Professor Barrington was probably the happiest man alive; at least he declared he was. He proved how little he knew of business methods by signing the partnership contract without even looking at it. Then when Frank insisted that he should read it over, his face beamed with confidence and delight.
“It’s too fair on my side,” he declared. “I knew you were the right kind and I find you are the very best kind. Thanks, and I’ll deserve all you are doing for me.”
All the professor asked was to be told the date on which the Standard would open. His mind became engrossed with his own particular section of the project. No one intruded any bothersome details upon his thoughts. He was expected to get his many correspondents ready to send in the special films he had ordered and think up new subjects.
Of his ability to do this there was not the slightest doubt in the minds of his associates, after the eager enthusiast had opened up the treasures of that wonderful satchel of his. It was a marvelous evening for all, upon which he did this.
It was not what the professor had to show ready for use that comprised the essence of his scheme. It was what he could get. There was scarcely a subject—educational, classical or historical—that he had not covered in the tabulation he had prepared of interesting themes that would appeal to the public.
“It’s just—compelling!” declared Randy Powell. “Wise old fellow! He’s got a programme that will fascinate an audience from a four-year old boy up to a centenarian.”
“Say, I’ve got a new idea myself,” broke in Pep, but Randy squelched him by proceeding:
“It’s the wonders of nature features that are going to win. Why, it looks as if the professor had just slashed up the map of the world, figured out what each section had that was odd and wonderful, and set his agents at work to produce results.”
“You see, this scheme of mine is a big idea for opening night,” persisted Pep.
“Oh, bother!” shrugged his comrade. “This is no cheap nickel business to fool with.”