“If there’s anything to it, Durham,” spoke up Mr. Strapp, “you want to get that film for opening night.”
“It would give variety to the entertainment,” observed the professor.
“I believe I’ll see what there is to it right away,” declared Frank. “Come on Pep.”
The two chums left their friends in the auditorium and passed through the reception hall. A canvas sheet had been spread across the street entrance to protect the new paint and gilding, and a guard had been stationed there.
“Oh, Mr. Durham,” the latter spoke, as Frank approached him, “there’s a boy outside who has been trying to break in to you for the last five minutes. Says he knows you; but my orders were to admit no one.”
“A boy—wonder who he is?” said Pep speculatively.
“Why, it’s Vic!” replied Frank, as the guard pulled the edge of the canvas aside, and the lad in question became visible, seated astride a nail keg and dolefully surveying the ground.
Three days before, furnished with money by Frank, the farm boy had gone by rail to Wardham to look up his friend, Bill Purvis, and the camels.
“Why, hello, Vic,” spoke Frank in a friendly tone as he came outside.
Vic looked up rather falteringly. He grasped Frank’s extended hand. His face lengthened and his lips puckered.