“We mustn’t complain if we have a day or two of showery weather, Pep,” spoke Frank.
“It means poor shows, though,” lamented Randy.
“We can stand that,” replied Frank. “I think we have been more than fortunate.”
“I should say so,” remarked Jolly—“six shows a day and the house a clear average of three-fourths filled.”
“How are our friends down at the National doing, Pep?” inquired Vincent.
“Oh, so, so,” was the careless reply. “They get their quota from the Midway crowd, which we don’t want. My friend who works for them says they let things go half right, quarrel among themselves, and a few nights ago Peter Carrington had a crowd of his boy friends in a private box smoking cigarettes while the films were running. Peter doesn’t speak to me now when we meet.”
“I thought the building was coming down one time last night,” spoke Jolly. “There was damage done somewhere, for I heard a terrific crash a little after midnight.”
“There won’t be many bathers to-day,” said Vincent, glancing out at the breakers on the beach.
Pep finished his breakfast and went out to the front of the building to take a look at things. Just after he had opened the front doors his voice rang excitedly through the playhouse.
“Frank—Randy—all of you. Come here, quick!” Then as his friends trooped forward obedient to his call he burst out: “It’s a blazing shame!”