THE START OF A STRUGGLE BETWEEN THE MAN AND PEP BEGAN TO ATTRACT ATTENTION
Motion Picture Chums’ New Idea.Page [163]

The
Motion Picture Chums’
New Idea

OR
The First Educational Photo Playhouse

BY
VICTOR APPLETON
AUTHOR OF “THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ FIRST
VENTURE,” “THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS,”
“TOM SWIFT SERIES,” ETC.

ILLUSTRATED

NEW YORK
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS

BOOKS BY VICTOR APPLETON

12mo. Cloth. Illustrated. Price, per volume,
50 cents, postpaid.

THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS SERIES

THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ FIRST VENTURE
THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS AT SEASIDE PARK
THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS ON BROADWAY
THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ OUTDOOR EXHIBITION
THE MOTION PICTURE CHUMS’ NEW IDEA

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS SERIES

THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE WEST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS ON THE COAST
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN THE JUNGLE
THE MOVING PICTURE BOYS IN EARTHQUAKE LAND

(Other volumes in preparation)

THE TOM SWIFT SERIES

TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR CYCLE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS MOTOR BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIRSHIP
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SUBMARINE BOAT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RUNABOUT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS ELECTRIC RIFLE
TOM SWIFT AND HIS SKY RACER
TOM SWIFT IN THE CAVES OF ICE
TOM SWIFT AMONG THE DIAMOND MAKERS
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIRELESS MESSAGE
TOM SWIFT IN THE CITY OF GOLD
TOM SWIFT AND HIS AIR GLIDER
TOM SWIFT IN CAPTIVITY
TOM SWIFT AND HIS WIZARD CAMERA
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GREAT SEARCHLIGHT
TOM SWIFT AND HIS GIANT CANNON

GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS NEW YORK

Copyright, 1914, by
GROSSET & DUNLAP

The Motion Picture Chums’ New Idea

CONTENTS

THE MOTION PICTURE
CHUMS’ NEW IDEA

CHAPTER I
SOMETHING NEW

“Boys, it’s a splendid idea!” cried Frank Durham.

“What is?” asked his friend and business partner, Randolph Powell.

“You look as if you had something big to tell,” chimed in Pepperill Smith, moving his chair nearer to his two comrades. “Out with it, Frank.”

The motion picture chums were seated in the cozy office of the Empire photo playhouse on upper Broadway, New York City. It was “their” playhouse, they might proudly say. Their energy, patience and genius had made it a success. They were lively, up-to-date boys, the kind who work as well as dream and play. They had learned business ways. The animated yet earnest face of their leader just now showed that it was a genuine business proposition that he was bringing to the notice of his companions.

“Why,” returned Frank, “you know what our motto has always been—to keep abreast of the times.”

“And a little ahead of ’em, Durham!” added a new voice, as a bustling man of middle age entered the little office. It was Mr. Hank Strapp of Butte, Montana, the liberal, cheery-hearted financial backer of the boys. “It appears to me that this last venture of ours up at Riverside Grove has about capped the climax.”

“Let Frank go ahead with his story, Mr. Strapp!” cried Pep, who was a privileged character, his constant willingness to help out making full amends for his sometimes boisterous manner. “We’d have been good and sorry if we had missed running the Airdrome; wouldn’t we, now?”

“Well, it has doubled the value of our investment, that’s sure,” admitted Mr. Strapp, with great satisfaction.

“Then how do you know but what Frank now has a proposition up his sleeve that is twice as good? He’s always looking for new ideas. What’s the last one, Frank?”

“Well,” explained the latter, “to tell it in a word: What do you say to opening a photo playhouse that shall be devoted exclusively to educational films?”

Each of Frank’s auditors received this declaration in a characteristic way. Pep came to his feet with a bound and seemed to be ready to voice his opinion in his usual tumultuous fashion. Randy’s eyes snapped as his vivid imagination seized upon the new thought. The impulsive ex-ranchman, Mr. Strapp, brought his bronzed hand down upon his knee emphatically with the words:

“Durham, I believe you’ve struck a big thing! It catches my fancy. There’s one first point we’ve got to look to, though: Can it be made to pay?”

“I feel sure that it can,” replied Frank, “in the right place.”

“And where is that,” inquired the impetuous Pep.

“Boston,” was the reply. “Boston is the home of culture. Anything high up in the entertainment line is encouraged there. I first thought of the plan a week ago. Yesterday, quite by accident, I ran across a gentleman who crystallized my vague ideas.”

“How was that, Durham?” asked the interested Westerner.

“It was down at the film exchange. I was waiting for the crowd to thin out, as I had some special business with the manager, and sat down on a bench. Right next to me was a thin, intellectual looking man whom nobody could help but notice as entirely out of the ordinary. He was nervous, abstracted, impatient. He took out his watch to look at the time.

“I saw that he had opened the back case instead of the dial. I heard him say: ‘Remarkable! Extraordinary!’ Then he began poking in all his pockets. He made a vain search. He got up and looked all over the bench, and knelt down and searched under it.

“‘Can I help you, sir?’ I asked.

“‘Well, yes, I’ve lost my glasses,’ he informed me.

“‘Why,’ I told him, ‘you’ve got them on.’

“‘Aha! So I have,’ he admitted. ‘Ridiculous!’

“‘And you’re looking at the wrong side of your watch,’ I added.

“‘Dear me!’ he groaned. ‘Preposterous!’”

“Say, he’d make a good character in a funny film,” chuckled the mischief-loving Pep.

“Well,” continued Frank, “he came out of his absent-mindedness and gathered his scattered wits. Those dreamy eyes of his pierced me like a gimlet.

“‘Movies man?’ he asked.

