“Durham,” spoke the ventriloquist with considerable feeling, “you’re pure gold!”
The bustling pianist appeared on the scene all smiles and serenity at that moment.
“Where’s Pep Smith?” he inquired.
“Up at the playhouse.”
“That so? All right. Come along, and see me give him the surprise of his life. You know I went down to Brenton to see Mr. Tyson about that stock? Well, I’m back—minus the stock. I’ve got something better. Look there.”
Ben Jolly held a certified check before the dazzled eyes of his friends. It read: “Pay to the order of Pepperill Smith Two Thousand Dollars.”
“This good fortune will about turn Pep’s head,” declared Frank Durham.
“Why, those shrewd fellows will get double that out of it,” said Jolly. “It seems that the company is on the rocks, but a reorganization is being attempted and it can’t be put through without a majority of the stock. Pep’s holdings fit in snugly, so they had to pay me my price.”
Pep Smith gasped as Jolly recounted all this over again to him in the living room back of the photo playhouse.
“What are you going to do with all that money, Pep?” inquired Randy.