“Durham, I feel that we’ve just go to get that film,” spoke Ben Jolly.

He held in his hand a special letter from the National Film Exchange, and the lively piano player waved it about in a way that showed that he was unusually excited.

“Yes,” nodded Hal Vincent, “this is one of those specials that come along only once or twice a year. The prize fights used to lead before people knew as much as they do now; but you take a royal coronation, or a national auto race, or an earthquake, or liner lost at sea, and that’s the big feature that the public run after for about a month.”

“You’ve got to get in at them at the start, though,” suggested Jolly.

“Always. The event advertises itself and the film men give it a new start. Why, to open up for day shows, this flood film would be an attraction all of itself.”

“Better keep up with the times,” half laughed Randy. “You know how Peter Carrington is bragging about some new attraction that is going to put us out of business.”

Frank and his chums were practically novices in the “movies” line. They, however, knew enough about the business to realize that the theme under discussion was one worth considering in all its bearings. Furthermore, they placed great reliance in the judgment of Jolly and Vincent. The letter they had received advised them that within two days the “Great Flood Series” of films would be offered for lease. The supply was limited and on this account one film had been apportioned to certain territory. The right to use the film, therefore, would go to the highest bidder in each district.

The flood film covered a national disaster in which a large section of the West had been inundated, causing immense loss to life and property. Public charity had been appealed to and there were relief funds all over the country. The interest in the event had not yet abated.

“It’s a big feature,” declared Ben Jolly. “My advice is to get it.”

“And get it quick,” added Vincent. “These attractions are grabbed for.”

“But the cost?” suggested Frank.

“Oh, it is never ruinous,” said Vincent. “See here, you can spare me best out of your most valuable staff. I’ll go to the city and put the deal through, if you say so.”

“What about those cornet solos, and the talking picture stunt, and the act you were going to put on the programme?” grumbled Pep.

“Oh, they will keep for a night or so,” replied Vincent. “Another thing, I ordered my outfit, which was levied on at the stand down country where my last venture showed, sent to New York City before I knew I was coming down here. There’s some new wardrobe properties I want, too, so I can do double duty while I am in the city.”

It was decided that Vincent should go to New York and see what could be done about the flood film. The boys had figured up what price they could stand as a maximum figure, but considerable discretion was left to their representative. Randy and Pep strolled down to the depot with Vincent.

“See who’s here,” suddenly observed Randy.

Peter Carrington, in a loud, checked suit, alarming necktie and classy yachting cap, was at the depot with his two admiring cronies, Greg Grayson and Jack Beavers. He was talking in a loud, showy way, but as Beavers caught sight of Vincent he spoke quickly to Peter and they drew away from the spot. Peter entered the chair car when the train came in.

“Hello, going your way,” observed Randy.

“Say, suppose he’s after that new feature film?” inquired Pep, excitedly.

“Might be,” observed Vincent, carelessly. “If that’s the big card they were bragging about, they haven’t landed it yet. Glad you mentioned that point, Pep. I’ll get busy.”

There was a great deal to attend to that day. The season had commenced with the finest of weather and it bade fair to continue indefinitely. Frank and Jolly spent several hours deciding on the matinee feature.

“Tell you what, fellows,” he said to Randy and Pep, “Mr. Jolly thinks he had better take the week to get into our routine thoroughly. Mr. Booth was in to see us again this morning about some advertising he will put through at low cost. I hardly think we will try any day shows until next week, unless our competitors do. Then of course we will have to show our colors.”

“Well, I can tell you that they are not asleep,” declared Pep.

“How is that?” inquired Jolly.

“I saw my friend who works for them. He is building a big transparency to put across the front of the National. He don’t know exactly what it is going to advertise, but he thinks a big film feature.”

“The flood special, I’ll bet!” guessed Randy at once.

“Aren’t they a little premature?” advanced Jolly.

“We’ll know to-night,” said Frank. “Mr. Vincent will probably be back on a late train.”

The boys were brisk and ready for the evening’s entertainment when the hour arrived. There was every indication of a big attendance. What pleased Frank most was to notice that those who were waiting for the doors to open were mostly family people—children and residents. This spoke well for the reputation the Wonderland had already gained.

The first house was only fair. There was, however, a big gain at eight o’clock. Randy looked up from the ticket reel as a familiar voice struck his ear with the monotonous:

“Two tickets, please.”

“No, no,” he laughed, moving back the bill which Miss Porter presented, and bowing with deference to her companion, the portly Mrs. Carrington. “You must allow us the honor and pleasure of retaining you on the free list.”

“Ridiculous, young man!” said the outspoken Mrs. Carrington, but she was forced ahead by the on-pressing crowd. Pep caught sight of them and hustled about actively securing two good seats among the few left.

Pep felt that he was on good behavior with the eyes of their lady patronesses upon them. When they arose to leave at the end of the hour he slipped over to the operator’s booth and advised Frank of the presence of their distinguished company. The little party drew aside for a moment or two out of the path of the dispersing audience.

“We must certainly compliment you on your well ordered place, Mr. Durham,” said Mrs. Carrington.

“And your tasteful selection of films,” added Miss Porter, brightly. “As to your pianist, he is an expert, and your usher system perfect.”

“Oh, pshaw! you are making fun of me,” declared Pep, reddening.

“Oh, dear!” observed Mrs. Carrington with a sigh, “of course I am deeply anxious for the success of that headstrong nephew of mine. Now he has got into the motion picture business I can’t quite abandon him; but I must say the National is crude and inartistic compared with your place here.”

“Peter has our best wishes, Mrs. Carrington,” declared Frank. “I can assure you of that. Of course we are business rivals, but it will be with entire fairness on our part.”

“I am sure it will. I told you so, Mrs. Carrington,” spoke Miss Porter. “Peter talks as though you were sanguinary enemies, but I knew it was nonsense as far as you are concerned. I don’t like the man he has taken in with him, a Mr. Beavers, however. I told him so yesterday, but met with a rebuff for the interest I displayed in Peter’s welfare.”

“That little lady is our champion, all right,” declared Pep, returning from escorting the ladies to their automobile.

When the boys came to reckon up the proceeds of the evening they found them to be several dollars over what they had taken in the first night. They were congratulating themselves on their continued good fortune when Hal Vincent put in an appearance. He had a great paper roll under his arm and looked brisk and contented.

“Well, Hal?” hailed Jolly, in a cheery, expectant way.

“I want to show you something,” was the ventriloquist’s reply as he opened the roll upon the table.

It contained six different four-sheet posters. They were high colored, well executed and attractive. They depicted striking and thrilling events of “The Great Flood.”

“Twenty-five sets go with the films,” he explained.

“And you’ve got the films?” said Jolly.

“I couldn’t bear to leave them behind,” replied Vincent, with a smile. “I’ve got them and the price won’t break us—but it’s at the cost of making a deadly enemy.”