“I told him yes. You ought to have seen how eager he was. He began firing questions at me so fast I could hardly answer. They were all about motion pictures. He was like a curious youngster hungry for facts. We got so interested in my experience, before he got through with me, that he found out about all we know or have down in the movies business. Finally he jumped to his feet.

“‘See here,’ he said, grabbing my arm, ‘you are just the fellow I’ve been looking for. You come along with me.’

“‘Where?’ I asked.

“‘To my hotel,’ he replied. ‘I’ll make you rich and famous.’ There was no resisting him, so I went.”

“Who was he, anyway?” asked Randy.

Frank took a card from his pocket and held it so that all could read the name inscribed upon it:

Professor Achilles Barrington.

“And what was he after?” pressed Pep.

“Someone to exploit his ideas about a great educational film photo playhouse,” replied Frank. “I never saw a man so enthusiastic over an idea as he was. It seems that he had been a professor of astronomy at Yale, or Harvard, I forget which. A rival professor set up a new theory as to the red spots on Jupiter in opposition to his own. There was a wordy war. Professor Barrington stood on his dignity and resigned. He had a little money and an ardent ambition to ‘enlighten the masses,’ as he termed it. He has mapped out a wonderful series of films for popular exhibition. I tell you, they’re great. He wants to start the finest photo playhouse in the world, facing Boston Common, and his plan has a lot of good points.”

“It would seem so,” nodded Mr. Strapp, whose face showed that he was intensely interested. “Go ahead, Durham. I’m mightily attracted by what you are telling us.”

“The professor must have talked to me for an hour when we got to his hotel. It appears he has been working on his pet idea for several months. I was surprised at the way he had planned his film subjects and sources of information and supply. He convinced me that his plans, influence and scheme for working up business were magnificent.

“It appears he was waiting to see what encouragement the film men would give him in his scheme when I met him. Now he is thoroughly convinced that there never was a combination so able to put through his plans as ourselves. He was for getting my decision at once, so that some of us could go at once to Boston and see the location he had picked out for the new playhouse. I told him I would have to consult with you people and I promised he should hear from me by noon. What do you think of it, Mr. Strapp?”

“Well, you know we have run across all kinds of dreamers in this business,” replied the Westerner. “I’ve a great respect for college folks, though; little education as I’ve had myself. You’re a shrewd sort of a fellow, Durham, and don’t make many mistakes.”

“That’s right!” came with emphasis from the ever-admiring Pep.

“Thank you,” returned Frank, modestly, and with a laugh.

“Yes, sir-ree! We can trust your judgment every time, Durham,” continued Mr. Strapp. “As to the idea you’ve spoken of, it can’t be beat. As to the man who has worked it up, I suspect we’d all better see him before we come to a decision.”

“I’ll bet he’s an odd genius,” commented Pep, with an expectant twinkle in his eyes.

“He’s smart, or he couldn’t have interested Frank the way he has done,” observed the loyal Randy.

“Well, if you leave it to me,” spoke the young motion picture manager, “I’ll go back to his hotel, as I promised. I think I had better bring him back here with me. It’s three hours before we start the show, so we can have a good long talk.”

“I’ll be glad to see this professor of yours, Durham,” said Mr. Strapp.

“Hello!” broke in Pep, abruptly. “Here’s somebody.”

The door of the little office swung open as someone knocked timidly on it.

Frank, craning his neck, discerned a man standing still and apparently awaiting an answer to his summons. It struck Frank that the visitor must be near-sighted, or very absent-minded, to thus mistake a wide open door for a closed one.

“Come in,” he sang out and the caller seized the knob of the door. As he did this, the unexpected ease with which the door swung towards him moved him off his balance, drove him back and banged shut, quite taking him off his feet.

“Stupendous!” gasped the caller, as he went sprawling upon the floor headlong, his tall silk hat rolling in one direction, the goggles he wore in another.

“Why!” cried Frank, “It’s Professor Barrington himself!”

CHAPTER II
AN ABSENT-MINDED VISITOR

“Outrageous—unpardonable!” gasped the professor, as he struggled to his feet, thus rudely aroused from his habitual abstraction.

Pep stooped to pick up the rolling hat and to hide a grin. Randy, as he rescued the glasses, bit his lip to keep his face straight. Even Mr. Strapp was amused; but he did not allow himself to show it.

Frank was always the gentleman and the boy of business. He had arisen to his feet. He extended his hand, sober as a judge, with the words:

“I am glad to see you, Professor Barrington. We were just going over that matter of yours and I was about to start for your hotel.”

“Good—glad. Then you favor my plan?”

“We are all very much interested,” observed Mr. Strapp. “Will you have a chair, sir?”

The eyes of the little coterie were fixed upon their odd visitor. Knowing Frank as they did, his chums were as one in the conviction that their bright young leader had brought about a situation that promised interesting developments.

It was not the first time that some such an incident had proved the beginning of an important move in the business to which the three boys had been now devoted for nearly two years. From the first day that the movies idea had captivated these close comrades and friends, Frank had been the main mover in discoveries, suggestions and activities that had led them up to the present pleasant and useful position they filled in their own little business world.

It was Frank who had originally found a way to employ their little stock of savings, to obtain an outfit for the starting of their first motion picture venture in their native village of Fairlands, known as the Wonderland, as related in the first volume of the present series, entitled, “The Motion Picture Chums’ First Venture; Or, Opening a Photo Playhouse In Fairlands.”

It was Frank who, when the winter season was past and local trade grew dull, had discovered a promising outlook for a Wonderland No. 2 at Seaside Park. This was a popular outing resort some fifty miles from New York City. Their success with that venture has been told in a second book, called, “The Motion Picture Chums at Seaside Park; Or, The Rival Photo Theaters of the Boardwalk.”

When they retired temporarily from that enterprise with the departing excursion crowds, a higher ambition had led them to seek a wider sphere of action.

