KIDNAPPED
“If I had our old piano here,” said Ben Jolly, “there’s one tune I’d
play for all it’s worth.”
“What is that, Mr. Jolly?” inquired Frank Durham.
“‘Home, Sweet Home.’”
The staunch friend of the motion picture chums waved his hand like a
showman proudly exhibiting wares. He had a smiling and enthusiastic
audience. Everybody was smiling, even Hal Vincent, who had no
particular interest in the new photo playhouse. Frank’s face was
beaming, Randy looked his delight and Pep uttered the words, with
unction:
“It’s simply great!”
Two days had made considerable difference in the situation at Seaside
Park. All hands had entered with enthusiasm into the proposition of
starting in on the new deal, with the certainty in view of sufficient
capital to finance them for at least two months ahead. The chums spent
so many delightful hours figuring, planning, and mapping out details
that Randy got to talking in his sleep, and Pep aroused all hands by
screaming out in the midst of a nightmare in which he had started a
photo playhouse in China, and the natives had mobbed him when a film
showed one of their favorite mandarins being carried away in an airship.
It was Jolly, however--bustling, practical Ben Jolly--who had won the
laurels on the present occasion. When the vacant store had been used,
at the rear was a temporary kitchen. This was a frail structure set
on stilts, but roomy and just the thing for summer occupancy. Jolly
was a natural born trader. It seemed that he found some difficulty
in disposing of the old horse and wagon for cash. Finally, however,
he came across a dealer in second hand furniture. Jolly had got the
idea in his head of cutting down living expenses and utilizing the old
kitchen tacked on to the store building.
The chums were down at the hotel that afternoon and Jolly planned
a grand surprise for them. It was now, upon their arrival at the
playhouse building, that the pleasure and praise of the motion picture
chums hailed him.
No one could have failed to approve of the wonderful transformation
Jolly had made in a bare, cheerless lumber room. He had traded to
good advantage. There was a substantial table, a half dozen chairs, a
cupboard, a gas stove, a complete outfit of culinary utensils, dishes
and table cutlery, neat curtains for the windows and drapery dividing
the room in two parts, and one side section again into two compartments.
In each of these were three cots, a table and a bureau. The cots had
double equipment of sheets and blankets, worn but attractive rugs
covered the floor, and there were several pictures on the walls. It was
no wonder that Pep Smith burst forth in his usual responsive way with
the declaration:
“It’s simply great!”
“When you come to think that I got all those traps and forty dollars
in cash to boot for that impossible old rig of ours,” observed Jolly,
“you will see that I made a very interesting dicker. What do you say,
Durham; we can make a neat cut in expenses, eh?”
“Why, it makes easy the hardest part of our whole proposition,”
declared Frank.
“Yes, and here we can always be right on the spot,” spoke Randy.
“I’m something of a cook,” boasted Jolly. “I don’t say I could make
bread or pie, but as to common, everyday food, an occasional strawberry
shortcake, or even doughnuts--well, you stock up with the supplies and
I’ll promise to do my best.”
“It’s just fine,” voted Pep. “The sleeping rooms look right across to
the ocean and there’s a splendid sweep of air with all these openings.
It will be cool and comfortable on the very hottest nights. I’ll wash
all the dishes, Mr. Jolly, and set the table, and all that.”
“Oh, we shall get on famously, I am sure of that,” observed Frank with
keen satisfaction.
The boys decided that they would at once move their traps from the
hotel and make permanent headquarters at their home base. They had
their first meal in their new quarters that evening.
“You have certainly given us a royal meal, Mr. Jolly,” declared Frank,
as beefsteak, fried potatoes, bakery biscuit, and coffee and a really
creditable corn starch pudding went the rounds.
“Sorry I’ve got to leave you,” remarked Vincent. “I’d ask nothing
better than to camp right here for the rest of the season.”
“Then why not do it?” inquired the ready Pep.
“Yes, if you care to take pot luck with us till we get fairly on
our feet, you can certainly help us along with all your varied
accomplishments, Mr. Vincent,” declared Frank.
“I’ve got that in mind,” explained Vincent, “but I must get to New York
first. You see, the show I was with that broke up owes me money. I want
to see if I can’t get something out of the wreck and I want to call on
the backers of the proposition. I’d better get to the city while I have
the partnership profits Jolly has been good enough to say I have earned
on that bird house speculation. If I don’t it will melt away.”
“I say,” here put in Jolly, “why don’t you and Durham go together? As
it’s arranged, Durham, you have got to put in a day or two arranging
for what new equipment we need and the film service.”
