Frank stepped forward. The man who had challenged them was in his shirt sleeves, working at a plank over two wooden horses mending some wire screens.
“We are looking over the beach with the idea of finding a good location for a show,” Frank explained.
“What kind of a show?” inquired the man, studying the trio sharply.
“Motion picture.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place, I can tell you that,” declared the man, showing more interest and putting aside the screen he was mending. “Pretty young, though, for business on your own hook; aren’t you?”
“Oh, we’re regular business men, we are,” vaunted Pep. “This is Frank Durham, and this is Randolph Powell. The three of us ran a photo playhouse in Fairlands for six months, so we know the business.”
“Is that so?” observed the man musingly. “Well, I’m the owner of the building here and as you see, want to find a good tenant for the season. I’m mending up the screens to those ventilating windows. I’m going to redecorate it inside and out, and the place is right in the center of the busiest part of the beach.”
“What was it used for before?” inquired Frank.
“Bowling alley, once. Then a man tried an ice cream parlor, but there was too much competition. Last season a man put in a penny arcade, but that caught only the cheap trade and not much of that.”
Frank walked to the end of the long room and looked over the lighting equipment, the floor and the ceiling. Then he nodded to Randy and Pep, who joined him at a window, as if looking casually over the surroundings of the vacant place.