack. He waved a hand towards the +entrance, uttering a low whistle. The house policeman came hurrying to +the row of seats where the commotion was going on. + +“Take this fellow out of here, officer,” spoke Pep’s captor. “He’s been +up to tricks.” + +Pep knew that resistance would be useless. Further than that, some +ladies and children near to him were becoming nervous and alarmed. No +one better than Pep knew how quickly a dangerous panic might start +from a trifling incident. He went quietly with the officer, his captor +following. + +“What is it--an arrest?” inquired the policeman, as they got down the +aisle away from the center of excitement. + +“Later, maybe,” was the response. “Let the management decide that. Take +him to the office.” + +The policeman now grasped Pep’s arm, which the other man released. He +marched him clear to the rear, then around the rows of seats and down a +side aisle to the stage end of the house. He opened a door at one side +of the stage, went through a passageway, and ushered Pep into a lighted +room. + +This was the office of the New Idea. It little resembled the tasty +business-looking office of the Standard. It contained chairs, a desk +and a table. The air was cloudy with tobacco smoke. Their chairs tilted +back against the wall, their feet elevated on the table, and smoking +cigars, were Slavin and another person. + +There was no doubt that Slavin instantly recognized Pep, for at a +sharp stare at the youth down came chair and feet. + +“Hello! what’s this?” he shot out. + +“Stealing,” reported Pep’s first captor, stepping forward briskly. “You +can go, officer. We’ll let you know if we need you later.” + +“All right,” nodded the policeman, lightly, and retired with a knowing +look on his face. + +“Stealing; eh?” spoke Slavin, bending a scowling face towards Pep. +“Picking pockets?” + +“Say, you don’t have to ask that,” retorted Pep, hotly. “No one better +than yourself knows I don’t have to do that.” + +“He was stealing, all the same,” insisted his captor, and as Pep +realized the special emissary of Slavin. “I caught him red-handed.” + +“What doing?” inquired the other man, evidently Slavin’s business +partner. + +“You get him to give you that camera and you’ll probably find out,” was +the explanation. “I know the fellow, for I’ve seen him before. He’s one +of the Standard crowd.” + +The speaker concluded by snatching at the camera. Pep was off his +guard for that. His despoiler handed it to Slavin, who looked it over +casually and pushed it into a drawer of his desk with the words: + +“We’ll keep that for evidence and look it over later. Stealing a film; +eh?” he interrogated the previous speaker. + +“That’s what. He had that camera in his lap ready for snapping. It’s an +old trick and I suspected him, knowing the crowd he came from.” + +“What was he stealing?” interrogated Slavin’s partner. + +“The camel film,” was the reply. + +“Eh? What’s that?” ejaculated Slavin, with a start. Then he swept Pep’s +face with swift suspicion and added: “Of course that--one of our own +specials. You’re in fine business, you Standard people; aren’t you? I +believe I’ll just hand you over to the police.” + +“I wasn’t stealing your films,” protested Pep. + +“What do you call it, then?” sneered Slavin. + +“I wanted a photo for a friend of mine, who was interested.” + +“Yah, that!” jibed Slavin. “It’ll be a fine thing to have the public +know that a partner in the high and lofty Standard goes around stealing +New Idea films; won’t it, now? Say,” he added to his partner, “we’ll +just cage this fellow. It will be a downfall for old Strapp and his +crowd and a capital advertisement for us. Call the officer and make a +regular complaint, Norris,” he ordered, to the man who stood on guard +between Pep and the doorway. + +Pep felt that he had placed himself in something of a quandary. He +thought quickly and to some purpose. He turned upon Slavin in a +defiant, fearless way. + +“You’ll do nothing of the sort, I’ll guarantee,” he said boldly, “if +you think twice about it.” + +“Oh, is that so?” jeered Slavin. “Why won’t I?” + +“Because I shall explain why I photographed that film. I said a friend +of mine wanted a picture of the camel in it. I spoke the truth. He +wants that picture because the animal in your film was stolen.” + +“The mischief!” ejaculated the partner of Slavin, staring at Pep as if +he had found him out to be a pretty smart boy--and one to be feared. + +But if this man was startled--the effect upon Slavin of Pep’s +audacious statement, impolitic though it might have been, was fairly +extraordinary. He actually paled and trembled. For a moment his mind +seemed taking in all the words might imply. Then springing to his feet +he pounced down upon Pep. + +“Norris,” he spoke in husky, unsteady tones, “take this fellow down to +the lumber room. Lock him in safe and sound. When the crowd is gone +we’ll put him through the third degree. It isn’t safe to let him loose.” + +“No, he knows a lot too much for our good,” growled Slavin’s partner. + +Pep’s eyes glowed. He had deftly got these men to verify his +suspicions. There was something underhanded about their possession of +the camel film. Pep had surmised correctly when he had told Vic Belton +and Randy that the starting point in the hunt for the stolen camels was +the New Idea photo playhouse. + +Pep was a fighter on most occasions when cornered. However, he knew +that Slavin was in an ugly mood. The three men he faced were big burly +ruffians. Pep did not care about being battered. They could not detain +him long, for Randy and Vic knew that he had come to the New Idea. They +would suspect Slavin and look for him there if he was absent for any +length of time. + +“Go ahead,” said Pep, indifferently. “You won’t help yourself by +locking me up.” + +The man Slavin had called Norris led the youth to a door at the rear of +the room. + +“Get down there,” he ordered, and turned on an electric light in the +vague darkness below. As Pep descended a pair of rickety steps Norris +closed and locked the door. + +The apartment Pep found himself in was used as a lumber room. It seemed +to run under the entire stage space. It was littered up with damaged +chairs, pieces of boards, some stage scenery and such trumpery as is +regularly broken or discarded in a motion picture playhouse. + +There was not a break in the solid stone wall enclosing the apartment +except where a deep, barred window showed, too high for Pep to reach. +Even could he have done this and have removed the bars, he quickly +discerned that a cat could hardly hope to squeeze through the narrow +aperture. + +“I’m fairly booked, I guess,” reflected the youth. “I wonder how it +will all come out? There’s a ventilator that might help me, if I could +reach it. No, it isn’t that. It’s a dump chute.” + +As Pep spoke he advanced under a hole in the floor that formed the +ceiling overhead. It was far beyond ready reach. Studying the break in +the floor, however, he found that a box-like structure ran up about +four feet into the room overhead. Then Pep knew that it was a chute +into which the sweepings of the playhouse were dumped. + +A heap of dust, scraps of paper, splinters of wood and the like, +littered the floor. Pep the inquisitive pulled the mass over. He +apparently had some leisure to spare. He proceeded to utilize it to +some purpose. + +He felt that he could not know too much of the enemies of the Standard. +There were quite a lot of envelopes, postals, advertising matter and +the like. He inspected what there was. There were several duns for +unpaid bills, applications for engagements, offers of service from film +houses. + +Pep’s eyes brightened as he fished out a part of a letter. There was +not much of it and he could not find the connecting fragments, but he +felt satisfied with his discovery. + +“It’s from the people who got up that camel film,” decided Pep. “‘Can +make a series of about twenty camel subjects’ that scrawl says, ‘and +then work in educational nature reels like bees, butterflies and birds. +Must be secret and cautious and will ship from B twice a week.’ Where’s +‘B’, I wonder?” + +Pep pulled over the papers in the heap several times, but he could not +find the rest of the letter. He had kicked aside a creased sheet of +manilla paper several times. Casually picking it up, Pep noticed that +it had enclosed some goods shipped to the New Idea. It bore an address +in ink. Then he noticed that it had the impress of a red stamp in one +corner. As he read what this said he almost uttered a shout. + +“Got it, sure!” he crowed and he tore address and stamped words from +the manilla sheet. “This is the paper a package of camel films came in, +sure as shooting. I want to get out of here now, if I can. Yes, I’m +going to do it.” + +Pep cast his eyes once more up at the ceiling five feet overhead. Then +he went over to a long plank. This he lifted, dragged and tilted in an +incline against the side wall just under the chute. + +It was no task for a healthy, nimble boy to scale this. When Pep +reached the top of the plank he elbowed his way up into the chute, +keeping a safe anchor purchase on the top of the board with one toe. + +Very cautiously he grasped the edge of the top of the chute and stuck +his head up. The chute was located in a partitioned-off space behind +the stage. Pep lifted himself out of the chute, felt a blast of fresh +air, and groped his way to its source, an open window. + +It was a ten foot drop to a paved court, and to find his way to the +nearest street was nothing. Inside of five minutes Pep was at the hotel. + +Randy and Vic greeted him with expectant faces as he burst in upon +them. + +“Did you get the picture?” questioned Vic eagerly. + +“No--lost my camera; but I’ve found something better. Look here.” + +Pep drew forth the scrap of manilla paper. In ink it bore the address +of the New Idea. A red stamp across one corner read “Prepaid” and under +it were the words: “Brinton, Massachusetts.” + +“That’s part of the covering that enclosed the camel film,” announced +Pep. “Vic, I think you’ll find your camels at or near Brinton.” + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + +A GRAND SUCCESS + + +“What have you decided, Frank?” asked Pep. + +“I think our duty to Vic is to do what we can for him,” was the prompt +reply of the whole-souled leader of the motion picture chums. + +“Yes, he is a good-hearted fellow,” declared Pep, warmly, “and he is +worrying more than you think about those camels of his.” + +“I can see that. I can see also,” added Frank with a quizzical +expression of face, “that you are about as anxious as he is to play +detective and get on the track of the animals.” + +“I’ll do better than that man you sent out to find the camels, I’ll +bet,” vaunted Pep. “Why, he just wasted time. Then when you gave him +the tip about Brinton, he either missed his cue or botched it and +scared away the game. No, sir--you give Vic and me a chance and we’ll +find out where the camels are hidden unless the animals have been +spirited away to some distant place.” + +“It’s a bad time to spare you, Pep,” said Frank, in a business-like way. + +“I know that,” responded Pep. “The last two days have shown what people +think of the Standard. Wasn’t it just grand last night?” + +“See you in a minute, Pep,” interrupted Frank, as Mr. Strapp called to +him from the office, and he left Pep to think over how grand, indeed, +had been the progress of the Standard since opening up regularly. + +The week had started in with a programme of only two daily +entertainments--a matinee from two to four and an evening bill from +eight to ten. This was to continue for that week to try out the plan. +The programme was quite a long one, but this very fact induced the +class of people the Standard was reaching for to come from a distance +to an entertainment lasting two hours. + +There had been almost a scramble for seats the day before. The +Standard, roomy as it was, had its auditorium packed at both afternoon +and evening entertainments. The night before, Pep, as he now sat +recalling it, fancied he would never forget. + +The feature of the evening was the most beautiful floral film he had +ever seen. It was labelled “The Century Plant.” Professor Barrington +had held high hopes as to the attractive qualities of this unusual film +and had not been disappointed. + +It appeared that a convention of horticulturists from all over the +East was being held in Boston. The professor knew its officers. His +suggestions and influence had resulted in a viva voce resolution on the +part of the convention to go and see the famous film in a body. + +By eight o’clock nearly three hundred of the delegates and their wives +filled one entire section of the big auditorium. Then there filed in +over one hundred students from Harvard University and Wellesley College. + +“You could fairly smell the perfume!” declared Mr. Strapp. + +It was no wonder, therefore, that Pep reflected that he was missing +a great thing in leaving Boston on the proposed mission. He was, +however, loyal to Vic. They had become great friends, and to Pep more +particularly Vic betrayed his deep anxiety to learn the fate of the +stolen “ships of the desert.” + +The day after Pep’s stirring adventures at the New Idea he and Vic +had related their details to Frank. The latter was fully convinced +that Pep had made an important discovery. Frank at once telegraphed to +the special agent who was trying to find the stolen animals to go to +Brinton and see what he could find out. As a matter of fact the man had +discovered nothing and Frank had called him in and paid him off. + +Frank handed Pep a roll of bank notes as he returned from the office of +the playhouse. + +“Mr. Strapp thinks you and Vic had better try your luck on this +proposition,” he advised his eager chum. “Don’t let money stand in the +way of accomplishing something.” + +“Oh, we’re going to find those camels,” declared the optimistic Pep. +“I’d better go to the hotel and get Vic and start for Brinton on the +first evening train.” + +“All right,” nodded Frank. “I’ll go with you as far as the hotel.” + +“Say, Frank,” remarked Pep, as they left the Standard, “I hope we’re +not going to miss ‘the great film.’” + +“Oh, I don’t think that will be ready until next week. That reminds me, +too: I must send Randy with a message right away to Mr. Randall. He +hasn’t been feeling very well for a day or two. I don’t want to have +him think we are neglecting him, but we have been so busy yesterday and +to-day that neither Professor Barrington nor myself could find time to +visit him.” + +Mr. Randall was the man who had been sent out on the big film +expedition. Pep and Randy had seen him only once, and he had impressed +them greatly. He had received a joyous greeting from the professor +when he arrived, and had at once been placed in possession of a little +studio about a mile from the playhouse. The location was retired and +pains had been taken to keep it secret. + +Mr. Randall had come back from his wonderful expedition a good deal of +a wreck. One ear had been bitten off by some beast of prey, the other +had been frozen and a part of it was missing. + +The scarred and battered adventurer was now working on the development +of the negatives of the great film and had been given a full studio +equipment to perfect this. + +Meantime, the Standard had whetted public curiosity and interest by +putting out in the daily prints little hints as to the coming great +film. They had also announced this grand feature on the screen at the +Standard. + +“I suppose Slavin and his crowd are just worrying themselves to death +guessing what the great film really is,” Randy had