The doorman, to whom the chums were well and favorably known, chuckled as he accepted the “dead-head” tickets.
“Papering the house, eh!” he chaffed, referring to the method by which, issuing free tickets, a manager sometimes made it appear that his theatre was well patronized. “Well, you won’t like the show.”
“Why?” Chick demanded.
“It’s the old story that the fellow who comes in free does all the ‘knocking,’” responded the doorman, “I ought not to let you in at all, by rights. Passes aren’t good on busy week-end nights; but these are good any time—specials from the boss. How’d you get them?”
“In the most ‘charming’ way you could think of,” Garry made a hidden reference to the Indian’s “magic bag.” “They were ‘gave’ to us.”
“All right. Go on!”
In they went, finding a trio of seats about the center of the small and rather old-fashioned theatre.
A comedy was just reaching its end, and the jet silhouettes of a fantastic kitten, gyrating across the screen from a kick, punctuated their arrival with a gale of laughter from the audience.
They were just in time for the “presentation,” preceding the main attraction.
The heavy draperies of the softly lighted curtain swung down, concealing the stage until the screen was taken away.