“There must have been over eight hundred admissions,” figured Pep.
“One thousand, one hundred and fifty exactly,” reported Randy.
“Why, say,” cried Pep, “at that rate we’re going to be rich!”
“Hey, young fellow,” hailed a man appearing at this moment—“I suppose there’s a free list for friends?”
“I should say so,” responded Pep, recognizing the workman at the National he had gotten so chummy with. “Step right in, although I’m afraid I can’t offer you a seat.”
“Crowded as that; eh?” spoke the man. “That’s fine.”
“How is it at the National?” asked Pep. “Do they keep busy?”
“Every seat taken, but then you know they gave away a lot of tickets. Why, say,” proceeded the man as they got inside, “I had no idea you could fix this place up so nifty.”
“I suppose they opened at the National before they were all ready?” suggested Pep, who was dreadfully curious about the proceedings of Peter Carrington and his friends.
“I should say they did! They had to use boards for seats and several of them split in two. The funniest thing, though, was when one of the private boxes broke down.”