In the third volume, entitled, “The Motion Picture Chums On Broadway; Or, The Mystery of the Missing Cash Box,” has been narrated the struggles, trials, and triumphs of the boys in founding their Empire photo playhouse on upper Broadway in New York City. All along the line they had found rivals, even enemies, but friends as well.

Mr. Strapp, who now sat in their midst, was one of the latter, and a loyal, helpful, companion he had become. Frank had saved the unsophisticated Westerner, fresh from ranch life, from being swindled out of a large sum of money. The ex-ranchman had appreciated this and the good qualities of the three chums, and had become their partner, to the benefit of all.

Ben Jolly, a musician of no mean ability, was another who had come into their lives. Then there were several lads whom Frank had found poor, in trouble, and needing a friend badly. He had given them a helping hand.

In the last preceding book of the series, named, “The Motion Picture Chums’ Outdoor Exhibition; Or, The Film That Solved a Mystery,” the ups and downs of a new venture, the Airdrome, at Riverside Grove, located on the Palisades of the Hudson River, have been recited.

Each of the group was now filling some efficient part in the operations of the Amusement Company organized by Mr. Strapp and the motion picture chums to bring system and success to the chain of photo playhouses they conducted.

An old comrade of Ben Jolly, a professional ventriloquist named Hal Vincent, had managed the Wonderland No. 2 at Seaside Park during the season. At Fairlands a capable young fellow was in the harness, and another deserving lad was operating the Model, a small affair at Belleview, up the Hudson. Dave Sawyer, whom Frank had rescued from the clutches of a cruel taskmaster, named Slavin, had assisted Frank and his partners in making a success of the famous Airdrome, and was now located at Riverside Grove.

Now, at the beginning of the autumn season, the little group had taken up their headquarters at the principal playhouse of the chain. The Empire was the most profitable institution of the group. It was a model, up-to-date, and well patronized the year around. It was like getting back home to once more enjoy its coziness. The motion picture chums had plenty to do with so many ventures on their hands, but “the Tip Top” was the constant ambition of the partners.

Frank was always on the lookout for something new to keep them abreast of the times. As has been seen, he had made an attractive discovery that day. Now its progress was signalized by the extraordinary appearance of Professor Achilles Barrington.

The odd intruder upon the little group seemed now at ease through the generous reception he had received. He set his glasses straight and brushed his hat with his coat sleeve. Then he tapped his head sharply with his knuckles, as if punishing truant ideas that had led him into a blunder, and summoning up new ones.

“Embarrassed—decidedly so,” he observed. “Deep in thought—and all that. Scarcely respectable—bolting in on you this way. Made a bad impression, I fear.”

“Not at all, sir,” responded Mr. Strapp, indulgently. “Our friend, Frank Durham, has paved the way for a genuine welcome. Let me introduce myself—Strapp is my name, and I never say what I don’t mean. I am very glad to meet a person of your education, Professor Barrington. This is Randolph Powell, and this Pepperill Smith.”

“I declare, it’s like home to be among you,” said the professor, smiling expansively at the friendly greeting he received. “I must apologize for coming here uninvited, gentlemen; but I couldn’t rest thinking over the possibilities suggested by Mr. Durham. You don’t know how my heart is set on my great enterprise, nor the bother and trouble I have had getting at the right people.”

“I reckon you’ve found ’em this time, sir, if your scheme holds water at all,” declared Mr. Strapp, in his blunt fashion.

“Thank you—it makes me happy to hear you say that. I ought to apologize, Mr. Durham, for showing childish anxiety about you; but I was fooled once and I do not wish to waste any time. Now that I see what a really pretentious business you have here, I realize that you did not tell half. You see, I fell into the hands of a fellow who made all kinds of false representations, beside fleecing me out of money. It’s made me nervous about getting things started before someone else exploits the idea. I’ve become so afraid of speculators and promoters that I shall breathe more freely when I get back to my home city.”

“Meaning Boston, I assume?” asked Mr. Strapp.

“That’s right, sir! And it’s the right place, and the only one where the educational film will be accepted with open arms. I know the people, Mr. Strapp. They know me, too, in my humble way.”

“And exactly what do you expect us to do?” inquired the Westerner, in a business-like tone.

“Why, I have not the capital myself to start such a photo playhouse as my plan deserves. Another thing: I am not a practical showman in any sense of the word; I have, though, enough money to arrange for the films. The films, gentlemen, comprise the whole essence of this proposition.”

“You have a special interest in that direction; eh?” intimated Mr. Strapp.

“I may say that—yes,” declared the professor. “Mediocre stuff will not do at all. The scarce, the odd, the new, the remarkable—I saw my needs when this idea first occurred to me. In my satchel at the hotel, locked up in its strong safe, are credentials showing that I am to-day in touch with film producers all over the world.”

“Why—what for?” burst out the curious Pep.

“What for—what?” in turn challenged the professor, with wondering eyes.

“Locked up—in a safe! Valuable, I suppose?”

“So much so, that I am satisfied a group of unscrupulous men are after it,” asserted Professor Barrington, solemnly. “You see, in planning out my campaign I have had to proceed with caution, so that rivals would not forestall me. I have even designed a telegraphic code so that messages sent and received may not be deciphered by others to my disadvantage.”

Frank’s eyes were opening wider with mingled interest and excitement. As their eccentric visitor warmed up to his subject, the young leader of the motion picture chums saw that the professor had used order and system in his preliminary work.

“I have a primary list of many subjects, some of which are already in the hands of the picture takers,” continued the professor. “My object has been to have really educational films.”

“For instance, what?” questioned Mr. Strapp.

“Well, showing how flowers grow—animal, bird and insect life—the mysteries of the deep. Then again, in the mechanical arts—the great industries—factories, lighthouses, conventions. I am now working out a scenario for a natural wonder that will electrify the thinking public. I simply give you an outline; details will come later if we make a deal.

