Pep Smith was up before the birds that memorable opening day. Pep had
gone through a like experience when the Wonderland motion picture show
was started at his home town, but that was a small proposition compared
to the present one. To Pep's way of thinking the world was waiting for
the great event. In his active mind he pictured eager hundreds counting
the slow hours of the day until the first films were flashed upon the
screen of the new photo playhouse.
Pep bustled about, broke into whistling and stirred things up so
generally that he finally woke Ben Jolly. The latter was quite as
interested as Pep in the doings of the day, only he concealed the true
state of his feelings. He set about making preparations for breakfast as
an excuse for rousing Frank and Randy.
"Well, Pep, this is the big day of our lives; eh?" propounded the
good-natured cook, while his accommodating assistant was setting the
table.
"And the finest ever seen," replied Pep. "I never saw such a daybreak.
It's going to be just warm enough to make people want to stay out for
the evening breeze, and that means crowds passing our place until late."
It was a jolly quartette that sat down at the table about five o'clock.
The rest over Sunday had done them all good. No details had been left to
chance or haste. Much satisfaction was felt in the knowledge that all
the work thus far had been done well, with no loose ends to bother about
when the programme began.
"There's some song posters to put up--they are due in the morning mail,"
observed Randy.
"Yes, and if that new film winder is sent along we might install it in
place of the old one we brought from Fairlands," suggested Jolly. "I
suppose you want to go through a test before night, Durham?"
"So as to give you the music cues? I think we had better," assented
Frank. "Besides, we had better see that the films run smooth."
"I sent for a piano-tuning key to the city Saturday," said Jolly. "As
soon as I get it I will give the instrument a little overhauling.
Jolting over one hundred miles in a freight car doesn't improve the tone
any."
Randy and Pep went out together about ten o'clock to get some posters
from the printers. Frank had brought from the city quite a lot of gaily
colored sheets with a blank space left at the top. Here the name and
location of the new playhouse had been inserted. It took the boys until
noon to get these placed. They posted them in nearly all the stores
along the boardwalk. The hotel they had stayed at let them put two in
the lobby, and they covered the town in a way satisfactory to
themselves.
"Wonder what the National people are thinking of doing?" submitted
Randy, as they sat down to dinner.
"They are going to open to-night--that's one thing I know," reported Pep.
"They're not making much stir about it, then," observed Jolly. "I
haven't heard anybody speak about it, whom I ran across to-day."
"I met the man who is doing their electrical work," said Pep. "He and I
are quite chummy. He told me they were in a fearful mix-up, with things
half provided for, but that they would surely open this evening."
"What's it to be--a nickel?" inquired Jolly.
"No a dime, he says; but he showed me a bunch of complimentaries and
laughed and said he'd sell them cheap. I haven't set my eyes on that
Peter and the fellow from Fairlands anywhere around town, but I guess
they're pitching in with the workman to get things in order."
Wednesday of the week previous a neat postal card telling of the new
photo playhouse had been sent out to every name in the little local
directory of Seaside Park. The hotel men had taken a bunch of these and
had agreed to put one in the mail of each guest. The local paper
happened to be an exchange of the Fairlands weekly, and the editor of
the latter had given Frank a letter of introduction to the Seaside Park
publisher. As a result, the latter had copied the article about the
chums from the home paper and had also given a glowing description of
the new playhouse on the beach.
It was about two o'clock in the afternoon when the lively Pep came into
the playhouse with a new excitement on his mind.
"Say, fellows," he announced, "we're clear beat out."
"Hi! what's up now?" asked Ben Jolly.
"The National without an I has got us going. Just met Peter Carrington.
He's jumping around like a chicken on a hot griddle. Just had time to
flash by me and crow out, 'Watch out for our grand free concert
to-night.'"
"Is that so--hum!" observed Jolly, musingly. "I wish I'd thought of that.
I suppose we ought to make some little noise the opening night. Too late
to arrange for it now, though. Just in time for practice, Pep. Put on
that best coat of yours and a flower in your buttonhole, and usher in
imaginary thousands, while Powell piles up uncounted dimes in the ticket
office and Durham shoots the films. Ready--go!" and with a crash of the
piano keys the volatile fellow began a lively overture.
"A small but critical audience pronounced the rehearsal A.1.," declared
Jolly with a thrilling sweep of the piano keys as the three films were
reeled off from the operator's booth. "Slow on that last picture,
though, Durham. It's a good one and any audience will be glad to see it
prolonged."
"Yes, being an ocean scene, I should think 'A Wrecker's Romance' would
take great with the smell of real salt water blowing right into the
playhouse," submitted Randy.
"Where the old wrecker hails the ship in the fog I want to work in some
slow, solemn music," proceeded Jolly. "Eh? What's that? Mr. Jolly?
That's me. What is it, lad?"
A messenger boy from the hotel had appeared at the entrance to the
playhouse and asked for Mr. Benjamin Jolly. He delivered a note to that
individual. The latter read it, his face breaking into a delighted
smile.
"Say, my friends," he announced, seizing his hat and rushing
unceremoniously from their company, "rush call, important though
unexpected. Back soon," and Jolly chuckled and waved his hand gaily.
He was all smiles and still chuckling when he returned, which was in
about an hour. They had decided on an early supper so as to have plenty
of leisure to look over things before the playhouse opened, at half past
six o'clock. As a starter, they planned to give three entertainments,
each beginning on the hour.
"You seem to feel pretty good, Mr. Jolly?" observed Randy, as they
dispatched the appetizing meal, their helpful friend brimming over with
comical sayings.
"Oh, I've got to live up to my name, you know," explained Jolly.
"Besides, always dreaming, you see. Been dreaming this afternoon of big
houses, delighted throngs, pleasant surprises," and the speaker
emphasized the last word, looking mysterious the while.
Frank and Randy, full of the theme of the hour and its practical demands
upon their abilities, did not notice this particularly. Pep, however,
eyed Jolly keenly. He lingered as his chums got up from the table.
Somehow the exaggerated jollity of their lively pianist, to Pep's way of
thinking, was connected with the mysterious message he had received
earlier in the afternoon. Pep was an unusually observant lad. He was
furthermore given to indulging a very lively fancy.
Now he went up to Jolly. Very searchingly he fixed his eye upon the
piano player. Very solemnly he picked up one of Jolly's hands and looked
up the arm of his coat.
"Hello!" challenged Jolly--"what you up to now, you young skeesicks?"
"Oh, nothing," retorted Pep--"just thought I'd like to see what you've
got up your sleeve, as the saying goes."
"Ah," smiled Jolly--"suspect something; do you?"
"Got a right to; haven't I?" questioned Pep, shrewdly.
"Well," retorted Jolly, slowly, stroking his chin in a reflective way,
"I won't say--just now. I'll give you a tip, though, Pep."
"Yes?" cried Pep, expectantly.
"About six-thirty look out for something."
"What will it be, now?" projected Pep, eagerly.
"The Great Unknown," replied Ben Jolly, with an enigmatical smile.