AN OLD FRIEND
It had grown nearly dusk while the three chums sat at the window of
their room animatedly discussing their prospects. None of them had
thought of lighting the gas and the night shadows that had crept into
the room prevented them from recognizing the intruder whom they now
faced.
They had left the door of the room leading into the corridor wide open
to allow a free current of air. The doorway framed a dim figure who now
advanced into the room as Frank challenged sharply:
“Who’s that?”
“Why, it’s me--Peter,” came the cool reply. “Don’t you remember?”
Peter--Peter Carrington--stalked closer to the window with the superb
effrontery that was a natural part of his make-up. He ducked his head
and grinned at the chums in the most familiar manner in the world.
There was a spare chair nearby. Peter moved it near to the others and
sat down as if he owned it.
“Feels good to rest,” he enlightened his grim and astonished hosts.
“Had a message for you, and the hotel clerk directed me to your room.
Say, you must fancy climbing four flights of stairs!”
“You seem to have made it,” observed Randy, in a rather hostile tone,
while Pep seemed bristling all over.
“Glad I did,” piped Peter, cheerfully. “Wouldn’t have missed it for
worlds. Just in time to hear you fellows going over your dandy scheme,
and say--it’s a winner! Photo playhouse on the beach! Why, it’ll coin
money!”
Nobody said anything. Frank was minded to treat the intruder civilly
and resumed his chair. Suddenly Pep flared out:
“Have you been waiting out in the hall there, listening to our private
conversation?”
“Guess I have; glad I did,” chuckled the thick-skinned Peter. “I heard
you say you were short of funds and something about a partner. What’s
the matter with me? I suppose you know my aunt is rich and we’re some
folks here. We live up on the Terrace--most fashionable part of the
town. Why, if I had an interest in your show I could fill your place
with complimentaries to the real people of Seaside Park. They’d
advertise you, my friends would, till there’d be nothing but standing
room left.”
“Think so?” observed Randy, drily.
“Know it. I’m my aunt’s heir, you know, and she’s got scads of money.
She’s been drawing the tight rein on me lately. I smashed an automobile
last week and it cost her over four hundred dollars, and she’s holding
me pretty close on the money question. But in business, she’d stake me
for anything I wanted. Says she wants to see me get into something.”
“You got into the water when the motor boat blew up, all right,”
remarked Pep.
“Hey?” spoke Peter, struggling over the suggestion presented. “Oh, you
mean a joke? Ha! ha! yes, indeed. Business, though, now,” and Peter
tried to look shrewd and important.
“We have not yet decided what we are going to do,” said Frank. “As you
have overheard, we need a little more capital than what we actually
have. I will remember your kind offer, and if we cannot figure it out
as we hope I may speak to you on the subject later.”
“I wish you would come right up to the house now and tell my Aunt Susie
all about it,” pressed Peter, urgently.
“I couldn’t think of it,” answered Frank. “No, you leave matters just
as I suggest and we will see what may come of it.”
“Say, Frank,” whispered Pep, on fire with excitement, “you don’t mean
to think of encouraging this noodle; do you?”
“I want to get rid of him,” answered Frank, and all hands were relieved
to see the persistent Peter rise from his seat.
“Oh, say,” he suddenly exclaimed--“I came for something, that’s so.
My aunt wants to see you, all three of you. Miss Porter gave her your
names and addresses and she wouldn’t rest until I had come down here.
She wants you all to come to dinner to-morrow evening and she won’t
take no for an answer.”
“Why, we may not be here then,” said Frank.
“Oh, you must come,” declared Peter, “now I have a chance to go in with
you. I couldn’t think of you’re not seeing her. Look here,” and Peter
winked and tried to look sly--“Aunt Susie is no tightwad. She is the
most generous woman in the world. She’s minded to give you fellows a
fine meal and treat you like princes. She considers that you saved her
life and she can’t do too much for you. Say, on the quiet, I’ll bet she
makes you a present of fifty dollars apiece.”
“What for?” demanded Frank.
“For getting to that burning boat and saving all hands, of course.
Why, I wouldn’t take the risk you did of being blown up for a thousand
dollars.”
“No, I don’t think you would,” announced Pep, bluntly.
“I’ll tell you,” went on their guest--“if you’ll give me a tip on the
side I’ll work up Aunt Susie to a hundred dollars apiece. There, I know
I can do it.”
Frank bit his lip and tried to keep from losing his temper with this
mean-spirited cad. Then he said with quiet dignity:
“I think you had better go, Mr. Carrington, and I shall expect you to
tell your aunt that we were only too glad to do a trifling service for
her. Please inform her, also, that I am quite certain we shall be too
busy to accept her kind invitation for to-morrow evening; in fact, we
may leave Seaside Park for our home at Fairlands early in the morning.”
Dauntless Peter! you could not squelch that shallow nerve of his. In a
trice he shouted out:
“Why! do you live at Fairlands?”
