“I hardly know how to thank you, Mr. Vincent,” spoke Frank Durham.

“Don’t try to,” replied the ventriloquist, in his usual offhand way.

Frank, practically a beginner in the profession, and Hal Vincent, a seasoned graduate, were saying good-bye to each other on the steps of the building which contained the offices and warerooms of the great National Film Exchange.

For several days the ears of our young hero had buzzed with little besides “movies” chatter. When Frank had first gone into the business and had bid in at auction the outfit now at Fairlands, he had learned the basis of the trade through an interesting day spent at a motion picture supply house in the small city near his home. He found New York on a larger scale, however. Even within the few months that had elapsed since he and his chums had started the Wonderland photo playhouse there had been improvements, innovations and new wrinkles without number.

Frank now came in contact with these. It was a great advantage to him that he had Vincent to act as guide and adviser. The latter entered into the spirit of the occasion with the zest of an expert showing a novice the ground he has so often traversed. Vincent was not only active and obliging, but he was observant and shrewd. He knew the best supply sources in the city and how to handle them.

It embarrassed Frank the first time Vincent, in his breezy showman’s way, introduced him to the proprietor of the National Film Exchange. According to the versatile and voluble ventriloquist, Frank and his chums, Randy and Pep, were young prodigies who had built up a mammoth photo playhouse enterprise at Fairlands out of nothing and had scored a phenomenal success. And still further, according to Vincent, Frank had secured a most favorable contract at Seaside Park, and was about to reap profits from a project that would set the pace in summer outing resorts for the season.

“Now this is confidential, Byllesby,” observed Vincent, buttonholing the movies man and assuming a dreadfully important air, as he glanced mysteriously about the place as if fearful of eavesdroppers—“this is probably one of a chain of shows Durham may manage. Don’t lisp it to anybody, but one of his backers is a lady—well, I think she is rated at a cool half-million in real coin. You won’t have to wait for your money from the Durham combination, so hand out only the best and latest on the closest terms—understand?”

As said, Frank found that even within the six months that had passed since he had bought their original motion picture outfit science had been busy in the improvement of old and the invention of new devices. Kinetoscopes, cameragraphs—all the varied list of projecting apparatus had progressed fast. It kept his mind on the alert to catch the explanations of the newest thing in condensing glasses, front and rear; jackets and tubes, transformers, shutters, iris dissolvers, knife switches and slide carriers. It was all part of an education in the line of business activity he had adopted, however, and Frank drank in lots of knowledge during that New York trip.

He was full of pleasant anticipation and eager to rejoin his friends at Seaside Park, to go over with them his list of the wonderful things purchased and tell them about the satisfactory arrangements he had made for new feature films as they came along. He shook Vincent’s hand heartily in parting. Frank added a word or two, telling how he hoped they would see the ventriloquist down at Seaside Park soon.

“I have a fair chance of getting something out of the road venture that burst up and left me stranded when I ran across Jolly,” explained Vincent. “As soon as that is settled, which may be in less than a week, I’ll be down at the new Wonderland—don’t doubt it. Move on a bit; will you, Durham?” Vincent spoke in a quick undertone, his eyes fixed on an approaching pedestrian who at once attracted Frank’s attention.

He was the typical tragedian out at elbows, but showing his consciousness of being “an actor.” He wore one rusty glove. The other hand was thrust into the breast of his tightly buttoned frock coat. His hair was long, and his hat, once a silk tile, was dented and yellowed by usage. Frank’s companion did not escape. The eagle eye of the oncomer was fixed upon him and would not leave him.

“Ah, Hal!” he hailed, extending his gloved hand with a bow of real elegance—“howdy. Off the circuit? So am I. I see you are eating,” and he glanced up and down the new suit of clothes Vincent had been enabled to purchase from his share in the bird house speculation.

“That’s about all I am able to arrange for,” declared Vincent, bluntly.

“I expect a check,” proceeded the newcomer grandly. “Avaricious, but wealthy relative. If I could anticipate till to-morrow, now——”

“Not from me, I can tell you that,” interrupted Vincent definitely.

“Only a dollar. You see——”

“A dime wouldn’t make any difference until I get my settlement from the people who sent me out to starve,” insisted Vincent.