“I have already invested several thousands of dollars in the venture. What I propose is that someone else finance the exhibition of the films in the right way. I will defray the expenses up to that point.”

Mr. Strapp arose and paced a few steps in a restless manner. This was always his way when interested in something of a business nature. Frank caught a glance from his eyes and at once saw that his clear-headed business partner had made up his mind.

“I have listened to you, sir,” remarked Mr. Strapp, bluntly, “and I will say I am very much interested. In plain words: I favor your proposition. I’m not much on education, though, and Durham is. What do you propose, sir?”

“That you come to Boston and look over a location I have selected, go over the papers I have in my satchel, look me up to see if I am the kind of man to deal with, and make your decision.”

“Fair enough,” agreed Mr. Strapp. “Let Durham act as our representative. He’s only a boy, professor, but smarter than most grown men. I’d trust his good judgment any time; and if he says go ahead, that settles it.”

“Most satisfactory,” exclaimed the professor; his thoughtful face brightening magically. “I feel I can trust you.”

“When would you wish me to go to Boston, Professor Barrington?” asked Frank.

“Right away!” cried the professor, consulting his watch and jumping to his feet with the celerity of a pleased schoolboy.

CHAPTER III
THE MISSING SATCHEL

“That’s queer!” said Frank Durham.

He said it to himself, for he was seated alone in the railroad station awaiting the arrival of Professor Barrington. When that personage heard the decision of the young movies leader and his business partners, he was for getting to Boston forthwith. After Frank had glanced at a time-table, the arrangements had been made quickly.

“There is a through express at eleven o’clock,” he reported.

“Then we must make it,” insisted the professor, briskly. “Meet me at the station. I will just have time to go to my hotel, settle up affairs there and get my satchel. That train will land us in Boston in five hours, leaving a chance to do some business there by daylight.”

Then he had departed, and after a brief talk with Mr. Strapp, Frank had made his way to the railroad station. As his mind and eyes were always active he became interested in studying human nature about him. Some peculiar actions on the part of three men seated on a bench opposite him attracted his attention and caused him to utter an exclamation.

What seemed queer to the mind of Frank was the fact that one of the trio, a slouch-shouldered, furtive-eyed man, after some confidential talk with the two others, took up his satchel from the floor. He glanced keenly all about him to see that he was not observed. Then a crafty smile came to his lips as he partly reversed the satchel. To the amazement of Frank the satchel appeared to have no bottom.

Some coiling springs seemed to fill the inside space. The man chuckled as he righted the satchel again. One of his companions laughed and the other slapped him on the shoulder as though it were all a great joke. Then the three men walked towards the waiting trains. Frank felt that somehow the incident was suspicious. He wondered if the hollow satchel might not after all be some new invention. But just then the professor put in an appearance.

He swung a satchel in one hand and seemed flustered as he rushed to the ticket office and thence with Frank to the train.

“Just made it!” he explained, sinking breathlessly into a seat. “Got sort of bothered.”

“How was that, Professor Barrington?” inquired Frank.

“Why, I’ve told you I bungled into talking over my plans with a man who, I am now convinced, was bent upon stealing my ideas. When I went back to my hotel I noticed this fellow skulking about the entrance. When I came down from my room to get my satchel, the hotel clerk said someone had been to him asking when I was leaving and where I was going. I don’t like the look of things.”

“You are probably rid of the man, now you are leaving the city,” suggested Frank.

“I sincerely hope so,” returned the professor, with a relieved sigh. “Now we’re by ourselves and comfortable, let us have a thorough talk over our affairs.”

There was a double seat directly behind the one they were in, occupied by a lady and her two children. The little ones were romping and noisy, and after a glance at these neighbors the professor plunged into his subject, not fearful of any eavesdroppers. He had carelessly thrown his satchel in the space behind the seat, just off the aisle. One of its straps had come loose and trailed forward under the seat.

Frank had placed his foot on this. He had no right to suggest or interfere with the personal affairs of his companion, but a memory of what the professor had said about the valuable contents of the satchel in the safe at the hotel, led Frank to wonder if this was the one. In his engrossed way the professor might have lost sight of the necessity of keeping guard over his treasures. Frank pressed his toe against the buckle on the end of the loose strap and resolved to keep it there.

Professor Barrington was a very entertaining man when he conversed on his pet subject. As he related the slow, patient and careful work he had done to have at command movies parties all over the world, ready for any rush order he might give, Frank was amazed.

“Think of it!” remarked the professor, “the photo play speaks the silent but universal language of sight, and the eventual triumph of motion photography is the educational film. I can see this movement lead to education in schools, exhibitions, in conventions.

“I can see marvels of nature we have heretofore only read about brought right into natural action before our eyes. I have already forty-two thousand feet of negatives, including the split reels. I have in view double that volume, and not a film to be released to outsiders until we have gathered the first cream of profit and popularity. It will startle you, my young friend—more, it will thrill you, when you go into the details of the outfit gathered and gathering. Did you know,” demanded the professor, “that there are insects that wash their faces, just as humans do?”

“Why, no, sir—” began Frank.

“You shall see the proof of it, taken from nature. Of course you know what the telepathic sense means?”

“As I take it, it is the ability of dumb creatures to use a mysterious sixth sense that enables them to scent danger at a distance or communicate with one another.”

“Right—especially with ants,” responded the professor. “In Africa scientists have marvelled that an army of these intelligent little creatures should halt in a second when their leader strikes an obstacle. This is done with system and order, when the last ant is half a mile distant and shut out of sight of the head of the procession by a hill or some other object.”

“That seems wonderful,” remarked Frank.

