“I wouldn’t wonder if Mr. Jolly might happen along if we stay here a day or two longer,” remarked Frank. “You know he was the first to suggest a look at Seaside Park with a view to business.” “That’s so,” said Randy. “Did you write to him, Frank?” “Yes. You know when we closed up at Fairlands he said he would take a day or two visiting some relatives and looking over the movies business in the city.” “Ben Jolly told me he wasn’t going to stay idle all summer. Nor let us do it, either,” observed Pep. “He’ll have something fresh to tell us when we see him.” “Well, when we left Fairlands I sent him a few lines telling him that we were going to look over the field here,” said Frank. “That is why I think he may drop in on us.” “I wish he would,” declared Randy. “Mr. Jolly knows so much about the business. What’s the programme for to-morrow, Frank?” “Why, I thought we would find out what it will cost us to move our traps here from Fairlands, the amount of the license fee for the show, the cost of a lot of electric wiring and current we will need if we locate at Seaside Park, how much it will cost us to live, and a lot of such details.” The boys had a wonderfully refreshing sleep in that high room pervaded with cool ocean breezes, and got up fully an hour later than they had planned. After Peter Carrington had left them the evening before they had strolled down the beach about nine o’clock to get an idea of the evening crowds. This filled them more than ever with ardor as to their prospective business undertaking. “I say,” Randy had observed, “don’t you see, Frank, there aren’t enough amusements to go around?” “Yes,” Frank had assented, “the crowds seem just in trim for some lively entertainment.” The chums dispatched a substantial breakfast at the restaurant. Then they started out on their second day’s investigation of conditions and prospects at Seaside Park. Frank made it a point to interview several owners of concessions along the beach. Those with whom he talked had attractions vastly inferior to the one the chums designed to operate, but the boys picked up many a suggestion and useful hint. It was shortly before noon when they sat down to rest under a tree in that part of the town given over to permanent residences and summer cottages. They began talking over the ever-present theme of their photo playhouse when there was an interruption. Down the street there strolled leisurely a young man who made it a point to halt whenever he got in front of a house. There he would linger and begin a series of whistling exploits that made the air vibrate with the most ravishing melody. “Say, just listen to that!” exclaimed Pep, in a pleased tone. “It’s one of those trick whistles,” declared Randy. “Then it’s an extra fine one,” said Pep. “I think you are mistaken, boys,” suggested Frank. “Those are real human notes--at least almost exact human imitations of bird tones.”