Frank was interested in the odd, airy individual, who struck him as a rather obsolete type of the fraternity. He smiled, and this was encouragement for the frayed actor, who touched his hat again and extended his gloved hand, this time towards Frank, with the words:

“Surely we have met somewhere on the boards? Was it in Philadelphia, when I was press agent for the United Thespian? Perhaps that will assist your memory.”

Frank good-naturedly accepted and glanced over a very dirty and worn card bearing the inscription: “Roderick James Booth: Press Agent.” Frank shook his head,

“I have not had the honor of meeting you before, Mr. Booth,” he said.

“In the line, I suppose?” insinuated Booth.

“If you mean of theatricals—hardly,” replied Frank. “I have done a little in the motion picture field.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Booth, with great animation, striking a pose—“there, indeed, is a field. Young man; I proclaim a wonderful future for the photo playhouse. Let me see, where are you located now—and the name, I didn’t quite catch the name?”

“I am Frank Durham,” replied our young hero, “and with some others expect to open a new motion picture show at Seaside Park.”

“Ah, a hit! Think of it! Beside the soothing waves, dancing breezes, vast throngs, stupendous profits. Only one thing lacking—an able press agent. Sir,” and Booth raised himself to his loftiest height, “I papered Baltimore till the house was jammed. The United Thespians—sir, a moment, aside. Mr. Vincent will pardon us. Could you anticipate——”

Frank knew what was coming. The man did not look like a drinker and he did look hungry. Vincent nudged Frank warningly, but Frank could not resist a generous impulse.

Mr. Booth almost danced as a crisp dollar bill was placed in his hand. Then he took out a pencil and memorandum book. Very carefully and laboriously he began to write:

“Durham, Seaside Park. I. O. U. one dollar. Mem: suggest plan for publicity campaign.”

“You’ve put your foot in it this time, Durham,” exclaimed Vincent almost wrathfully, as with a great flourish Booth went on his way.

“Oh, pshaw!” laughed Frank, “the poor fellow probably needs a square meal.”

“Yes, but you needn’t have told him who you were and about the new Wonderland. Why, within an hour he will be telling his friends of a new opening at Seaside Park—engaged for the season—forfeit money already paid. Besides that, I wouldn’t wonder to see him put in an appearance personally with one of his wild publicity schemes direct at Seaside Park. Oh, you can laugh, but once he sets out on your trail, and you encourage him, you’ll find it no easy matter to shake him off,” a prediction by the way that Frank and his chums had reason to recall a little later.

Frank was in fine spirits when he reached Seaside Park. Everything had gone famously with him in the city. He had been introduced to a man who operated a string of summer resort motion picture shows, and he had gleaned an immense amount of information. The man had reduced his special line to a science and had made money at it, and Frank was greatly encouraged.

It was late in the afternoon when he started from the depot for the new quarters. He was pleased and satisfied as his eye ran over the front of the old store. Various touches of paint had made the entrance attractive, the broad windows bore each a fine plain sign, and a very ornamental ticket booth was in place. Frank found the front doors partially open, and passed the length of the great room to come unawares upon his friends in the living quarters at the rear.

“Good!” shouted a familiar voice, and Ben Jolly, wearing a kitchen apron and just getting supper ready, waved a saucepan over his head in jubilant welcome.

“I say, you people have been doing some work here since I left,” cried Frank, as he shook hands with Randy. “Why, where is Pep?”

“There’s a story to that,” explained Randy. “He’s safe and sound, but may not be here till to-morrow or the next day.”

“Gone home to see his folks?” hazarded Frank.

“No, not that,” dissented Randy. “Tell you, Frank, it’s quite a long story. Suppose we get the meal on the table, and seated comfortably, and we’ll all have a lot to tell; eh?”

“Just the thing,” voted Jolly with his usual enthusiasm. “I’ve got a famous rice pudding on the bill of fare, Durham, and I’ll guarantee you’ll enjoy a good home meal once more.”

“That’s just what I will,” agreed Frank.

He sat down and busied himself sorting some bills and circulars with which his pockets were filled. Then, as the smoking viands were placed on the table, he joined his friends.

“Now then, Durham, you first,” directed Jolly. “How’s the New York end of the proposition?”

“Famous,” reported Frank heartily. “I’ve made some fortunate discoveries and investments—pass the potatoes; will you, Randy?”

“Hold on!” cried a familiar voice—“I’m on the programme for some of that, too!”