A neater, more inviting little bird house for a garden could not well be imagined. As Jolly took a sample from the wagon the little children flocked about him on tiptoe of curiosity. There were admiring “Oh’s!” and “Ah’s!” “Ain’t they cute!” “What cunning little houses!” and “Oh, mister! are they for sale?” “What do they cost?” “If you will excuse me while I make a demonstration,” observed Jolly, “I’ll explain what it’s all about.” “What a rare fellow he is!” remarked Randy to his companions, as they stepped aside. “The same busy, happy, good-natured friend of everybody,” returned Frank, with genuine feeling. If there was a being in the world the motion picture chums had reason to feel kindly toward it was this same Ben Jolly. A free wanderer, taking things easy, tramping flower-fringed country roads, making his way, willing to meet any task that came along, Ben Jolly had dropped into their life at the critical moment when they were discussing the prospects of their first motion picture show at Fairlands. Ben had been a Jack-of-all-trades and knew a little something about pretty nearly everything. Particularly he knew a good deal about the movies. He gave the boys advice and suggestions that enabled them to buy their first outfit at a bargain and the day the show opened appeared with an old piano which he had induced a rich relative to buy. From that time on Ben Jolly furnished the music for the Wonderland photo playhouse and, as told in our first volume, was the means of unearthing a plot against the father of Frank Durham, whereby he had been swindled out of a small estate. Jolly took a sample bird house under each arm and entered the first yard he came to, the interested children keeping him close company. He came out of the first house with only one bird house, he came out of the second with none. Along the block he visited on both sides of the street Jolly disposed of just eleven of the attractive little miniature domiciles, distributed poles later to each purchaser and rejoined the boys. “Now, then,” he said, briskly, placing a little roll of bank notes in a well-filled wallet, “how are you and what are the prospects?” “Excellent,” declared Randy. “See here, though, Mr. Jolly, will you kindly explain this new business of yours?” “Simply a side line,” replied Jolly, in a gay, offhand manner. “But where did you ever pick up that rig and that lot of odd truck?” challenged Pep. “I picked up better than that,” retorted Jolly, cheerily. “I ran across the finest advance agent in the business--and here he comes. You knew him once, but under his stage name of Hal Pope. He’s Mr. Hal Vincent now.” At that moment the whistler came into view, having circled the block. As he approached, Frank’s face expressed pleased surprise. “Why,” exclaimed Pep, “it’s our friend the ventriloquist.” “So it is,” echoed Randy.