remarked. + +Frank had decided it the best policy to leave the New Idea crowd +entirely alone. He did not even strive to find out how they were +succeeding with their new enterprise. The bustling Pep, however, was +an inquisitive news gatherer. He had reported only the evening before. + +“Slavin had no crowd at all the second night.” + +“And the third?” Randy had asked. + +“There wasn’t any third night,” explained Pep with a grin. “They had +some trouble with the people who furnished their electric light outfit, +I heard. Anyway, they weren’t allowed to open till they settled the +bill. Last night they ran a second camel film, but there weren’t many +there to see it.” + +When they got to the hotel it took Pep and Vic only a few minutes to +make up a package of necessaries for what they believed would be a +brief trip. Frank had written a hurried note while they were packing up. + +“Here, Randy,” he said, “I would like to have you take a message to Mr. +Randall and see how he is getting along. You know where his studio is?” + +“Oh, yes,” replied Randy, “I’ve been there once already, you know. +Why, it’s on the way to your depot, fellows,” he added to Pep and Vic. +“We’ll take the walk together; eh?” + +“Nothing better,” chirped the lively Pep, and the little coterie bade +Frank good-bye and started on their way. + +Pep kept up his usual brisk chattering the mile or less they had to +cover. When they came to a point where the street leading to Randy’s +destination diverged they parted. + +“Come on,” directed Pep, as Randy turned away with an expressed hope +that they would have all kinds of good luck in their mission. Pep had +found Vic staring back of him and caught his arm urging him along. + +“What’s the matter?” he added. + +“I was just looking,” replied Vic, rather strangely. + +“Looking for what?” asked Pep. + +“Well, I fancied I saw two fellows who looked a good deal like some men +we saw at the New Idea the other night dodge into a doorway back of us. +They’ve disappeared, though. Say, do you suppose they were following +us?” + +“If they were,” replied Pep, “I’ll fool them. Quick, now!” as they +turned a sharp corner. + +Out of view of any possible pursuers, Pep made a dive through a narrow +space between two buildings and Vic followed him. In three minutes’ +time they had reached the next street. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + +A FEARFUL LOSS + + +Randy proceeded on his way, chirp and chipper and whistling a careless +tune. There was so much to feel proud and happy over as to present and +future prospects, that all of life seemed to him to be gilded with +sunshine. + +Randy had been to the studio of Mr. Randall once before. He knew the +location generally and had no difficulty in finding the house where the +professor’s agent lived. Its lower part was occupied by a woman who +rented out the rooms above. She was scrubbing out the little front hall +as Randy appeared. + +Randy stepped past the woman and ascended the stairs. If he had chanced +to look behind him as he left the street, he might have made out two +men dodging after him. They were the twain who had just recently +attracted the attention of Vic and aroused the suspicions of Pep. + +All unconscious of being followed, Randy proceeded to the second story +of the old house. The rear room of that floor was a large glass-roofed +apartment. It had been once used as a photograph gallery. It was now +being utilized not only as a living room by Mr. Randall, but also to +develop and perfect the films he had brought back with him from over a +year’s travel and adventure. + +Randy knocked at the door of the room, but no attention was paid to the +summons. He waited a minute or two and knocked again. There was still +no invitation to enter. Randy held his ear close to the door. + +“There’s surely someone in there, for I can hear hard breathing,” he +declared. “Maybe Mr. Randall is asleep.” + +Randy tried the door, and the knob turned readily in his grasp. It was +quite late in the afternoon, but by no means dusk yet. However, the +slanting glass roof had inside screens to exclude the sunlight. These +had been pulled close. They were made of thin cambric and while they +were thin and did not entirely shut out the light, they shadowed the +interior and for a moment caused Randy to make out his surroundings +imperfectly. + +Then he saw that someone was lying on a couch set in an embrasure in +the wall. Randy approached the recumbent figure. He made out the man +he had come to see. Mr. Randall was apparently asleep, and the youth +touched his arm. + +“Mr. Randall, it’s a messenger from Professor Barrington,” he announced. + +The sleeper roused up, turned over, and blinked his eyes in a tired, +bothered way at Randy. The latter became concerned at once. The man +appeared quite ill. His face was flushed and his eyes watery. As he sat +on the edge of the couch he moved to and fro. His hand rubbed his brow +in a confused, unsteady way. Then, as he gave a lurch forward, Randy +sprang to his side and eased him back on the pillow, the man gasping +painfully. His hands were hot as fire and he lay there panting weakly. + +“It’s another attack of the old fever coming on,” voiced the sufferer, +faintly. “You see, I had a hard tussle of it. The Esquimaux got me just +in time. Did you say Professor Barrington sent you?” + +“Yes, sir,” answered Randy, “and I’m going straight back to tell him +how sick you are. He never dreamed it and I know he will be very +anxious about you.” + +“Maybe it’s nothing,” said Mr. Randall. “I’ll soon get over it. Feel +very much prostrated, though. I--I wish you would tell Professor +Barrington to bring a doctor with him. And--on the table. That package. +Just take it to him, will you? I’ve got the film in shape. He’ll find +directions for the shade and color effects in the envelopes inside.” + +“You mean this?” inquired Randy, as he moved towards the table where +lay an oblong package. + +His fingers tingled as he placed them upon this. The great film! The +thought filled the impressible Randy with an awed sense. Here was the +great photo production secured at the cost of so much money, patience, +intelligence and peril! + +Just then the patient uttered a sharp cry and started up on the couch, +his eyes wild looking, his hands waving about excitedly. + +“It’s blinding me--the sun shining on those icebergs!” he shouted out. +Then he shivered. “The cold--the cold!” he added. “Seventy-two below at +noon! I’m perishing!” + +“He’s out of his mind--he’s delirious,” exclaimed Randy, very greatly +alarmed. He replaced the package on the table and hastened down the +stairs. The woman below was just wiping off the stone sill of the +street doorway. + +“Quick!” he spoke--“the gentleman upstairs is dangerously ill.” + +“I knew that,” interrupted the woman. “I wanted to bring him hot tea +when I was cleaning up his room just now, but he said it was nothing.” + +“He is in a fever and out of his head,” said Randy. “Could you go up +and stay with him till I come back and watch him to see that he does +himself no harm? I must fetch a doctor at once.” + +“Surely I’ll attend to him,” responded the woman, readily. + +“Where can I find the nearest doctor?” inquired Randy. + +“There’s none very near here that I know of,” said the woman. “The way +we do is to go to the nearest drug store.” + +“Keep a watch on Mr. Randall,” was Randy’s hasty direction, and he +bolted through the open doorway for the street. + +He almost ran into two men who stood at one side of the steps as he +flew down them. They must have overheard his conversation with the +landlady of the house, was the thought that flitted through Randy’s +mind. He was so intent on calling aid for the sufferer, however, that +he paid no particular attention to the men. + +Randy ran all the way to the drug store, two squares distant. Its +proprietor stared rather wonderingly at the breathless, excited boy +who dashed into the place precipitately. + +“Mister, will you call the nearest doctor, quick!” panted Randy. + +“Urgent case?” questioned the druggist. + +“Yes, sir, very much so,” declared Randy. “It’s right on this +street--No. 217.” + +“Mrs. Dean’s? I know the place,” nodded the druggist. “You had better +wait till I see who I can get,” and the speaker hurried to the +telegraph booth. + +Randy was on pins and needles of suspense. He knew that Professor +Barrington would never forgive himself if anything happened to his +faithful agent through any real or seeming neglect. The druggist had to +make several calls on the telephone before he found a doctor at home. + +“I’ve caught Dr. Rolfe at home,” he advised Randy as he came out of the +booth. “He says he’ll come at once. His office is a mile away, though, +and it will probably be fully fifteen minutes before he shows up.” + +“Oh, thank you,” said Randy, gratefully. “I must hurry back,” and he +bolted out. + +He was dreadfully stirred up and anxious as he ran up the steps of the +house he had recently left. The stairway was dark and shadowy. Someone +coming down them half-way up jostled violently against Randy. The +latter supposed it was some roomer in the place. Then, as he reached +the upper hall, he almost bolted into the landlady. She had just come +up the rear stairs from the kitchen, it appeared, and she carried a +basin of steaming hot water in her hands. + +“Oh, it’s you?” she hailed. “I was just bringing the doctor some +boiling water he ordered. You got him here very quick; didn’t you?” + +“What doctor?” bolted out Randy. + +“The one you went for. He got here ahead of you. I took him up to the +studio and he sent me for this.” + +“The doctor--here?” cried Randy. “That is impossible! The doctor the +druggist telephoned for lives a mile away and couldn’t possibly get +here inside of the next fifteen minutes.” + +“I don’t understand--” began the landlady, but Randy darted past her. + +“Something’s wrong,” he faltered, as he crossed the threshold of the +studio. “See,” he added to the landlady--“there is no doctor here.” + +“Why, I left him here not two minutes since,” declared the woman, +staring about the room and almost dropping the basin she carried in her +sheer amaze and bewilderment. + +Randy’s quick eyes swept the room with a swift, comprehending glance. +Mr. Randall lay quiet as if exhausted on the couch where Randy had seen +him last. Except for him and themselves the apartment held no occupant. + +Suddenly Randy uttered a startled cry. It was a fairly terrified one, +shocking afresh the already disturbed nerves of the landlady. + +“Where is the package that was on that table?” he cried, wildly. + +“Eh--oh, yes, I noticed it when I went for the hot water. It’s gone; +isn’t it?” + +“Gone--it’s been stolen!” shouted Randy, almost overcome by the +discovery. “Oh, I see it all. It was no doctor whom you saw.” + +“But he said he was,” declared the landlady. “He said he was sent for. +He even mentioned Mr. Randall’s name and--” + +Randy did not wait to hear the rest of the sentence. He was out of the +room, down the stairs, and out upon the street in a flash. The worst of +fears appalled him. + +“Those two men!” he faltered, gazing up and down the deserted street. +“They must have followed me! They overheard me and one of them +impersonated the doctor. They are gone and with them,--oh the fearful +loss!--the great film!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + +“GETTING WARM” + + +It was well on towards midnight when Pep and Vic reached Brinton. There +had been two changes to make and the village was asleep when they got +off the cars at the little railroad depot. Its door was locked, they +were the only passengers who had left the train and they stood looking +about them in a cheerless, undecided way. + +Brinton was decidedly a way-back, one-horse town. When they traced the +only light visible to its source, the boys found that it hung over the +doorway of a little restaurant. Across this there was a sign reading: +“_Hotel_.” + +They had to knock long and loud to arouse a frowsy appearing old man, +who opened the door and viewed them with a sleepy and unfriendly eye. + +“What do you want?” he challenged, holding the door open about two +inches. + +“A room, if you’ve got it,” was Pep’s prompt reply. + +Somewhat grudgingly the old man finally admitted them. He waited until +they had produced a dollar, which was his demand for a double-bedded +room. Then he led them to the apartment. + +The boys made a very fair shift in getting comfortably landed in beds +that sagged at one end and bumped up in the center. + +They were supplied with a capital breakfast in the morning, to their +surprise this being included in the one dollar paid in advance. + +“Now then--what?” inquired Vic, as they came out upon the street. + +“Why, my idea is to see the express agent here. It was by express that +the film we saw at the New Idea came. It was stamped as coming from +here. We’ll make for the depot first.” + +The boys came across the man in charge of the railroad depot. He was a +loose-jointed, lazy-acting man who pottered about as if he was tired of +living. + +“Are you in charge here, mister?” inquired Pep. + +“Yes, depot agent, telegraph operator, real estate, loans and insurance +on the side, baggage master----” + +“Stop there,” said Pep. “That’s where we want you. We are looking up +some packages that have been sent from here to the New Idea, a picture +show in Boston.” + +“Hello!” exclaimed the man with a start--“you’re the second one.” + +“Second one, what?” propounded Pep. + +“To come here, asking about them packages. Yes, there’s been two we +sent--‘John Smith’ to the ‘New Idea.’ Don’t believe that’s his right +name, though. He sent two of the packages, as I say. About a week ago +he stopped sending ’em. Haven’t seen him since.” + +“About a week ago?” ruminated Pep. “I can guess that Slavin sent him a +warning. Where did the man come from?” he asked. + +“Dunno, and no one else. A man who was here a few days since asked me +that same question. I gave him a description of the man. He went out +searching for him, but he came back and took the train for Boston next +morning, looking sort of discouraged, so I reckon he didn’t find out +much.” + +“The detective Frank Durham hired, I’ll bet,” whispered Vic to Pep. + +“Likely enough,” replied the latter. Then he said to the station agent: +“Describe the man to us, too; will you, mister?” + +The agent did so, “John Smith” was tall, dark and wore a light suit. He +had come to the depot on two occasions on horseback, and, it looked, +from some distance. + +“You’d know that hoss if you saw him,” declared the man. “He was a +succus hoss.” + +“Oh, a circus horse?” guessed Pep. + +“That’s what I said--all mottled like a zebra. And spotted--brown and +white. Say, is there something wrong about that fellow that so many +people are looking after him?” + +“Nothing that you are mixed up in,” assured Pep. Then he learned the +direction the shipper of the packages had come from, and he and Vic +went outside and held a brief consultation. + +“South,” decided Pep, “and that road,” and he pointed in the direction +the man they were seeking had taken when last seen by the express +agent. “Now then, my opinion is this man comes from some movies camp +probably quite a distance from Brinton and in an isolated spot. The +railroad map shows no railway to the west for thirty miles. We will +follow this road till we strike that line. Then we will make inquiries +at the stations we reach if we don’t strike a clew before then.” + +“I hope we may do that, Pep,” sighed Vic. “This looks like a dreadful +tangle.” + +“We’re here to untangle things; aren’t we?” demanded Pep. “Here’s the +programme: You take one side of