THE GREAT FILM
“Durham, I feel that we’ve just got to get that film,” spoke Ben Jolly.
He held in his hand a special letter from the National Film Exchange,
and the lively piano player waved it about in a way that showed that he
was unusually excited.
“Yes,” nodded Hal Vincent, “this is one of those specials that come
along only once or twice a year. The prize fights used to lead before
people knew as much as they do now; but you take a royal coronation,
or a national auto race, or an earthquake, or liner lost at sea, and
that’s the big feature that the public run after for about a month.”
“You’ve got to get in at them at the start, though,” suggested Jolly.
“Always. The event advertises itself and the film men give it a new
start. Why, to open up for day shows, this flood film would be an
attraction all of itself.”
“Better keep up with the times,” half laughed Randy. “You know how
Peter Carrington is bragging about some new attraction that is going to
put us out of business.”
Frank and his chums were practically novices in the “movies” line.
They, however, knew enough about the business to realize that the
theme under discussion was one worth considering in all its bearings.
Furthermore, they placed great reliance in the judgment of Jolly and
Vincent. The letter they had received advised them that within two
days the “Great Flood Series” of films would be offered for lease. The
supply was limited and on this account one film had been apportioned to
certain territory. The right to use the film, therefore, would go to
the highest bidder in each district.
The flood film covered a national disaster in which a large section of
the West had been inundated, causing immense loss to life and property.
Public charity had been appealed to and there were relief funds all
over the country. The interest in the event had not yet abated.
“It’s a big feature,” declared Ben Jolly. “My advice is to get it.”
“And get it quick,” added Vincent. “These attractions are grabbed for.”
“But the cost?” suggested Frank.
“Oh, it is never ruinous,” said Vincent. “See here, you can spare me
best out of your most valuable staff. I’ll go to the city and put the
deal through, if you say so.”
“What about those cornet solos, and the talking picture stunt, and the
act you were going to put on the programme?” grumbled Pep.
“Oh, they will keep for a night or so,” replied Vincent. “Another
thing, I ordered my outfit, which was levied on at the stand down
country where my last venture showed, sent to New York City before I
knew I was coming down here. There’s some new wardrobe properties I
want, too, so I can do double duty while I am in the city.”
It was decided that Vincent should go to New York and see what could
be done about the flood film. The boys had figured up what price they
could stand as a maximum figure, but considerable discretion was left
to their representative. Randy and Pep strolled down to the depot with
Vincent.
“See who’s here,” suddenly observed Randy.
Peter Carrington, in a loud, checked suit, alarming necktie and classy
yachting cap, was at the depot with his two admiring cronies, Greg
Grayson and Jack Beavers. He was talking in a loud, showy way, but as
Beavers caught sight of Vincent he spoke quickly to Peter and they
drew away from the spot. Peter entered the chair car when the train
came in.
“Hello, going your way,” observed Randy.
“Say, suppose he’s after that new feature film?” inquired Pep,
excitedly.
“Might be,” observed Vincent, carelessly. “If that’s the big card they
were bragging about, they haven’t landed it yet. Glad you mentioned
that point, Pep. I’ll get busy.”
There was a great deal to attend to that day. The season had commenced
with the finest of weather and it bade fair to continue indefinitely.
Frank and Jolly spent several hours deciding on the matinee feature.
“Tell you what, fellows,” he said to Randy and Pep, “Mr. Jolly thinks
he had better take the week to get into our routine thoroughly. Mr.
Booth was in to see us again this morning about some advertising he
will put through at low cost. I hardly think we will try any day shows
until next week, unless our competitors do. Then of course we will have
to show our colors.”
“Well, I can tell you that they are not asleep,” declared Pep.
“How is that?” inquired Jolly.
“I saw my friend who works for them. He is building a big transparency
to put across the front of the National. He don’t know exactly what it
is going to advertise, but he thinks a big film feature.”
“The flood special, I’ll bet!” guessed Randy at once.
“Aren’t they a little premature?” advanced Jolly.
“We’ll know to-night,” said Frank. “Mr. Vincent will probably be back
on a late train.”
The boys were brisk and ready for the evening’s entertainment when the
hour arrived. There was every indication of a big attendance. What
pleased Frank most was to notice that those who were waiting for the
doors to open were mostly family people--children and residents. This
spoke well for the reputation the Wonderland had already gained.
The first house was only fair. There was, however, a big gain at eight
o’clock. Randy looked up from the ticket reel as a familiar voice
struck his ear with the monotonous:
“Two tickets, please.”
“No, no,” he laughed, moving back the bill which Miss Porter presented,
and bowing with deference to her companion, the portly Mrs. Carrington.
“You must allow us the honor and pleasure of retaining you on the free
list.”
“Ridiculous, young man!” said the outspoken Mrs. Carrington, but she
was forced ahead by the on-pressing crowd. Pep caught sight of them and
hustled about actively securing two good seats among the few left.
Pep felt that he was on good behavior with the eyes of their lady
patronesses upon them. When they arose to leave at the end of the
hour he slipped over to the operator’s booth and advised Frank of the
presence of their distinguished company. The little party drew aside
for a moment or two out of the path of the dispersing audience.
“We must certainly compliment you on your well ordered place, Mr.
Durham,” said Mrs. Carrington.
“And your tasteful selection of films,” added Miss Porter, brightly.
“As to your pianist, he is an expert, and your usher system perfect.”
“Oh, pshaw! you are making fun of me,” declared Pep, reddening.
“Oh, dear!” observed Mrs. Carrington with a sigh, “of course I am
deeply anxious for the success of that headstrong nephew of mine. Now
he has got into the motion picture business I can’t quite abandon him;
but I must say the National is crude and inartistic compared with your
place here.”
“Peter has our best wishes, Mrs. Carrington,” declared Frank. “I can
assure you of that. Of course we are business rivals, but it will be
with entire fairness on our part.”
“I am sure it will. I told you so, Mrs. Carrington,” spoke Miss Porter.
“Peter talks as though you were sanguinary enemies, but I knew it was
nonsense as far as you are concerned. I don’t like the man he has taken
in with him, a Mr. Beavers, however. I told him so yesterday, but met
with a rebuff for the interest I displayed in Peter’s welfare.”
“That little lady is our champion, all right,” declared Pep, returning
from escorting the ladies to their automobile.
When the boys came to reckon up the proceeds of the evening they found
them to be several dollars over what they had taken in the first night.
They were congratulating themselves on their continued good fortune
when Hal Vincent put in an appearance. He had a great paper roll under
his arm and looked brisk and contented.
“Well, Hal?” hailed Jolly, in a cheery, expectant way.
“I want to show you something,” was the ventriloquist’s reply as he
opened the roll upon the table.
It contained six different four-sheet posters. They were high colored,
well executed and attractive. They depicted striking and thrilling
events of “The Great Flood.”
“Twenty-five sets go with the films,” he explained.
“And you’ve got the films?” said Jolly.
“I couldn’t bear to leave them behind,” replied Vincent, with a smile.
“I’ve got them and the price won’t break us--but it’s at the cost of
making a deadly enemy.”