Jolly was making the organ “hum” now. This was the first time that the lights had been turned on in the finished auditorium. The introductory notes of a swelling march echoed as Pep swung the switches. Then he, too, joined the group of his friends and fellow workers.
For fully a minute not a word was spoken. Five pairs of eyes swept the splendid apartment from end to end. It was a rare feast of light and beauty. There was more than comfort—there was luxury and richness; not loud or tawdry, but artistic and harmonious.
“I didn’t think it could be done,” was the utterance of Pep Smith.
“You said it would be the finest playhouse in America, Durham,” observed Mr. Strapp, his eyes expressing the liveliest satisfaction, “and here it’s a proven fact.”
“My dream has come true!” murmured the exultant professor. “Gentlemen, I congratulate you on having set motor photography ahead ten years.”
“It’s nice to have you say so,” remarked Frank, with a radiant smile.
“It’s just perfection!” declared Randy, his eyes dancing with excitement and pleasure.
Frank’s heart beat fast with pride. It seemed a pretty long step from the little Wonderland picture show he had started in his home village, to this acme of an active business career. All the plots of rivals, all the hard struggles, all the difficult problems met and conquered, were obscured by the present moment.
“If Randall had only arrived a little sooner!” spoke the professor, with something of a sigh.
“You mean the delay in featuring that great film of yours?” asked Mr. Strapp. “Don’t let it worry you. That will keep. It will probably be all the better to hold it off. Then we’ll spring it in a blaze of glory—see?”