the road, and I’ll take the other. We +must make inquiries at every farm house we come to about a tall dark +man and a piebald circus horse.” + +That was tedious work. At noon they came to a little village some ten +miles from their starting point. It had a few houses only and a small +general store. The boys bought some crackers and cheese and rested +for an hour while they compared notes. Altogether they had found five +persons who recalled seeing the mottled horse. They had only casually +noticed it, however, and had no idea of where it came from or where it +was going. + +“Well,” commented Pep, “we’re only sure of one thing.” + +“What’s that?” inquired Vic. + +“That the man we are looking for came this far, homeward bound on this +road.” + +“Yes, that’s so,” agreed Vic, “for the people in the last house you +called at saw the horse, and that was less than a mile away.” + +During the next two hours they found only one more person, a field +hand, who had seen the circus horse and its rider. Then they seemed to +have lost the trail. There were many confusing cross roads, and the +boys were uncertain as to which they should pursue. It was fairly dusk, +when dusty, travel worn and tired out, they entered a farm yard and put +their usual question to a man refreshing himself at the pump after a +hard day’s work. + +“We’ll put up here till morning, if they can accommodate us,” Pep told +Vic. “Say, mister,” he added, advancing to the farmer, “have you seen +anything of a man and a horse--” and Pep rattled off the tiresome +formula comprising a description of man and beast. + +“A piebald horse!” fairly snorted the man, looking both interested and +suspicious--“no, I haven’t; but I’d give a dollar to anyone who has.” + +“Is that so?” spoke Pep, pricking up his ears and believing he was +going to find out something of value. “Why do you say that?” + +“Because I’m looking for jest sech an animal,” was the spirited reply. +“Night afore last someone drove into my orchard over by the field gate +with a wagon and a sheet. He lifted one of my bee hives, stand and all, +wrapped it in the sheet and scooted.” + +“But you didn’t see who did it?” queried Vic, eagerly. + +“No, but a neighbor boy coming home late did. That’s how I know about +the horse being a piebald one. He saw the sheet tied around the hive +and got scared. Thought at first it was a ghost.” + +“We are looking for just that horse,” Pep advised the farmer. + +“Oh, robbed you, too?” + +“No, sir, the people who own that horse did worse than that. We’ve been +hunting for them the last twenty miles.” + +“You won’t find that horse, I’m thinking,” said the farmer. “The +animile is a total stranger to these parts. Never heard none such in +the country. My boys spent a hull day trying to run down the varmints.” + +“Well, we are on the track of the thieves,” said Pep, “and we’ve got to +run them to cover. Can you put us up for to-night, mister?” + +The farmer looked the boys over critically. Pep had taken out his +pocketbook and that had some influence. + +“I calculate I can,” he said. “How do I know, though, that you hain’t +in cahoots with the crowd that took that bee hive, come to get hold of +something more?” + +“I guess I haven’t got as honest a face as you have,” replied Pep +naively. “If I had, you’d trust me. Here,” and he extended the +pocketbook. “There’s over a hundred dollars there. You can keep it as +security until morning to feel safe that we won’t make away with your +property.” + +“Put it up, put it up,” said the farmer, hastily, shamed by the boyish +appeal of Pep and a glance at the wistful, appealing eyes of Vic. “I +was only fooling. You can stay, and if you’ll agree to let me know if +you get track of them robbers it’ll cost you nothing.” + +“Oh, we will surely do that,” promised Pep, “but we want to pay for +what we eat.” + +“None of that--I’ve said my say,” retorted the farmer. “Just sit down +on the stoop till I shut up the tool house and I’ll take you in to +marm.” + +“What are you thinking of, Pep?” at once inquired Vic, as left alone +with him his companion’s face was crossed by a reflective smile. + +“I’m thinking that we’re ‘getting warm,’” replied Pep, briskly. “No +regular thief would drive away with only one bee hive. He’d take two +or a dozen. To my way of thinking, that mottled horse we are after +carted away that bee hive to some movies camp near here to get up ‘an +educational film.’” + +“I’ll bet you’ve hit it!” cried Vic Belton, hopefully. + +“Of course I have,” declared Pep. “The horse this farmer describes is +the very horse we’ve been trying to run down; isn’t it?” + +“Yes, that is sure,” assented Vic. + +“Those movies fellows wouldn’t rummage all over the country to steal +a bee hive,” continued the confident Pep. “They would naturally select +the nearest point where they could find one. They weren’t after honey, +or they would have brought a tub and robbed the whole line of hives. +Why, it’s clear as crystal to me. They wanted the material for a bee +film.” + +“Say, Pep, you’re just smart, the way you figure things out so quick +and right,” commended Vic, who had come to like his new comrade so +greatly that he considered him the cleverest fellow in the world. “That +movies crowd must have a regular hideout, though, to be able to come +and go with no one able to find out where they have their camp.” + +“Yes, they seem to have fixed themselves right in getting out of the +way when they want to,” admitted Pep. “You see, though, this district +isn’t very well filled up and it would take a long time to go all over +it. I think we are ‘getting warm,’ though, as I told you. There’s +something in the back of my head tells me we are closer to them than we +have been before. We’ll take a fresh start in the morning and see what +we can make out.” + +“Say, there’s where I can help!” exclaimed Vic, suddenly, and he darted +away to where two boys were driving some cows from pasture into a shed. + +“I’ve got my twelve quarts fair and square,” announced Vic +triumphantly, at the end of fifteen minutes, and he lifted his pail +foaming nearly to the brim. “Why, you’re ages behind me,” he rallied +his competitors. + +The incident made the quartette quite chummy. They went in to an +excellent supper. Vic was in high spirits over the exercise and +excitement of his exploit. He jollied his rivals in true farm boy +fashion. Finally Pep brought up the bee hive incident, and the farm +boys learned of his interest in the despoilers who had visited them. + +“I say, Pep,” observed one of them, “you ought to try my plan of +trailing that stolen hive. I read about it in a farm paper and maybe +there’s something to it.” + +“What was that?” asked Vic, curiously. + +“Why, yesterday I noticed that the bees in the next hive to the stand +where the hive was stolen were gone all day. They didn’t go near the +clover field. This morning there were only about half the regular bees +in that hive. The others didn’t come back.” + +“Why,” queried Pep, animatedly, “you don’t think they’ve gone after the +stolen bees?” + +“Yes, sir, that’s just what I do think,” insisted the lad who had +spoken. “Some of ’em couldn’t find the other hives, maybe, and came +back; but where are the missing ones?” + +“Say,” exclaimed Vic, “that’s a great idea! If you could only follow +them----” + +“Pshaw!” dissented the farmer, “what do the newspapers know about bees? +They just make up all kinds of ridiculous things to fill up their +columns.” + +“Well, I believe they know something about it in this case,” declared +his son. “Why don’t you let me try it, Pop? The papers says to sprinkle +the bees with fine flour and keep sight of them for miles and miles.” + +“Rubbish!” retorted the self-opinionated father, but after a general +discussion of the situation he agreed “to fool away the time on the +nonsensical experiment,” as he called