About midway of the square was a vacant building, once a dime museum. Frank and his friends had noticed this in their search for a business location. It was off the main route of travel, however, and the building was old, ramshackly and set down from the street level, the lot lying in a depression in the ground so that one had to descend three steps to the entrance. “There you are,” pronounced Pep in an impressive way. “What do you say to it?” Frank, Randy and Ben Jolly came to a halt as they faced an electric sign running out from the front of the building. “‘National,’” read Randy—“‘National’ what?” “Photo playhouse,” asserted Pep. “Do you know that?” challenged Jolly. “I do. When I passed by a man who was wiring the sign told me that a big New York fellow and a Seaside Park party were going to open up next week.” “The mischief!” exclaimed Randy, roused up. “Say,” remarked Jolly, bristling up at this hint of rivalry, “we want to get busy.” “Oh, it doesn’t alarm me,” spoke Frank. “In the first place it is off the mainly traveled route. Besides, the neighborhood is cheap and I would imagine they wouldn’t get more than a nickel.” “It’s worth looking up—always keep track of what your competitors are doing,” advised Jolly. “Why I say,” suddenly remarked Frank—“their sign is wrong.” “How wrong?” questioned Randy, and then he added: “That’s so: ‘NATONAL.’ They’ve left out an I.” “It’s so,” cried Pep, “maybe they bought some second hand letters and there wasn’t any I’s in the lot.” “‘Big New York fellow,’” observed Jolly thoughtfully. “Wonder who he is? Maybe you stirred things up in the city, Durham, and started somebody on our trail.” “Well, we must expect competition,” replied Frank. “It shan’t scare us.” “No, we’ll stick to a first-class basis and be the leader,” declared Randy. “You fellows go on,” spoke Pep. “I’ll sort of spy out the enemy’s country—hey?” “I would like to know who is behind this ‘National’ with an I missing,” said Frank, and they turned about and resumed their way to the freight depot, leaving Pep to his own devices. Pep was not afraid to venture anywhere or address anybody. He was inside the old building and had accosted the man he had seen outside within five minutes after his friends left him. The man knew all about the proposed extensive refitting of the old barn of a place, but did not know who was backing the new show outside of a big man from New York and a party with money at Seaside Park. Pep pumped him dry so far as the arrangements for the show were concerned. “Hello, Pep,” hailed him just as he went outside again. “That isn’t my name—it’s Pepperill,” retorted Pep, resenting the mistake and the familiarity. He was in a fiery mood just now, but as he recognized young Peter Carrington and noticed that he was headed for the building he had just left, Pep decided that he would lose nothing by using a little tact.