“Well,” declared Professor Barrington, triumphantly, “I have solved the mystery. I have had photographs taken with such an insect army in motion. It took twenty machines to catch the subject, but the film is made continuous. The king ant halted at a stream. Instantly it shot out a hind foot. Almost as quickly as electricity the ant next behind and those beyond it transmitted that signal down down the line. We estimate that it took just fifty-four seconds to deliver the ‘Halt’ message to the last ant. The photo, magnified, shows the most interesting kicking picture you ever saw.”

For over an hour the professor kept up such an interesting discourse that Frank was charmed. The train was slowing up, and the professor, leaning close to Frank, was pouring into his ear a description of a leaping kangaroo film among his treasures, when Frank straightened up suddenly and fixed his eye upon a man who had just left his seat and was coming down the aisle.

In a flash Frank recognized him as the person he had seen at the city railway station with the hollow satchel. The fellow carried the article now. He swung along as if it was heavy, which Frank knew could not be the case. He stumbled as he passed the seat containing the professor and Frank and seemed to momentarily drop his satchel to the floor as if to regain his balance.

Frank’s nerves thrilled as the man picked up his satchel again. A jerk moved the strap upon which Frank had his foot. He arose quickly and turned his head. The professor’s satchel was gone!

The man, who Frank knew in a flash must have taken it up inside his “patent” satchel, was hurrying to the door of the car. With a bound our young hero, guessing at the shrewd trick attempted, was after him.

“Hold on, there!” shouted Frank, so sharply that he attracted the attention of everyone in the coach.

“Meaning me?” retorted the fellow he was after, as Frank ran up to him and grabbed one arm.

“Yes, I do,” cried Frank. “You just took a satchel from behind that seat yonder and I want it.”

“Nonsense! What are you talking about?” shouted the man. “Don’t delay me. This is my station. Let go!” But Frank had slipped his hand down to the satchel the man swung about, and deftly reversing it, unset the stolen satchel from the coiling springs that had caught it up and held it.

“You meddler!” he hissed savagely. The man saw that he was unmasked and outwitted, and with a vicious swing brought his own satchel against Frank’s head. The latter went spinning to the floor, but he held on to the professor’s property.

“Astonishing!” exclaimed his fellow-traveler, arising in wonder to his feet. “Stop that man!” But the fellow whom Frank had baffled darted for the rear door of the car, leaped outside, slammed it shut after him and sprang to the platform of the station before the train stopped.

A dozen curious passengers questioned Frank as to the details of the strange incident they had noticed.

“A slick thief with a trick satchel,” Frank explained, briefly. “Keep tight hold of your property, Professor,” he told his mystified friend. The train halted only for a moment to let off a few passengers. Frank had gone to the car platform. He leaned from it, gazing keenly down the length of the platform to see if he could find any trace of the thief.

The latter was nowhere in sight, however, until after the train had started. Then Frank saw him come into view around the distant end of the depot building. The fellow made some motions with his hands as if conveying a signal to someone. Frank turned and sharply took in the interior of the car. He saw a man just shutting down a window. He had not noticed this person before. Now he recognized him as one of the men who had been with the thief in the city railway station.

“The professor’s fears are well founded, it seems,” reflected Frank. “There has been a plot afoot to get possession of that satchel. Well, the schemers haven’t done it so far. I don’t think they will get it if I can help it.”

Frank found the professor seated with the rescued satchel in his lap, holding it tightly in both hands. He looked both bewildered and timorous.

“That fellow was trying to steal my satchel!” he declared, in a nervous, alarmed way. “Mr. Durham, that means something.”

“Yes,” assented Frank, “I suppose he singled out your satchel with a purpose.”

“You mean he has followed us from New York with the intent of depriving me of my property?” asked the professor.

“It looks that way, sir,” answered Frank, gravely.

“It is a good thing you were with me,” said Professor Barrington, with a grateful look. “Audacious! Unheard of! Dear me! What villainy there is in the world!”

Frank felt that all was safe now, and tried to allay the concern of his companion. He thought it best not to alarm the latter by revealing his suspicion that the man six seats ahead of them was probably a member of the group that was after that precious satchel.

Frank kept his eye on this man, who pretended to be absorbed in a newspaper. He showed no outward sign that the incident had affected or interested him. Frank was about to ask the professor to walk to the front end of the car and take a look at the man’s face, when there came a sharp whistle from the locomotive.

Almost instantly the brakes were set. There was a grinding jar, then a shock and a crash. Frank realized that something was coming and grasped the seat brace.

Not so the professor. As the train came to an abrupt stop amid the jangle of broken glass and parting timbers, he was lifted from his seat violently. He shot past Frank and landed in the aisle like a lump of clay.

CHAPTER IV
THE RAILROAD WRECK

Frank had never taken part in a scene of greater disorder and excitement. He knew at once that the train had run into some heavy obstacle or had been derailed. A dozen of the passengers were thrown from their seats. Women were shrieking, and the two little children in the seat just behind the one the professor and Frank had occupied were wailing in fright as their mother caught them in her arms and crouched speechless and dazed.

Frank saw that they were not seriously injured. The car had tilted and then, as a great shock passed through its strained woodwork, come to a stop. The frightened passengers were rushing for the doors. One or two men threw open windows and tumbled outside. Frank’s first thought was of his new friend. He sprang to the spot where the professor lay senseless and just in time managed to drag him out of the path of the terrified people crowding the aisle in an attempt to escape.

“I declare!” spoke the dazed savant, as Frank pulled him into a seat. “What happened?”

The speaker rubbed a contusion on his head and gazed about him vacantly. Then his eyes closed and he swayed to and fro.

“Come out,” directed a train hand at the rear doorway. “It’s a wreck; but nobody is seriously hurt.”