it. + +Bright and early in the morning both Pep and Vic were down at the +breakfast table. The farmer’s boys had already attended to the flouring +of the bees and told them about it. They took their guests to the +orchard and showed them the hive they had doctored. Then they had to +start for their work in the fields. + +“I declare, you’ve been right good and entertaining,” declared the +farmer, as Pep and Vic came to the house to say good-bye. “None of +that!” he roared, as Pep started to take out his pocketbook. “You let +us have the news if you find out anything, hey?” + +“We will do just that, you can depend upon it,” promised Pep. + +Then the boys went back to the orchard. The bees had begun to come out +of the hive. They fluttered around, shook their wings, rolled into +the grass and seemed working to get the foreign substance from their +bodies. Some of them returned to the hive, some followed the denizens +of other hives to the clover field. Then one by one, until they +comprised quite a floating cloud, a great many of them headed down the +road. + +“There’s our start,” announced Vic, triumphantly. “All we’ve got to do +is to follow them; eh, Pep?” + +“Oh, of course we must do that,” was the answer. “As to keeping them in +sight, though, that is another question.” + +After that they tramped several miles, coming across single bees +resting in flowers as if they had given up the task of going any +further. Then, too, some bees headed back in the direction of the farm. +The trailers were so tired out and hungry by about eleven o’clock that +they sat down in a little thicket, and decided to rest for an hour and +eat the generous lunch the farmer’s wife had provided for them. + +Both dozed for a spell. Pep nudged his snoozing companion at length and +started to wrap up the remnants of their feast. As he stooped over to +do this, he drew back suddenly with the sharp sudden hail: + +“Come here, Vic--quick!” + +“What is it?” inquired his comrade, rising to his feet and approaching. + +“Look there. See, where the sugar off those cookies has littered the +paper.” + +“Why, there’s half a dozen bees--our floured ones, too.” + +“That’s right,” said Pep. “Now then, try and keep them in sight,” and +he gave the newspaper a smart flip, scattering the sugar into the +grass. Instantly the intruders arose, circled about in the air and then +made a true bee-line away from the spot. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + +THE MOVIES CAMP + + +“Say, we can’t go there,” spoke Vic, as they followed an erratic dash +through the thicket, coming to a spongy meadow, a rise created with +undergrowth and finally the edge of a bog. + +“We’ve got to,” declared Pep. “For the last ten minutes all of the bees +have disappeared except two of them, which flew right in among those +high rushes.” + +“I say,” cried Vic, abruptly, “there’s a stream of them flying into the +bog! See--see! They’ve dropped! No, there they are again.” + +The boys followed the edge of the swamp for over half a mile. Suddenly, +a few feet in advance of Pep, his companion came to a staring halt and +cried out: + +“There they are!” + +Pep hurried to Vic’s side to obtain a glimpse of an opening in the +flags and willows. A quarter of a mile away, sloping up ten feet above +surrounding water and bog land, was an island. It was well wooded, +but through the trees in the centre they could see some kind of a +high-boarded enclosure. + +“See it?” cried the excited Vic. “I’ll bet we’ve discovered something. +Looks like a stockade.” + +“We have located our people,” asserted Pep, with a thrill of exultation +in his voice. “The boards around that enclosure look just like those in +the film.” + +“Let’s find out right off if my camels are in there,” spoke Vic, +eagerly. + +Pep looked dubiously at the prospect before them. The large area +surrounding the island was at places covered with water several feet in +depth, at others with a sticky mass of black mire. There might be some +more secure way of reaching it from the other side of the swamp, but +this would necessitate a three or four miles’ tramp. + +“I’ve a good mind to try it,” remarked Pep, after a brief thinking +spell. “See here, Vic, there seems to be more of mushy mud from here +across than at the first place where we struck the swamp. There’s +clumps of flag roots here and there, and I think we can get across.” + +“I think so, too,” responded Vic. “We can try it, anyhow.” + +The boys divested themselves of their shoes and stockings, rolled up +their trousers above their knees, selected two long stout poles from +the debris of a fallen tree, and started forth on their expedition, Pep +in the lead. + +It was no easy nor pleasant task they had chosen. They discovered this +before they were half-way across the swampy stretch of ground. There +were places where a misstep sent them waist deep into a spongy mass of +rotted bog grass. At others a jump to a seemingly solid clump of roots +sent the water spurting up about them in cascades. + +Twice Vic got mired in the mud and Pep had to pull him out. They were +fully an hour getting to the edge of the island. Thus far they had +caught no sight of anybody about the place. They were so exhausted, +that as they reached dry land at last they threw themselves down upon +the ground, panting for breath and completely exhausted. + +“That was a hard pull,” spoke Pep, at length. “Say,” he added, +pointing, “just as we calculated there is a kind of a road, or rather +half solid path, leading from the island across that other side of the +bog.” + +“I see it,” responded Vic and he got up and ran to the outside of the +high, board enclosure. “Pep! Pep!” he instantly whispered, beckoning. + +In an instant both lads were peering through a broad crack between two +boards. Their hearts fluttered and their eyes distended. An old man was +setting up some painted scenery screens. Just beyond him was a kind of +shed, or covered stall. Within it, feeding on some hay, was a camel. + +“Oh,” gasped Vic, tumultuously, “it must be mine!” + +They could view only the hind feet of the animal and could make out +that one of these was encircled by a chain running to an iron stake +driven into the ground. + +“We’ve found one of your stolen camels,” proclaimed Pep, in a satisfied +tone. “There don’t seem to be anybody around except that old man. +Judging from the costumes and features lying around, though, it’s easy +to see that this is a regular movies camp.” + +“Perhaps the rest of the crowd have gone somewhere to act out a scene,” +suggested Vic. “Say, Pep. I’m going to find out if that is really mine +and if the others are here.” + +As he spoke Vic drew from his pocket a three-tubed wooden whistle. Pep +had seen this before, for Vic had shown it to him on several occasions +and explained its use. Bill Purvis had given it to him, telling him +that it was a signal whistle to which the camels always responded. +In fact he guided the animals through the whistle, which he had made +himself and which gave out a triple hollow note unlike any whistle Pep +had ever heard before. + +“Try it, if you want to,” advised Pep, and Vic placed the whistle to +his lips. He blew one brief trilling blast. + +“Gracious!” ejaculated Pep. + +“It’s my camel!” exclaimed the overjoyed Vic. + +That strange echoing call had produced a startling effect. There was +a roar from the shed confining the camel and then a ripping, tearing +sound. Out of the stall the animal swung, tearing up the iron stake +which now dangled from the end of the chain behind him. + +The old man within the enclosure turned to view the aroused camel +with frightened eyes. He ran for a sharp-pointed spear nearby. Before +he could reach the animal, however, the camel--for the mark on the +forefoot proved that it was one of the stolen pets of Bill Purvis--had +made a reckless, devastating dash for