A GRAND SUCCESS
“I’m staggered!” spoke Pep Smith, breathlessly. “I didn’t think it
could be done this fine.”
“Yes, Professor Barrington has certainly made good,” agreed Randy
Powell.
The long and arduous efforts of the motion picture chums and their
helpers had come to a splendid climax. The Standard had just thrown
open its doors to the public. Like the unfolding of a fairy dream, at
seven-thirty o’clock that evening the protecting canvas covering the
entrance to the photo playhouse had been removed.
Those passing by had been dazzled. Instantly the glowing front of
the building shone like a casket of jewels. Those in front viewed a
reception hall that suggested the tasteful portal to some royal palace.
No placards had been placed--no advertising had been done in any
general way. Professor Barrington had pleaded for that opening night as
his especial own.
“Gentlemen,” he had said, “the programme we put out the first night
must meet the unqualified approbation of the elite of Boston and the
local press. I have thousands of friends in Boston and I have as many
more in its vicinity, who for my sake would travel a good many miles.
Let admission the first night be by special card. I will guarantee that
the wealth and culture of the community put the seal of approval on
this great enterprise.”
The old gentleman had not predicted wrongly. Over a thousand
invitations had been sent out. From seven-thirty until eight-forty
o’clock a constant string of private automobiles delivered load after
load of well-dressed people at the entrance to the Standard. They
showed themselves to be something more than mere invited guests. They
took a pleased interest in viewing the comfortable and luxurious
outfitting of the reception room and expressed their approval of the
venture of Professor Barrington when the artistic beauties of the
auditorium burst upon their view.
Frank wore a smile of great satisfaction as he and Mr. Strapp stood at
the rear of the auditorium and looked over the assembled audience.
“It’s pretty fine, Durham--playhouse and people,” observed the latter.
“I’d warm up quicker to the popular crowd; but their turn will
come after we get the good word from these people. There’re a dozen
newspaper men here.”
“I suppose we will get quite a lot of free advertising,” remarked
Frank. “I’m sort of anxious about the programme. You see, the special
film we counted on is delayed. That historical reel that Pep so luckily
ran across has taken its place.”
The house was well filled at eight o’clock. Probably a finer audience
had never before attended a motion picture show. Those who disdained
the cheaper grade of entertainments lost all consciousness of being out
of place. There was a flutter of interest and curiosity. The beauty of
the place had appealed to their artistic sense.
There was a hush of expectancy as Ben Jolly, at the organ, started a
grand rolling patriotic tune. The outer curtain rolled up.
At once a picture flashed upon the screen--it was that of the old flag
of the colonies. It came so suddenly, so keenly outlined, so rich in
coloring, that it startled the audience. It was no study in still life;
the wind waved its silken folds, the silver stars glowed and glittered.
There was a hum of pleased delight. The beautiful flag faded away, and
there showed on the screen: “A Tabloid of Home History.”
It was not so much the well delineated but familiar scenes presented
that caught the audience. The flag view had stirred them up, and the
views of familiar scenes emphasized their patriotic ardor.
“Sixteen feet of film to the second,” Frank told Mr. Strapp, but the
Westerner was too engrossed in viewing the screen to heed him. At
the “Boston Tea Party” there was vigorous hand-clapping. “The Battle
of Bunker Hill” caused a renewal of the enthusiasm. Half a dozen
Revolutionary battle and skirmish scenes followed, then the waving flag
again dissolved and the crowd “broke loose,” as Pep put it.
“Say, it’s acted just like an appetizer--short and sharp,” spoke Pep,
moving to Frank’s side, a-quiver with delight.
“That friend of yours, Bohm, was certainly a happy thought,” remarked
Frank.
“I hope the heavy stuff is going to make as good an impression,”
observed Mr. Strapp.
“Oh, it’s sure to strike these wise heads right,” assured Pep.
“Is This the Kind of Fish That Swallowed Jonah?” was flashed across the
screen, and a great monster was depicted occupying the entire length
of a freight car. Against it was a placard giving a few facts, such as:
“Five harpoons and one hundred and fifty-one bullets used to subdue the
monster,” “five days required to finally kill it,” “towed one hundred
and twelve miles by a tug, weight thirty thousand pounds, length
forty-five feet, circumference twenty-three feet nine inches, diameter
eight feet three inches, mouth thirty-eight inches wide, forty-three
inches deep, several thousand teeth, tail ten feet from tip to tip,
hide three inches thick.”
“The Florida Keys” was the next slide. This glided into a scene
where the biggest fish known in those waters was sighted by a Miami
sportsman. The chase began. The harpoons flew. It took half a reel to
give the exciting incidents of the battle and capture.
One scene was thrilling. This was where the monster smashed a boat
into pieces and crushed the rudder and propeller of a thirty-one ton
yacht. Even after it had been landed and was supposed to be dead, the
leviathan, with a sudden flip of its tail, demolished a dockhouse.
There was a final scene where a fisherman was seen sitting in the
fish’s mouth as it was being hoisted to a flat car to be shipped to the
Smithsonian Institution.
Pep, circulating about unobtrusively, but with eyes and ears wide
open as he directed the half dozen lads dressed in neat uniforms who
acted as ushers, had a constant smile on his face. He gathered a score
of compliments on the reel that he caught from august professors and
scientists in the audience.
“Making A Pin” was the third film. Then the little ones in the audience
were given a show. Many had been purposely invited. They had shown
strict attention to the first three features. “Toy Making In Germany”
brought out the ecstatic “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” So many Santa Claus
specialities were exhibited that they fairly bewildered the little ones.
“A Hard Sum” catered to the juvenile portion of the audience old enough
to attend school. There was an educational element in the school scene
where the teacher wrote a sum upon the blackboard. Those who attempted
its solution daubed themselves and the board with chalk as they
wrestled with the problem. The film worked in the laggard, the dunce
and other familiar characters of the schoolroom. When a bright little
fellow wrote out the answer, the juvenile spectators cheered and then
woke up as from a delightful dream, as a romping scene brought forth
gales of laughter.
Professor Barrington’s face was one expansive smile as, after the
audience dispersed, he joined his business friends, rubbing his hands
gleefully.
“An emphatic success,” he declared. “Gentlemen, there was not a flaw in
the entertainment from beginning to end. It was simply perfection.”
“That’s my way of thinking,” crowed Pep. “Oh, but we’ve got the machine
in grand order. All we’ve got to do now is to keep it running.”
There was a scramble for the morning papers at their room the next
morning. Pep was the first to discover what the leading journal said
about them.
“A whole column,” he announced, waving the paper to and fro, wild with
enthusiasm. “Read, Frank--the Standard has awakened--famous!”
There was to be a lapse of two days. Then the Standard was to give four
shows daily--two in the afternoon and two in the evening. There were
some general details to attend to, but it gave Randy, Pep and Vic some
leisure.
“Say,” remarked the latter one afternoon, “the New Idea opens to-night.
I was just past there and saw their big sign.”
“Is that so?” said Randy, with awakening interest. “What do they
announce?”
“‘Life Among the Lowly--Great Philanthropic Film,’” replied Vic.
“That sounds sort of good,” observed Pep.
“Yes, there ought to be some human interest in that kind of stuff,”
said Randy.
“Then they’ve got another specialty,” went on Vic. “‘The Beaver
Colony.’”
“That’s old,” said Pep. “They had that in New York. It’s on the
educational order, though. What else, Vic?”
“‘Training Camels,’” reported Vic. “Say, fellows, I’m interested there.
Let’s go and see how they make out.”
“Agreed,” answered Pep, promptly.