“That is true,” replied Frank, “and Mr. Vincent knows so much about the
motion picture business his advice and help would be of great benefit
to me.”
“I do know the ropes among the movies pretty well,” said Vincent. “I
will be more than glad to take you the rounds and see that you get the
very best service and figures, Mr. Durham.”
“And I am to go back to Fairlands and arrange about moving what we want
of the old outfit?” inquired Jolly.
“I think that is the best arrangement, yes,” assented Frank. “Randy and
Pep must stay here to look after the place and receive what I may ship
and what you send on. Then, before we start, the three of us must run
down to Fairlands to see the folks.”
Everything was settled on that basis. It would take about ten days to
get the place fitted up as the boys wanted it, Mr. Morton told them. In
the meantime there were many little things that needed to be done in
which two handy lads like Randy and Pep might help. They and Jolly went
to the train to see Frank and Vincent off the next morning. Two hours
later Ben Jolly took a train in another direction, bound for Fairlands
and carrying messages from the boys to their home folks and friends.
Part of the fixing up of the store room Mr. Morton had agreed to do at
his own expense. There were, however, innumerable details that fell
to the lot of the boys themselves. There were rolls of matting to buy
for the center aisle, and the stage was to be built under Randy’s
supervision. They had decided to use the old name, “Wonderland,” so as
to utilize the ornate electric sign they had at Fairlands, and Pep was
given charge of having this same name placed in a decorative way on the
two front windows.
Nobody could work with Randy and Pep without coming under the
influence of their sunshiny natures. Randy was willing, accommodating
and tireless when he liked a job. Pep was no laggard, either, and
in addition he kept up such a lively chatter and made so many funny
remarks that he had Mr. Morton grinning half the time.
The result was that not only did the owner of the place do all that
he had agreed to do, but did it just as the boys wanted. Then again
when it came to things not in his contract, he supplied the material
voluntarily and ended up by helping the boys at their tasks.
At the end of three days Randy and Pep prided themselves on having
accomplished wonders. They had added several genuine comforts to their
living quarters at the rear and had pretty well spread the news over
Seaside Park that a first-class photo playhouse was soon to be opened.
A letter came from Frank Saturday morning. It told of his busy hours
in the city and referred to Vincent as a splendid help in introducing
him among the motion picture supply men. He sent on a bundle of film
and song posters from which Pep could scarcely keep his hands. Frank
mentioned some of the movies accessories he had purchased and told of
some novel features in the way of films for which he had contracted.
“I tell you, Pep, we’re in for the best or nothing this time; eh?”
questioned Randy, almost as much excited as his chums over the
prospects of the new Wonderland.
“Oh, I’m ’way up in the clouds all of the time,” piped Pep. “Why, I’ll
feel like a girl just going into society. I’m going to call it a short
day and quit. There are some groceries to order, so I’ll attend to that
and we’ll take in the beach this evening.”
“Yes, we’ve earned a little recreation, I think,” agreed Randy.
Pep started off, whistling like some happy lark. It was then five
o’clock in the afternoon and he was due to return in half an hour.
Double that time passed on, however, yet he did not appear.
“Wonder why Pep doesn’t show up?” ruminated Randy. “It’s time he did,
as we wanted to get an early start.”
At half past six Randy was nervous and a little put out. At seven
o’clock he put on his cap and started to lock up to go in quest of his
missing comrade.
Just as he came out on the broad planking leading from the boardwalk to
the entrance to the store, a man hailed him. He was a stout, lumbering
old fellow whom Randy had seen before.
“Hi!” he hailed, “you remember me; don’t you?”
“Why yes,” nodded Randy. “You are the man Mr. Jolly traded his rig with
for our furniture.”
“That’s it,” nodded the man. “I say, I thought I’d come and tell you.
It was near my place that the accident happened.”
“What accident?” challenged Randy sharply.
“Automobile--that young fellow that’s joshing and jollying all the
time----”
“You mean Pep--Pepperill Smith?” asked Randy.
“That’s him, I remember hearing Jolly call him by that name. Well, it
was him that got hurt and----”
“Hurt!” cried Randy, alarmed at the word--“When? How? Where?”
“About an hour ago, by an automobile in front of my place,” was the
reply.
“Was he--was Pep seriously hurt?” faltered Randy.
“Not but what he could walk and sass the chauffeur, and all that; but I
reckon one hand was pretty badly crushed. The reason I came to tell you
was, that isn’t all of it. From what I hear he is kidnapped.”