A wild morning was ushered in with a chill northeaster. Daylight showed the beach covered with wrecked boats and habitations. The tents over on the Midway were nearly all down. The National was still flooded and the street in front of it impassable. Very few of the frame buildings, however, had been undermined.
The worst of the storm was over by afternoon, but no entertainment was given until the next evening. A big transparency announced a flood benefit, and five thousand dodgers telling about it were circulated over the town.
It was a gala night for the Wonderland. There were few of the minor beach shows as yet in condition to resume operations, and after twenty-four hours of storm everybody seemed out.
“At least seventy-five dollars for the benefit of the poor families down on the beach,” observed Pep. “Say, let me run down and tell them. It will warm their hearts, just as it does mine.”
“All right,” acceded Frank. “I guess you can promise them that much, Pep.”
Frank and Jolly stood in front of the playhouse talking over affairs in general as Pep darted away on his mission of charity. A well-dressed man whom Jolly had noticed in the audience, and one of the last to leave the place, had loitered around the entrance. Now he advanced towards them.
“Is there a young man named Smith connected with your show?” he inquired.
“Yes, sir,” replied Frank. “He has gone on a brief errand, but will soon return.”
“I’ll wait for him,” said the stranger, and he sat down on the side railing.
Frank went inside as Randy appeared with his cash box. Jolly remained where he was. Finally Pep came into view briskly, happy faced and excited.