The man in advance happened to cross a wet streak on the walk just as Frank and his friends observed him. This was caused by the overflow of a combination drinking fountain and horse trough. The man slipped and went flat. In another minute, as he struggled to his feet, his pursuer pounced upon him.

“Why, look! Look!” ejaculated Pep.

“It’s Hal!” echoed Ben Jolly.

Frank and Randy recognized their friend the ventriloquist simultaneously. The former was a good deal surprised, for he had bade Vincent good-bye in New York City within the past forty-eight hours. He wondered what had brought Vincent to Seaside Park; and more than ever, what his participation in the present incident might mean.

“I’ve got you; have I?” stormed Vincent, making a grab at the fugitive and seizing him by the arm. Then he whirled him around and transferred his clutch to the throat of the man. “Now, then, you pull off that coat in a jiffy, or I’ll fling you out into the street.”

“Yes, yes, certainly—ssh! don’t raise a row. Likely to be known here. Going into business—hurt my reputation.”

“Your reputation, you miserable rat!” shouted Vincent, greatly excited. “You’ve led me a fine chase; haven’t you, after all I did for you! I made up my mind, though, I’d find you and get back my property, if I had to chase you half over the country.”

“Return coat in private—secluded spot.”

“Take it off now!”

“Leaves me without any.”

“Take it off!” fairly yelled Vincent. Then, as the man obeyed he wrenched it from his grasp, threw it to the pavement and grasping the fugitive by the shoulders, ran him straight up to the watering trough.

Splash! splash! splash! “Ooo—oof! Leggo! Murder!”—a wild riot of sounds made the welkin ring. A fast-gathering mob bustled nearer. Dripping, hatless, coatless, the helpless fugitive was given a shove down the sidewalk by Vincent, who turned and confronted a police officer.

“Hi, there!” challenged the latter sternly—“what’s the trouble here?”

“No trouble at all,” retorted Vincent. “I’ve saved you that. That fellow slinking out of sight between those two buildings stole my coat and I’ve got it back—that’s all.”

“A thief; eh?”

“Oh, he’s out of sight and I’m satisfied,” advised Vincent. “I gave him free lodging and feed in the city and he paid me back by robbing me. We’re square now and no need of your services, thank you. By the way, though, you might glimpse him so as to be able to keep track of him. He’s a slippery customer to have in a town where there’s even door mats or lawn mowers lying around loose.”

Frank had picked up the coat from the pavement where Vincent had flung it and he now offered it to him.

“That you, Durham?” hailed the ventriloquist, mopping his perspiring brow—“and the rest of the crowd? Howdy—I declare, I was ruffled. I can stand anything but ingratitude.”

“Who is the fellow, anyway?” inquired Jolly.

“Oh, he’s been a hanger-on at the movies and a sponge and dead beat for a long time. His name is Jack Beavers.”

“What’s that?” cried Pep, sharply. “Why, that’s the name of the ‘big New York man’ who is going to start the new show with Peter Carrington and his crowd.”

“What new show?” inquired Vincent, quickly.

Pep told of the prospective photo playhouse that had come to their attention that day.

“Say,” exclaimed Vincent, belligerently, when the information had been accorded. “I’ll follow this up and put that fellow out of business.”

“I wouldn’t trouble, Mr. Vincent,” said Frank. “We don’t want to give Carrington and his friends any excuse for claiming we are persecuting them. If this man is the kind of fellow you describe, he will soon run himself out.”

“And them, too,” declared Jolly.

“Birds of a feather—all of them,” commented Pep.

Vincent explained that he was due to return at once to the city. He expected to have his claim against the company that had stranded him and owed him money come up in court at any time, and wanted to be on hand to present his evidence. The boys, however, prevailed upon him to accompany them home and have at least one good, old-fashioned meal with them. Then they all went with him to his train.

“Hope to see you soon again, Hal,” remarked Ben Jolly, as they shook hands good-bye.

“You will, Jolly—it’s fate,” declared Vincent. “I’m running up against your crowd all the time, and I guess it’s on the books. Bow-wow-wow!” and he winked at Pep, always alive for mischief.

“Meow!—p’st! pst!”—and a kitten in the arms of a fussy old man just getting aboard of a coach arched its back at the well-counterfeited imitation of the ventriloquist, while its mistress ran up the steps in a violent flurry.

“Let me out—let me out!” came next, apparently from a big sample case a colored porter was carrying for a traveling salesman. Down came the case with a slam and the porter stood regarding it with distended eyes and quivering face.

“Lawsy sakes, boss!” he gurgled—“what you done got in dere?” and very gingerly and rapidly he carried the case into the coach when prevailed upon to do so by its somewhat startled owner.

Then with a smile the versatile Vincent jumped aboard of the train, waving his hand cheerily in adieu to his smiling friends.

“A jolly good fellow, that,” commented Frank, as the train pulled out. “I only hope we will be able to afford to engage his talents for the new Wonderland.”

“You’ve just got to,” vociferated Pep. “He’s a regular drawing card and a show all in himself.”

And now came the real work of the motion picture chums. The new photo playhouse was all ready for the outfit, and when that was brought from the freight house there was plenty of lifting, carrying and placing to attend to. The big electric sign had to be reset and adjusted, the sheet iron booth for the machine put in place, and for four days there were a multitude of little things to accomplish.

Jolly got track of a closed show at Brenton where the chairs were for sale and drove an excellent bargain in their purchase, and also in the delivery.

It was Thursday night when for the first time the electric lights were turned on, so the boys could see how the playhouse “showed up,” as they expressed it. They all went out in front, Jolly turning the switches from inside. To the excited vision of the enthusiastic Pep the result was a burst of glory. The sign came out boldly. The many windows of the building, standing alone by itself as it did, made Randy think of a palace.

Frank was more than pleased. He was proud of his playhouse, proud of his loyal friends and deeply gratified as a crowd began to gather and he overheard their flattering and encouraging comments.

“Why, I saw that blaze three blocks down the street,” declared a breathless urchin, coming up on a run.

“Yes, it was so bright I thought it was a fire,” echoed a companion.

It was arranged that the three chums should visit their home town next morning. Jolly was left in charge of the playhouse and told them to have a good time and throw all care from their minds, as he would be able to complete all the arrangements for the opening Monday night.

The boys had a splendid time at Fairlands. They were highly elated over their business progress in the new venture and infused their families and friends with their own enthusiasm and delight. The Fairlands weekly paper printed a nice article about “Three Rising Young Business Men of Our Town,” and altogether as they took the train to return to Seaside Park each one of the trio felt that life was worth living and honorable business success a boon well worth striving for.

“And now for the grandest event of our life,” announced Pep, buoyantly—“the Opening Night!”