Frank piled over the backs of half a dozen seats and got at the water tank. He wet his handkerchief, returned to his charge, and applied it to his head. In a minute or two the professor recovered his senses.

“There’s been a collision, I assume,” he remarked. “Look at that front end all smashed in! We’re lucky. Let us get out of this and see where we’re stranded.”

“Why, yes,” agreed Frank, “only—where’s the satchel!”

For the first time Frank thought of it. The car was pretty well vacated by this time, and many had left wraps and satchels behind in their haste to reach a place of safety. Frank made a casual and then a more careful survey of the floor of the coach. He finally returned to his anxious-faced friend.

“Professor Barrington,” he said, “I fear, after all our vigilance and trouble, we have been outwitted.”

“What do you mean, Mr. Durham?”

“Your satchel is missing.”

“Perhaps somebody caught it up by mistake. See, a lot of people have left their belongings behind them all mixed up. Maybe someone took it in the excitement of the moment.”

“I’d like to think that; I hope you are right,” rejoined Frank. “We must get outside and make a search right away.”

Frank had not told the professor about the man who had sat just ahead of them, and who he felt sure was an accomplice of the fellow who had tried to steal the satchel. In his own mind Frank felt sure that this accomplice had obtained the professor’s satchel during the confusion in the passenger coach.

Frank’s mind was centered on the satchel, but when he got outside the uproar and confusion took up his attention. It appeared that in making a curve the express train had run into a derailed freight car, ignoring the danger signal of a red flag, another somewhat back having been overlooked by the engineer.

The locomotive and baggage car were badly damaged. They had plunged into the rear of a freight train and demolished it. Both tracks were blocked. No one apparently had been seriously hurt, although there had been a bad shake-up all around.

The accident had occurred in a lonely cut crossed by a typical country road. The train hands were getting the passengers into the rear coaches that had not been badly damaged. Frank gathered enough from the talk of the trainmen, amid the hurly-burly of the emergency, to understand that it would be several hours before a wrecking train could arrive.

“We’re stalled here, probably till midnight,” Frank heard the conductor say to the engineer.

“You had better get into that coach while I make another search for that satchel, Professor Barrington,” Frank suggested.

“I sincerely hope you will find some trace of it,” was the anxious reply. “I declare! I thought all my troubles had ended when I left New York City with you, and here I find myself in a worse mix-up than ever.”

Frank kept a sharp eye out for the man to whom the fellow with the hollow satchel had signalled. Although he inspected all the coaches and looked over the crowd along the tracks, he could gain no trace of the one he was so anxious to find.

By the time Frank rejoined the professor the conductor of the train had got word to and from a towerman, about a mile away. He announced that it would be some hours before the track could be cleared, a fresh engine obtained, and the journey resumed.

“Any trace of the satchel, Mr. Durham?” was the first question the professor asked.

“I fear we shall never see the satchel or its contents again,” returned Frank, and thought it best to impart all of his suspicions. His companion listened with attention.

“You’ve got it right,” he decided, reluctantly. “They have been bound to get at that satchel all along. As soon as they did so they got away—crossed over to some other railroad line or went into hiding. I don’t see how we can trace them from this forlorn, out-of-the-way spot.”

“Are the contents of the satchel so very valuable, Professor Barrington?” inquired Frank.

“To men who I am assured are trying to steal my plan, immensely so,” was the reply. “You see, in the bag are all my private memoranda, lists of my connections, and the details of the very important lease I expect to close on playhouse quarters in Boston. If they get an inkling of that and obtain an option on the lease ahead of us, it takes away about half of the merit of our proposition.”

Frank realized that they were in a pretty bad predicament. To think of running down the thief or thieves with the start the latter had would be folly. Long since, undoubtedly, the knaves had rifled the satchel and possessed themselves of the secrets of the professor’s project.

The pair grew tired of sitting in the coach and strolled outside, but the ardor of the professor seemed dampened. He did not say much, but acted as though depressed. They walked up and down the level space beside the track, each busy with his own thoughts. Finally Frank touched the professor’s arm and directed his attention to a group gathered about a figure on a stump, who was apparently addressing them.

“Someone seems to be making a speech,” observed Frank. “I wonder what he is saying.”

“Yes, it looks that way,” assented Professor Barrington, after a casual glance at the individual Frank had indicated.

Both walked towards the center of the group of people. As they neared the spot Frank saw that a bronzed, intelligent-faced lad of about sixteen was the orator. He was dressed in blue jeans and had the appearance of a typical farm boy.

“Gentlemen and ladies,” he said, “this train will be delayed for several hours. Half a mile up the road is Home Farm, where I work. Mr. Dorsett—that’s my boss—sent me down here to tell you that there will be a lunch ready for all that want it from now up to dark.”

“What kind of a lunch, sonny?” asked a big man who seemed happy over finding himself with a whole skin after his shaking up on the train.

“Doughnuts, pumpkin pie and cider—apples thrown in, price fifteen cents,” was the prompt response. “Besides that, there’s a big veranda up at the house, with easy chairs, and hammocks and a swing.”

“I think I’ll take that in,” said the fat man, smacking his lips.

“That sounds refreshing,” observed Professor Barrington. “I declare! I have been so taken up with our business that I forgot lunch in the city.”

“I think I would like to try this home-made fare,” said Frank. “If it’s as good as it is cheap, it’s worth testing. Will you act as pilot?” he asked of the boy.

“All aboard! It’s just the walk for an appetite,” declared the lad, briskly, jumping down from the stump and starting for the road. Frank, the professor and several others followed and they soon came in sight of a pleasant old homestead. Under a towering oak tree was a long picnic table, a bench on either side. The thrifty farmer and his wife ministered to the needs of their guests.

“That was prime,” remarked Professor Barrington, after they had eaten of the plain but appetizing fare. “A great relief, this cool shady spot, after the bustle and excitement down at the railroad. There’s a rustic bower over yonder; let us rest there for a bit. I would like to get my scattered wits together.”

