Ben Jolly burst in upon his young friends with his usual bustle and buoyancy about six o’clock that evening. He merrily chinked a pocket full of silver and was all ready for what might next come along, and eager to tackle it.
“Left Hal finishing one of the few full meals he has had since his show broke up,” reported Jolly. “Got rid of the last one of the bird houses—and, see here, Frank,” and the volatile speaker exhibited a comfortable-looking roll of bank notes. “That was a fine speculation, the way it turned out, and leaves me quite in funds. Now then, what’s the programme?”
Frank became serious at once and all the others as well. He told his loyal friend all about their plans and hopes. Jolly shook his head soberly when Frank produced some figures showing that the amount necessary to operate a new photo playhouse was beyond their ready means.
“I’ve got nearly one hundred dollars you are welcome to,” reported Jolly promptly, “but that’s about my limit. You see, when I got the money to buy that piano and the ‘noise wagon’ I practically sold my prospects for a last mess of pottage. I’m willing to pitch in and live ’most any way to give the new show a start, but when it comes to raising the extra five hundred dollars needed, I’m afraid I can’t help you much.”
Randy looked glum at this, and Pep was almost crying. Ben Jolly sat chewing a toothpick vigorously, his thinking cap on.
“Perhaps we had better give up the idea of coming to Seaside Park until we are a little stronger in a money way——” Frank had begun, when there was an interruption.
“Someone to see Mr. Frank Durham,” announced a bellboy, appearing in the open doorway.
Frank arose from his chair promptly and went out into the corridor.
“In the ladies’ parlor, sir,” added the bellboy, and Frank went down the stairs, wondering who this unexpected visitor could be.