THE “NEW IDEA.”
“It’s too bad to pay out our good money here,” said Pep. “About half
the people going in have complimentaries.”
“I noticed that,” answered Randy, “I suppose they want to make a good
showing, though.”
“Yes, I overheard that man Slavin talking about ‘papering the house’
freely,” said Vic.
The three friends got beyond the ticket taker to look about the new
playhouse with a good deal of curiosity. The place looked clean,
but was poorly ventilated. There had not been much attempt made at
ornamentation. The auditorium looked barn-like on account of its great
width.
“They might better have had the stage at the side,” was Pep’s criticism.
“Say, fellows,” remarked Vic, “if you want to see anything clearly, you
had better get seats on a line with the stage.”
“Yes, I see that,” nodded Randy. “Here we are. There’s quite a crowd,”
he added, looking around the room. “It isn’t half bad for a common
everyday movie, but it isn’t in the class of the Standard.”
“I should say it wasn’t,” retorted Pep, spicily. “Say, upon my word all
the music they’ve got is an electric piano! Hope you see me,” added Pep
in a quick undertone, but loud enough for his companions to hear.
As Pep spoke he stared back at a bustling, officious-acting man coming
down the aisle, who was staring hard at him. This individual paused, as
if taken off his guard. Then he scowled slightly, shifted his glance,
and went on his way.
“Slavin,” observed Randy, with a shrug of his shoulders.
“Yes, our old friend of Riverside Grove, sure enough,” responded Pep.
“And he saw us, too.”
Pep followed the former rival of the Airdrome with his eyes. He noticed
Slavin approach an usher and give him some orders as to seating the
people as they came in. Then Slavin went over to a man lounging near
the back row of seats. Slavin looked at Pep and his friends, and the
man with him followed his example. In a minute the man started down the
center aisle.
“Say, fellows,” whispered Pep, hastily, “I’ll wager the suppers that
Slavin has set a spy on us, who is coming to take a seat directly
behind.”
“Why, what for?” inquired Vic, in a wondering way.
“To listen to what we say about the show, and probably hoping we’ll
let out some points about the Standard that Slavin would like to know.
S--st, now!”
Pep’s surmise was correct. The man he had noticed Slavin talking
to--evidently some hanger-on of the place--took a seat in the row
directly behind them. Pep gave Randy a wink.
“Say,” he said, in a voice he did not try to restrain, “I’ve had enough
training in the movies line to see that these people here are going to
have a visit soon from the city building department.”
“How’s that?” inquired Randy with affected artlessness.
“Look at the exits--none on the sides and just one at the rear, and not
even a red light set.”
“Sure enough,” nodded Randy, as if intensely interested. “In New York
they wouldn’t be allowed to run this way,” and Randy added to himself:
“That will give this spy something to set Slavin thinking.”
“Did they tell you about the big features the Standard has coming,” was
Pep’s next purposeful break.
“Oh, you mean the great film?” answered Randy. “Say, that must have
cost a lot of money. Just think! A man sent specially thousands of
miles away to get reels on things never before seen by civilized man,
and covering subjects never before caught by the camera! It will create
a sensation; won’t it?”
“I should say so!” declared Pep, and then he subsided as their watcher
squirmed and rustled about in his seat.
“That’s pretty fair,” said Randy, as the first film of the
entertainment was concluded.
The subject was “Beaver Land.” It was old to Pep and Randy, but they
were fairly indulgent about it. Vic had never seen it before.
“Those are real good pictures,” he observed. “Interesting, too. I know
something about beavers and they show them up quite natural.”
“The Great Philanthropic Film--Among the Lowly,” was next announced
on the screen. The delineation began with a guide starting out with
a party of slummers to view the under life of a great city. The only
philanthropic part of the display was where one of the group gave some
money to a cripple, and another paid off a constable who was about
to eject an invalid widow, and her little family of children, for
non-payment of the rent.
“The Modern Fagin” was the central feature of this film. This was an
elaborate showing of the life of petty thieves. There was a scene where
one street gamin tripped up a market woman, while his accomplice made
away with the contents of her basket.
Then there was a training scene in the thieves’ school. A wretched old
man showed his apt pupils how to pick a pocket, snatch a purse, and pry
up a window. The film ended with the successful robbers making a great
raid by smashing in the window of a jewelry store.
“Why!” gasped Randy, “that ought to be censored! It’s the kind of a
picture that gilds crime. Those pictures are the most dangerous I ever
saw.”
“The camels next,” said Vic, as a new announcement flashed across the
screen. “I lived in a tent with some of them with my father when I was
a small boy. My!” he added rather dolefully, “I do hope we get some
word about my camels from the man Mr. Durham has hired to look them up.”
“Frank always knows what he’s doing,” replied Pep, encouragingly, “and
the man he has sent to look up your camels, does, too, very likely.
You’ll soon hear some news, I feel sure.”
The film showed a fenced-in space, the tops of trees beyond it. A
camel was standing feeding in one corner of the enclosure. A man with a
hooked pole came in by a little gate. He approached the animal and gave
it a jab with the pole.
The camel turned around. As it did so, its other side came into full
view. It was a clean, intelligent looking animal and as the man tapped
one of its feet the camel lifted that leg and waved it.
“Say, oh, say!” burst from Vic so suddenly and sharply that Pep
glanced at him in sheer wonderment. Vic had started from his seat.
His eyes were dilating. He seemed about to blurt out the cause of his
extraordinary emotion.
“What’s the matter?” inquired the marveling Pep, placing a hand on the
arm of his companion to quiet him.
Vic was trembling all over. He appeared to be in a paroxysm of
suppressed excitement. He was about to reply to Pep, when apparently he
was put on his guard by a glance back of him. The spy was leaning over
with an eager face to catch what he might say.
“Just get out of this, Pep; will you?” whispered Vic in a positive
gasp. “I’ve something to tell you--something of great importance.”