“That—sing—about—our—door!” echoed a slow, deep bass, apparently away up in a high tree near by, and the boys knew that their gifted ventriloquist friend was exercising his talents. “The carpenter,” proceeded Jolly, “hired a lot of boys to go forth on his mission of kindness to our feathery songsters. The campaign went ahead until nearly everybody wanting a bird house got one. Our friend found himself with some two hundred of the little structures left on his hands. He had overstocked the market, with a big surplus left on his hands. When we came along it was a sign in front of his place that attracted our attention. It read: ‘These fine bird houses and a capable horse, wagon, and harness for sale for a mere song.’ “Anything odd always catches me, so I interviewed the old man. It seemed that he had received word only that day that a relative in another part of the country had left him a farm. He wanted to realize quick and he offered me the bird house outfit and the rig all for fifty dollars. I had only thirty-eight dollars, and he took that and gave me his new address. The arrangement was that if I was lucky in getting rid of the bird houses I was to send him the balance. If I didn’t he was willing to charge it up to profit and loss. He’ll get that balance,” announced Jolly, with a satisfied smile. “It looks so, judging from your sales of the last half-hour,” remarked Frank. “What do you get for the little houses, Mr. Jolly?” inquired Randy. “A dollar apiece. I don’t sell them, though—not a bit of it,” exclaimed Ben Jolly, modestly. “It’s Hal. You ought to hear his whole repertoire—orioles, thrushes, mourning doves, nightingales, mocking birds. He infuses the neighborhood with the melody and I slide in with the practical goods. And that rig—remember the noise wagon at Fairlands, Pep Smith?” “Do I?” cried Pep, in a gloating way—“I should say I did!” The “noise wagon” had been introduced in connection with the photo playhouse at Fairlands and had become a novel institution with the inhabitants. A wagon enclosed with canvas, bearing announcements of existing and coming film features, was provided with a big bass drum, bells, huge board clappers and some horns—all operated by pedals under the driver’s feet. “You see this new rig of mine would work in on the same basis here,” proceeded Jolly. “If not, I can get more for the outfit than I paid for it, anyway. Now then, Durham, where can we find you this evening?” “Why not sooner?” suggested the impetuous Pep. “We’ve a great lot to tell you, Mr. Jolly.” “And I’m anxious to hear it all,” declared Jolly, “but we’ve got our stock to get rid of. Nothing like keeping at it when you’ve made a good beginning; and this town starts out promising-like.”