It was at the National that Pep came to a halt. Between the entrance and exit some attempt at ornamenting the old building had been made. There were two cement pillars and the space between them had been tiled. At one side was a plaster board and a few of the bricks that had not been used. The workman on the job had not yet tuckpointed the space he had covered, and had left behind some of his material, a trowel and other utilities.
Pep went over to the heap. He selected one of the bricks and matched it to the one he carried in his hand. He was standing thus when the door of the National opened and three persons came out. They were Peter Carrington, Greg Grayson and Jack Beavers.
“Hello!” flared up Peter, as he caught sight of Pep, “what are you snooping around here for?”
“I’m running down the persons who smashed our electric sign last night, and I’m fast getting to them,” replied Pep. “Carrington, you’re a pretty bad crowd, all of you, and I’m going to make you some trouble.”
“What for? What about?” blustered Peter, and then he flushed up as Pep waved the brick before him.
“That brick and two others like it smashed our sign,” he declared. “There probably isn’t another lot of them in town except here.”
“Well, what of it?” demanded Greg Grayson, sourly.
“I’m not talking to you,” retorted Pep. “We did enough of that after your mean tricks at Fairlands. Whoever smashed our sign did it with some of your bricks. You needn’t tell me they didn’t start out with them from here. There’s plenty of stones along the beach for the casual mischief maker. You’re trying to break up our show. Soon as I get the proofs I’m after, I’ll close yours and show you up to the public for the measly crowd you are.”
“Say,” flared up Peter, “this is our property and you get off of it, or——”
“Or you’ll what?” cried Pep, throwing down the bricks and advancing doughtily.