“Yes,” nodded Frank, wondering what was coming next from this
extraordinary youth.
“Then you know Greg Grayson?”
“Oh, yes,” admitted Randy.
“I should think we did!” observed Pep, with a wry grimace.
“Why, then, we’re regular friends,” insisted Peter, acting as if he was
about to embrace all hands. “He was my roommate at school. We were like
twin brothers.”
“Maybe that’s the reason!” muttered Pep.
“His folks are big guns in Fairlands, just as we are here. Say, if you
know Greg Grayson, that settles it. You just ask him if I ain’t all
right--up to snuff and all that--and if I wouldn’t make a fine partner.”
Frank managed to usher their persistent visitor from the room, all the
way down the corridor the latter insisting that he was going to “put
the proposition up to Aunt Susie” forthwith, and that they would hear
from him on the morrow.
“Frank,” exclaimed Pep, “it seems good to get rid of that fellow.”
“A fine partner he’d make,” observed Randy, with a snort.
“I am dreadfully sorry he overheard our plans,” spoke Frank. “Of course
it will soon be generally known if we decide to locate here; but this
Peter may talk a lot of rubbish that might hurt us or start somebody
else on our idea.”
“And to think of his knowing Greg Grayson, and playing him off on us
as a recommendation!” cried Pep.
“They make a good pair,” added Randy. “Why, I’d give up the whole
business before I would have either of them connected with our plans in
any way.”
“I wouldn’t wonder if Mr. Jolly might happen along if we stay here
a day or two longer,” remarked Frank. “You know he was the first to
suggest a look at Seaside Park with a view to business.”
“That’s so,” said Randy. “Did you write to him, Frank?”
“Yes. You know when we closed up at Fairlands he said he would take a
day or two visiting some relatives and looking over the movies business
in the city.”
“Ben Jolly told me he wasn’t going to stay idle all summer. Nor let us
do it, either,” observed Pep. “He’ll have something fresh to tell us
when we see him.”
“Well, when we left Fairlands I sent him a few lines telling him that
we were going to look over the field here,” said Frank. “That is why I
think he may drop in on us.”
“I wish he would,” declared Randy. “Mr. Jolly knows so much about the
business. What’s the programme for to-morrow, Frank?”
“Why, I thought we would find out what it will cost us to move our
traps here from Fairlands, the amount of the license fee for the show,
the cost of a lot of electric wiring and current we will need if we
locate at Seaside Park, how much it will cost us to live, and a lot of
such details.”
The boys had a wonderfully refreshing sleep in that high room pervaded
with cool ocean breezes, and got up fully an hour later than they had
planned. After Peter Carrington had left them the evening before they
had strolled down the beach about nine o’clock to get an idea of the
evening crowds. This filled them more than ever with ardor as to their
prospective business undertaking.
“I say,” Randy had observed, “don’t you see, Frank, there aren’t enough
amusements to go around?”
“Yes,” Frank had assented, “the crowds seem just in trim for some
lively entertainment.”
The chums dispatched a substantial breakfast at the restaurant. Then
they started out on their second day’s investigation of conditions and
prospects at Seaside Park.
Frank made it a point to interview several owners of concessions along
the beach. Those with whom he talked had attractions vastly inferior
to the one the chums designed to operate, but the boys picked up many
a suggestion and useful hint. It was shortly before noon when they
sat down to rest under a tree in that part of the town given over to
permanent residences and summer cottages. They began talking over
the ever-present theme of their photo playhouse when there was an
interruption.
Down the street there strolled leisurely a young man who made it a
point to halt whenever he got in front of a house. There he would
linger and begin a series of whistling exploits that made the air
vibrate with the most ravishing melody.
“Say, just listen to that!” exclaimed Pep, in a pleased tone.
“It’s one of those trick whistles,” declared Randy.
“Then it’s an extra fine one,” said Pep.
“I think you are mistaken, boys,” suggested Frank. “Those are real
human notes--at least almost exact human imitations of bird tones.”
“Well, then, the fellow must have a throat like a nightingale,”
asserted the enthusiastic Pep.
The active whistler deserved all the chums said about him. His
repertoire seemed exhaustless. He confined himself to imitations
of birds exclusively--and of only such birds as were native to the
surrounding country.
He fairly filled the air with melody, and real birds in the trees and
shrubbery about the handsome residences of the locality twittered,
hopped about and responded in an echoing chorus to his expert call.
Little children came running out of yards to gaze in wonder and
admiration at this unusual warbler. Even older folks watched and
listened to him. The man turned a corner out of view of the motion
picture chums, followed by quite a procession.
He had scarcely vanished before a high wagon such as is used to carry
cooper’s barrels turned slowly into the street. A slow old horse pulled
it along. Its driver nimbly leaped from his seat. The moment he called
out “Whoa!” to the horse and turned his face toward the chums, Pep
Smith uttered a great shout.
“Why, fellows, see,” he cried, in mingled glee and surprise--“it’s Ben
Jolly!”