the spot outside where the +familiar signal call had sounded. + +“He’s coming straight for the fence,” shouted Pep. “Get out of the way, +quick!” + +There was a frightful crash. The high boards went hurtling to +splinters. The animal crowded past the wreckage as if the barrier had +been made of tissue paper. + +Overjoyed, but with a great deal of trepidation, Vic ran in the +direction of the beaten way forming a sort of passage to the mainland, +Pep accompanying him. The camel started after them, as if he, too, +sought a means of leaving the island where he had been a captive. + +The animal dropped the furious manner he had shown when he had made his +onslaught upon the fence of the enclosure. He looked as pleasant at the +boys as a camel can look. Apparently there would have been no trouble +whatever, had not the old man rushed out through the hole in the fence +carrying a sharp, hooked pole. + +As he saw the boys he shook his fist at them, as if connecting them +with the disaster of the moment. Then he ran up behind the camel and +viciously buried the pointed end of the hook deep in one flank. The +animal uttered a shrill cry of pain and then turned on the man and gave +him a savage nip in the arm. + +Surprised and alarmed, the man turned and ran away. At that same moment +came other strange sounds from a sort of barn not far away. + +“Look!” cried Pep. + +“The other camels!” yelled Vic, joyfully. + +He was right, from out of the structure three more camels had come. +They now ran to join the leader, and all trotted behind Vic and Pep. + +“Let us lead them to that farm!” cried Vic. + +“Yes, we had better get out of here while we have time,” was the +panting answer. + +“We’ll ride!” went on the owner of the camels. “Wait, I’ll show you +how.” + +He made two of the beasts kneel down and he climbed up on the back of +one and Pep got on the back of the other. Then the boys lost no time +in finding their way through the marsh once more. Several times they +looked back, but saw nothing of any pursuers. + +They breathed more freely as, four hours later, they came within sight +of the Bacon place. The camels in their cumbersome but steady way had +kept up a tramp without a single halt. + +There was a startled scream from the kitchen of the Bacon homestead +as its mistress caught sight of the camels walking into the yard and +approaching the water trough. From the direction of the fields Pep saw +Mr. Bacon and his two sons scampering towards them, attracted by a +distant sight of the unfamiliar intruders. + +They had just reached the center of activity and Pep had barely made +them understand the situation, when two horsemen came dashing along +the road they had just followed. + +One of them rode the piebald horse that had been so often described to +the boys during their search for its owner. + +“You’ve stolen our camels!” shouted its rider, leaping to the ground. +“Slip the chain hooks on ’em, Ben,” he spoke to his companion. + +“They are mine!” cried Vic. “You stole them once. You’d better leave +them alone and be off, or you’ll get yourself in a whole heap of +trouble.” + +“No, he won’t be off,” sounded a grim voice, and Farmer Bacon, who +had momentarily run into the house, now ran out of it. He held a +double-barreled shotgun in his hand. + +“See here, what is this your business?” demanded the first movies man. + +“Just this! that horse of yours drove away with one of my bee hives +two nights ago. Dick,” went on the farmer to one of his sons, “Saddle +Nellie and get lickety-switch to Squire Bisbee. Tell him to fetch a +couple of constables with him. I’m going to sift this business and know +the rights of things before you leave this farm, stranger!” + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + +EXCELSOR!--CONCLUSION + + +“It’s great news!” declared Mr. Strapp. + +“Grand--wonderful!” added Professor Barrington. “That Pep Smith of +yours is a genius. As to this Vic Belton, he deserves his good fortune +in every way.” + +The “great news” was the arrival of a letter from Pep, reciting his own +and the adventure of Vic in their search for the stolen camels. Farmer +Bacon had soon straightened out matters. The leader of the movies +bandits was in jail for stealing, his accomplices had fled, and the +camp on the swamp island was broken up and deserted. + +The two young heroes, as the admiring Ben Jolly insisted on dubbing +them, had the camels in safe and comfortable charge and would be in +Boston and back at the Standard the next day. + +“Yes,” said Frank, brightly, “things are coming out finely all along +the line. We should be very happy and hopeful, Professor, over the +wonderful success of your educational films.” + +“There’s no doubt of that,” acknowledged the old savant gratefully, +but he added with a sigh: “if we only hadn’t lost the great film!” + +“Forget it!” instantly advised Mr. Strapp, in his brusque, practical +way. “It’s gone, and we haven’t any time to spare crying over spilled +milk. That Slavin crowd got it. There is no doubt of that, according to +my way of thinking.” + +“It hasn’t brought them much luck,” submitted Ben Jolly. “Randy here +says they’ve not had the money to go on smoothly. They have almost +dropped the educational line, working in two ‘funnies’ for part of +their programme. Just as you said at the start, too, Durham, their +location is wrong. It’s just far enough off the lively belt to lose the +transients.” + +“I think we had better give up any idea of ever getting trace of the +stolen film,” said Frank. “It is my opinion that it has been destroyed, +just to block us. If Slavin hasn’t, he can’t dispose of it in this +country without implicating himself as a thief. He knows, too, that as +soon as it is used we can stop it and get it back. Going to the hotel, +Randy?” + +“No, I’ve got something to attend to.” + +“Pretty late in the evening for business; isn’t it?” questioned Frank, +curiously. + +“That’s all right,” answered Randy, very seriously. “I’ve been watching +the New Idea and I’m going to keep it up until I find out something.” + +“You mean about the stolen film? Don’t waste the time, Randy,” advised +Frank. “As to how their show is progressing, we don’t care a snap of a +finger. They are pretty nearly at the end of their rope. Did you know +that Trudelle, the partner of Slavin, met Mr. Strapp on the street +yesterday and hinted at selling out to him if he would pay a liberal +bonus on the lease?” + +“I didn’t,” replied Randy, “but I do know that Slavin and Trudelle are +quarrelling with one another most of the time. I’ve got a friend in one +of their ushers--and he’s keeping me posted.” + +It was to meet this friend in question that Randy now proceeded to +the neighborhood of the New Idea, instead of going with the others to +their hotel. Randy could not get the great film out of his mind, and an +incident had occurred a night previous that had started him on a plan +for getting as close to the affairs of Slavin as was possible. His idea +in doing this was the hope that he might find out what had become of +the great film. + +Randy had been passing the New Idea late at night. The place had been +shut up for over an hour, but one of the entrance doors was open and a +young fellow about his own age sat outside--on a stool. He was crying +and Randy went up to him. + +Sympathy and help was what the lad wanted, Randy soon found out. He was +an usher and handy boy about the place, slept behind the stage nights, +and he said had not been paid his wages for a week. He had asked for +some money to send to a sick mother after the show that night. Slavin, +in an ugly mood, had refused to give him even the two dollars he so +badly needed and had kicked him over on a chair, badly bruising his arm. + +“And Slavin and his partner take what money comes in and go off every +night with it, playing cards and wasting it,” complained