Frank assented to this arrangement. Others of the visitors installed themselves on the porch or went into the big “company room” of the house. The professor became talkative again. He went over the playhouse project, which brought up the loss of the precious satchel.

“We had better forget that loss,” suggested Frank, “for I don’t see any way to remedy it. If certain schemers are going to become our business rivals on what they stole from you, they won’t succeed. Such people never do in the end. I shouldn’t worry about it, if I were you. It’s your brains that have worked up this idea, and you are bound to have the best of it.

“Oh, did you want something?” Frank interrupted himself, as the boy who had piloted them from the railroad appeared at the doorway of the bower.

“Why, yes—no—I don’t know,” stammered the lad, in an embarrassed way. “Say, I don’t want you to think I’m any eavesdropper. I was resting outside here, though, and couldn’t help but hear your talk. I’m so dead gone on shows that I just had to listen, and when you spoke of the satchel——”

“Ah!” broke in the professor, eagerly, “you know something about that?”

“I think I do—I don’t know for certain,” was the reply; “but if you’ll wait here for five minutes I’ll find out if what I guess amounts to anything.”

And then the strange lad was off like an arrow, leaving Professor Barrington in a state of great suspense and Frank wondering what the next happening of their eventful journey was to be.

CHAPTER V
A NEW MYSTERY

“Incomprehensible!” exclaimed Professor Barrington, gazing after the excited lad who had scudded up to them and then away. “What do you think that young fellow means by all this?”

“It is simple, to my way of thinking,” responded Frank. “He heard us talking about that missing satchel and knows something about it.”

“But what can he know?” inquired the professor, arising to his feet and pacing the floor of the summer house in his quick, nervous way.

“Well, he strikes me as an unusually keen and intelligent boy,” returned Frank. “He is of the kind who keep their eyes open, and may possibly have noticed the man who got the satchel. Here he is back again, to report for himself.”

At an amazing pace, his bright young face showing keen interest, the farm boy was steering straight for the summer house. As he approached he waved some object in his hand. Frank started as he recognized its familiar outlines.

“Is that it?” questioned the farm boy, breathlessly, dropping his burden on the little round table.

Frank’s eyes brightened and Professor Barrington uttered a cry of delight The farm lad had placed upon the table the stolen satchel. It seemed to Frank as if a great weight had been lifted from his mind. Certainly the situation had cleared wonderfully.

Professor Barrington grasped the satchel in both hands. Frank had never seen him so excited as he tore it open. Then the old savant dug down into the open receptacle with feverish haste. Its contents covered the table. He fell back, stared at the various articles in astonishment and began to rub his head in a bewildered way.

“I declare!” he said, feebly. “Confusion worse confounded! Not mine, after all.”

“If you mean the satchel,” spoke Frank, quickly pouncing upon the article in question, “it is the one I got back from the fellow who tried to steal it with the hollow satchel. Of that I am positive—see, here is the strap and the buckle I kept under my foot when he got aboard.”

“But that—truck?” objected the professor. “Why, just look at it—a pair of gloves, a veil, a lady’s toilet outfit and a dressing sack.”

“That’s so,” assented Frank, for the moment all at sea. Then he took up an envelope bearing an address. It read: “Mrs. Clara Barnes,” and had been directed to the hotel in New York City, where the professor had lived during his recent stay there.

“I think I understand,” said Frank to himself, and his thoughts cleared. He placed the envelope in his pocket and proceeded to repack the satchel, while he inquired of the boy who had brought it to them:

“How did you happen to come across this satchel?”

“Why, you see I saw two men squabbling over it,” explained the farm lad.

“That was when?” pressed Frank. “I wish you would describe what they were like.”

The boy proceeded to do this while Frank listened attentively. When the narrator had finished Frank recognized one of the persons as the man who had received the signal from the fellow with the trick satchel. His companion did not tally with anyone Frank could recall just then.

“When I first went down to the train,” went on the farm boy, “I heard voices behind the hedge of the old farm house that burned down. Two men were talking. One had just flung that satchel to the ground.

“‘You’re a blunderer,’ he said to the other man. ‘You’ve missed on everything.’

“I went on to guide the people to the farm and thought no more of it, until I overhead your conversation here. Then I made up my mind it was the same satchel you were talking about. I went back to the hedge and found it, but the men were nowhere about.”

“I don’t know how to solve this problem,” remarked Professor Barrington with a groan; “but there has been tricky work somewhere. At all events, my precious papers are gone. We had better get to Boston and head off these men. Then we can get to work to see if we cannot mend matters in some way.”

“You have done us a favor,” said Frank to the farm boy, and he handed him a dollar bill. “You know the lay of the land around here. Can you figure out any way of our going on without waiting for that wreck to be cleared away?”

“Sure I can,” responded the lad, briskly. “If you’re willing to foot the bill I think Mr. Dorsett will let me hitch up the surrey and take you over to Woodhill.”

“How far is that?” inquired Frank.

“Eighteen miles. You see, a branch road runs from there and hits the main line further along.”

“That’s good,” said Frank. “Go ahead and make the arrangements. We’ll pay what’s fair for the service.”

The professor sat at the table absorbed in making some notes in his memorandum book. Frank walked to a little distance and sat down on a rustic seat. He was thoughtful, but his face showed energy.

“I think I have figured out about the mystery of the satchel,” he told himself with some satisfaction. “I don’t think, though, that I will raise the professor’s hopes or burden his mind with any further suspense, until I am sure of my ground. As soon as I reach Boston—hello!”

The farm boy had again come up to him. He regarded Frank shyly, then wistfully, and then blurted out:

“Say, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Fire away,” responded Frank, with an encouraging smile.

