The three friends had made for this part of the resort as soon as they had arrived. As they had strolled down the boardwalk Frank had studiously observed the general layout and the points where the pleasure-seekers most congregated. Randy was quite as much interested in peering in at the windows of the few buildings bearing “To Rent” signs. Pep made a deliberate stop wherever a show place attracted his attention. Now all three had halted in front of an unoccupied building and were looking it over critically. “I say, fellows,” observed Frank, “this is worth looking into.” “It’s certainly a fine location,” added Randy. “Just made for us,” piped the exuberant Pep. The building was frame and one story in height. It was of ample breadth, and as the brisk and busy Pep squinted down its side he declared it was over one hundred feet long. Randy went up to the chalked-over windows, while Frank took out a card and copied the name and address of the owner given on the rent sign. “Hi, this way!” suddenly hailed the active Pep. “The door isn’t locked.” “That’s great,” spoke Randy. “I want to see what the inside looks like.” “Hello, there!” called out a man’s voice as they stepped over the threshold of the broad double doorway. “Hello yourself, mister,” retorted Pep cheerily, “we were sort of interested in the place and wanted to look it over.” Frank stepped forward. The man who had challenged them was in his shirt sleeves, working at a plank over two wooden horses mending some wire screens. “We are looking over the beach with the idea of finding a good location for a show,” Frank explained. “What kind of a show?” inquired the man, studying the trio sharply. “Motion picture.” “Well, you’ve come to the right place, I can tell you that,” declared the man, showing more interest and putting aside the screen he was mending. “Pretty young, though, for business on your own hook; aren’t you?” “Oh, we’re regular business men, we are,” vaunted Pep. “This is Frank Durham, and this is Randolph Powell. The three of us ran a photo playhouse in Fairlands for six months, so we know the business.” “Is that so?” observed the man musingly. “Well, I’m the owner of the building here and as you see, want to find a good tenant for the season. I’m mending up the screens to those ventilating windows. I’m going to redecorate it inside and out, and the place is right in the center of the busiest part of the beach.” “What was it used for before?” inquired Frank. “Bowling alley, once. Then a man tried an ice cream parlor, but there was too much competition. Last season a man put in a penny arcade, but that caught only the cheap trade and not much of that.” Frank walked to the end of the long room and looked over the lighting equipment, the floor and the ceiling. Then he nodded to Randy and Pep, who joined him at a window, as if looking casually over the surroundings of the vacant place.