The routine of set duties prevented the boys from prolonging the conversation. Jolly had begun the intermission overture and the seats were filling up fast. A good many had remained from the first audience. It took little circulating among the benches for Pep to learn that “A Wrecker’s Romance,” with its realistic interpretation, was responsible for this. There was not a break in the second show, but there was a great surprise for the boys when the third and last programme began. A good many who had been to the National had got around to the rival playhouse. Home-going crowds from the beach made a stop. “Nearly fifty people turned away,” reported Randy, as Pep slipped out to have a word with him. “There must have been over eight hundred admissions,” figured Pep. “One thousand, one hundred and fifty exactly,” reported Randy. “Why, say,” cried Pep, “at that rate we’re going to be rich!” “Hey, young fellow,” hailed a man appearing at this moment—“I suppose there’s a free list for friends?” “I should say so,” responded Pep, recognizing the workman at the National he had gotten so chummy with. “Step right in, although I’m afraid I can’t offer you a seat.” “Crowded as that; eh?” spoke the man. “That’s fine.” “How is it at the National?” asked Pep. “Do they keep busy?” “Every seat taken, but then you know they gave away a lot of tickets. Why, say,” proceeded the man as they got inside, “I had no idea you could fix this place up so nifty.” “I suppose they opened at the National before they were all ready?” suggested Pep, who was dreadfully curious about the proceedings of Peter Carrington and his friends. “I should say they did! They had to use boards for seats and several of them split in two. The funniest thing, though, was when one of the private boxes broke down.” “Say,” propounded Pep, “did they really build some private boxes?” “They did, for a fact. They were no use and no ornament, and the fellow who bosses things—his name is Beavers—kicked big against it. Young Carrington would have it, though, so we hurried through the best we could to-day. We told him the floor wasn’t in and not to move the chairs about, but he got in there with some chums. First thing we knew one of them shifted his position, and the three of them went through the floor and landed sprawling on top of the piano. It was a sight, I tell you, and the audience roared.” “Well, I declare!” spoke Jolly, an hour later, as he came to the front of the playhouse with Vincent. “The last entertainment over and I believe you could gather up enough to run another show.” “It certainly looks like it,” added Frank. The last audience had dispersed, but around and near the Wonderland a great many persons and groups loitered or strolled along leisurely. They were the late stayers about the beach, and had the lights been left on and the ticket office open many of them no doubt would have entered the playhouse.