“Mr. Dorsett is getting the rig ready, and I’m to drive you over to Woodhill. You’ve sort of riled me all up coming here and I wanted to get it off my mind.”

“How is that?” asked Frank, wonderingly.

“Why, from what I heard you say I guess you’re show people,” said the lad.

“Well, we are in what is called the movies line—yes,” admitted Frank.

“That’s still better,” declared the boy. “Here’s the way it is! I want to break into the business. It’s a new idea and I want a chance before it gets stale. I was sort of born to the show line. You see, my father was a lion tamer. He’s dead now. My uncle is with a menagerie out West. He settled me in a comfortable home here, but I just dream all the time about the show life I know I’d just love. Many a time I’ve had a mind to go to my uncle, whether he liked it or not, or run away from here and join a show.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of doing that,” declared Frank.

“I know that,” confessed the lad, naively, “and that’s why I spoke to you, thinking maybe you would help me break into the business respectably. See here, my name is Vic Belton and a letter directed in care of Mr. Dorsett will reach me by rural free delivery. If you have a show or are going to have one, can’t you try and give me a chance?”

Frank had to smile. He was constantly running across ambitious young fellows who saw nothing but glare and glitter in the movies line—and wanted to “break into it,” as the lad put it. Frank in a few words explained some of the cold facts of the business, which did not seem to make much impression on his lively auditor.

“That’s all right,” said the young fellow, in an offhand way; “but I may line up right to do what I want some day. Won’t you give me your address? I may want to write to you some time.”

Frank obliged the persistent Vic, telling him of the Empire at New York City and the possibility of locating in Boston. Then the surrey was ready and there was a brisk drive to Woodhill, where they had to wait nearly three hours for a train.

It was late in the afternoon when they reached Boston. It was Frank’s first view of the great center of culture. Its crooked streets confused and puzzled him as they walked the short distance from the station to the Parker House at the corner of Tremont and School streets, just a block from the famed Boston Common.

“We will not be able to do much in the way of business until to-morrow,” announced the professor as they were shown to a pleasant room in the great hostelry. “I want to show you around the Common in the morning, however. Then we will map out our programme.”

Professor Barrington was pretty well tired out with the excitement and cares of the day. Frank was glad when he announced that he would go to bed, as it was then past 10 o’clock.

“Now for it,” Frank said to himself, following out an idea he had carried in his mind for several hours. Frank went to the telephone booth in the hotel, directing the operator to call up long distance.

New York City was the connection he desired, specifically the hotel at which Professor Barrington had been a guest. Frank was at the ’phone for some time and left the booth with animated step and a bright face. He returned at once to the room upstairs. The Professor was slumbering peacefully as a child. Frank closed the door softly after him and proceeded to lift to a stand the satchel he had found, and which he had brought to Boston with him.

Frank repacked the satchel carefully, wrote an address on a card and tied it to the handle. Then he also went to bed. The next morning Frank was astir early and was dressed before the professor awoke. The latter blinked at Frank, then at the satchel.

“H’m!” he observed. “Disagreeable impression. That satchel. Mystery, too—clouded. What you doing with it now?”

“I am sending it back to the owner, Professor Barrington,” explained Frank.

“Why, how can you do that? Do you know the owner?”

“Yes, sir,” replied Frank. “In the same connection, I have a very pleasing announcement to make to you. I have located your own satchel and expect it will be in your hands safe and sound again within the next twenty-four hours.”

CHAPTER VI
ON BOSTON COMMON

Professor Barrington jumped to his feet as though he had received an electric shock. He fumbled about for his glasses, adjusted them and then stared at Frank.

“You can’t mean it, Durham,” he declared, quaveringly. “The satchel all right? I’m to get it back?”

“Yes, sir, I promise that,” returned Frank. “I didn’t want to bother you, Professor Barrington, with all you had on your mind. Besides, I wasn’t sure of my ground until after you had gone to sleep. I will explain, if you like.”

“You’ve dazed me,” declared the professor, sinking to a seat. “I can’t understand it at all.”

“It is very simple,” stated Frank, but there was pride in his tone. “You see, what you did when you left the hotel in New York City was to pick up a satchel which did not belong to you.”

“Dear me!” gasped the professor. “Just like me. I declare! My wits will go wool-gathering some day and get me into all kinds of trouble. Stupidity—unutterable!” and the old gentleman gave his head a sharp crack with his hand.

“The idea came to me when I found an envelope in that satchel there,” continued Frank. “It bore the address of a lady at the hotel you had just left. I got the hotel on long distance. Your mistake——”

“Incalculable blockheadedness!” corrected the professor.

“Your mistake,” went on Frank, mildly, “had already been discovered by the clerk. He did not know where to reach you, but when I took the liberty of ’phoning to him as your representative, we straightened out affairs at once. He will ship your satchel by the first express. I must get this one back to its owner.”

Professor Barrington was moving about the room briskly when Frank returned, after expressing the satchel that had gone through so many adventures. He rubbed his hands together in a pleased way and beamed on Frank with satisfaction as he remarked:

“I’ve been told I ought to have a guardian; you have proven it, Durham. I declare, it was fortunate I had you with me. You see, those fellows who followed us on the train are a desperate lot.”

“There is no doubt that they are a dangerous crowd,” assented Frank.

“And they won’t let us alone now, I’ll warrant,” observed the professor. “If I didn’t know I was in such safe and able hands, I believe I’d call in the police for protection.”

“There will be no occasion for that, I fancy,” responded Frank. “I believe as you do that these men realize that you have an idea of value and want to steal it from you. That comes up every day, though, especially in the movies line. Everybody in that field is trying to get ahead of his neighbor. We must expect lots of rivalry. Of course you would know the man you met in New York City who pretended to be able to help you in your plans?”