the little +fellow, bitterly. + +“Will they be back again to-night?” asked Randy. + +Yes, the boy said they usually returned a little after midnight and sat +up quarrelling usually. Randy fancied he saw his chance. He told the +boy he would let him have the two dollars and would see that he got a +better job, if he would let him share the little den he occupied back +of the stage. + +Randy did not entirely explain to the lad what he was after when he +made his second visit, after leaving his friends at the Standard. The +boy, however, had little love for his swindling employers and did not +much care. It was thus that, an hour later, Randy found himself just +where he wanted to be--in a room adjoining the office of the New Idea. + +About one o’clock Slavin and Trudelle came into the office apartment. +The latter acted reckless and as if he was under the influence of +drink. Slavin began to upbraid him for gambling away some money he had +taken from the box office. + +“Huh! what you got to kick about?” growled Trudelle. “You’ve got that +big film. You say it’s a fortune. Why don’t you turn it into cash?” + +“Yes, I’ve got it and I intend to keep it,” retorted Slavin. “I’ll tell +you one thing: If you don’t straighten up I’ll quit and get to a place +where I can find my price for that little piece of property.” + +“It’s half mine. Aren’t we partners?” demanded Trudelle. There was some +fierce bickering, he shook his fist in his partner’s face and Slavin +picked up a chair and knocked him flat. + +All this Randy saw and overheard, crouched close to the partition which +had several cracks in it. He noticed Slavin glance viciously and then +uneasily at the senseless man on the floor. Then he went over to the +desk, opened it, and began hurriedly to ransack its drawers, selecting +several papers and stowing them in his pocket. Suddenly Slavin, as if +seized with some urgent idea, shouted out: + +“Jim--hey, you boy Jim, come in here.” + +“Go ahead,” whispered Randy. “See what he wants.” + +The boy Jim entered the office room and Slavin took a key out of his +pocket. + +“See here,” he said, “if you want your back pay and something more, all +in cash, take that key and go to the place where I room. You know where +it is?” + +“I’ve been there a dozen times--yes, sir,” answered Jim. + +“Well, you get quietly to my room. There’s a broken trunk under the +bed. In the bottom is a package done up in a pasteboard box. You can’t +miss it. Fetch it here and I’ll pay you as I say.” + +“Let me go instead of you,” whispered Randy, breathlessly, as Jim +returned to his room. “Go to my hotel,” and he told the lad where +it was. “Wait for me there and I’ll give you double what that man +promised.” + +“You will?” challenged Jim, earnestly. + +“Yes, and a position at the Standard in the bargain. Slavin is +arranging to run away, I can see that.” + +The boy Jim agreed willingly. Randy’s pulses beat high as he left the +New Idea by the rear. Jim, accompanying him as far as the hotel, told +him in detail of the location of Slavin’s room. + +“If it’s only the great film that Slavin has sent for!” cogitated +Randy, as he hurried on his way. “It looks so. He’s going to throw up +his hands here and maybe make for Europe, where he could dispose of it +easily.” + +Twenty minutes later, as Randy reached the room indicated and lifted +the box Slavin had told about from under the bed, he made investigation +enough to be sure that he had found what he had hoped to find. It was +the great film. + +Frank was still up reading, Mr. Strapp and Professor Barrington were +going over some business papers. All hands looked up in startled +wonderment as their young friend fairly burst into the room. + +“Oh, Frank!” almost shouted the breathless Randy--“I’ve got it!” + +“Got what?” inquired the professor, lifting his astonished eyes to the +excited lad. + +“The great film--and there it is!” and Randy placed the parcel before +him. A satisfied smile passed over the face of Mr. Hank Strapp of +Montana. He grasped the hand of his young partner in a grip that made +Randy wince. + +“Great, boy!” was all he said. “I’d be proud to be your father!” + + * * * * * + +It was a gala night at the Standard. The decks had been cleared for +action; the occasion heralded all over the city. The great film was to +be produced. + +All the motion picture chums were present. Pep and Vic had returned +from their adventurous quest of the camels, more in love with the +beautiful playhouse than ever. The sale of the camels was under +negotiation and it looked as though Vic Belton in a few days would have +a tidy sum to share with his faithful old friend, Bill Purvis. + +The New Idea was completely off the books. There was no doubt that +Slavin had planned to flee to Europe with the stolen film. He had +disappeared, and his partner closed up the playhouse with a broken head +and an empty pocket. + +Mr. Randall was in the audience and the boy Jim was an usher. The +handsome reception entrance was crowded with waiting throngs, for the +“full house” signs had been put up half an hour previous. + +Then as the curtain went up, for the first time in the history of +motion photography the wonders of the polar world were exhibited to +the world. Mr. Randall was something more than a mere photographer. He +had infused his scenes with rare human interest, every one of them. + +“A New World” was a faithful reproduction of all that appertained to +the far away, almost unattainable Arctic circle. The film was four +thousand feet in length, divided into that number of sections, and a +story and a romance were deftly woven into it. + +A spellbound audience saw something new, indeed--pictures of a land and +people that they had only heard of or read about in books. + +There was shown the building of a snow house, the capture and skinning +of the bearded seal, the hunting of the caribou and ptarmigan, the skin +boats of the natives, the most northerly white man’s dwelling on the +continent. There were the dog teams of the Esquimaux, the famous mud +volcano on Lagton Bay, the wreck of a great whaler, cooking with oil +for fuel, heather and dwarf willows, and a scene showing polar bears +swimming in the sea. + +The last film seemed to revivify some grand transformation scene. It +was here that the art of the expert Randall shone at its full zenith. +There burst upon the view of the enchanted audience the glories of the +aurora borealis. + +There was one unified breath of delight as the last reel ran off. A +flutter of the most grateful appreciation swayed the great audience, +and the motion picture chums realized that the future of the Standard +photo playhouse was assured. + +“We’ve got to celebrate,” voiced bluff, hearty Mr. Hank Strapp, as the +last light went out in the beautiful playhouse. “Entertaining the world +in the right way is a big thing. Educating ’em at the same time is a +bigger thing. My friends,” and he gazed devotedly at the bright faces +of his young business associates, “it was a lucky day when Mr. Hank +Strapp of Montana met you--yes, sir!” + +“You have made my last days my best days,” said the old professor, with +a tender touch of feeling. + +“Why,” cried the impetuous Pep, “this is only a beginning in the +educational film field.” + +“Yes, we must keep our eyes open for still other conquests,” declared +Frank Durham in his cheery, confident way. + +And so we leave the motion picture chums, who had scored their last +and greatest triumph through diligence, pluck and loyalty--each to the +other, and all to their many friends. + + +THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: + + + Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. + + Perceived typographical errors have been corrected. + + Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. + + Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75238 *** |