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_!”