A DISQUIETING ITEM
"Man the falls!"
This order was given by one of the officers as the boat containing the
rescued actor came close to the ship's side. The sailors stood ready to
hoist the boat to the davits again, when the tackle blocks should have
been made fast by the hooks to the ring bolts at bow and stern.
"Best chance I ever had to get a rescue picture," remarked Russ, as he
reeled away at the film.
The young operator even managed to get in a favorable position, and take
views as the blocks were being made fast to the boat. Then, as it was
hoisted up, he pictured that.
"Is he all right?" asked Mr. Pertell of the sailors in the boat, when the
craft was raised to the level of the rail.
"Aye, aye, sir," answered the steersman. "Only a bit wet."
But Mr. Towne was more than a bit wet. He was completely soaked, and a
more bedraggled-looking specimen of humanity would be hard to find.
"Oh, the poor man!" exclaimed Ruth, who had thought better of her
determination to go below.
"It's his own fault," snapped Miss Pennington. "He should not have
carried on so."
"Well, it was partly our fault," interposed Miss Dixon, who was perhaps
more just. "We were laughing with him."
"Don't go too close!" cautioned Miss Pennington, as she saw her friend
advancing toward the group of sailors, and others who surrounded the
rescue party. They were helping Mr. Towne out of the boat.
"Why shouldn't I go close?" Laura wanted to know.
"You might get your dress wet. Mine spots terribly."
"Oh, so does mine. I forgot; and sea water stains so badly!"
So the two actresses drew away.
"There, I guess that will do," remarked Russ, as he saw that there was no
more film left in the camera. "Now, Mr. Pertell, you'll have to get some
story written around these scenes. Add more to them, and you'll have a
good reel."
"I'll do it, Russ. I'm glad you were here to take them, so long as it did
not turn out seriously."
"Do you--er--ah--mean to say that you _filmed_ me?" demanded the dudish
actor, who had overheard this colloquy.
"I got some pictures of you--yes," admitted Russ. "I couldn't resist the
temptation."
"I demand that those pictures be destroyed!" cried Mr. Towne, who seemed
to have recovered rapidly from his unexpected bath.
"What for?" asked Mr. Pertell, in surprise. "I haven't seen them, of
course--can't until they're developed, and that won't be for some time.
But I should say the rescue pictures would make a fine film."
"But I want it burned up. I won't have it shown!" insisted Mr. Towne.
"Why not?"
"Do you suppose for one instant--er, ah--that I am going to let the
public see me like this?" and Mr. Towne glanced at his wet and dripping
garments--garments that, but a short time ago, had been a walking
testimonial of the tailor's art. Now they were wet and misshapen.
"Why, you can't expect a man who has just been rescued from New York Bay
to look as though he came out of a band-box; can you, dear man?" asked
Mr. Pertell. "Of course you look wet--the public will expect to see you
wet--dripping with water, in fact. Water always comes out well in the
movies, anyhow. Of course the public wants to see you wet!"
"But I don't want them to!" protested the actor. "I have never been shown
in pictures except when I was well dressed, and I do not propose to begin
now. I will pose for you as soon as I get dry clothes on, but not
in--these!" and he made a despairing motion toward his ruined garments.
"Oh, you are too fussy!" laughed Mr. Pertell. "Those pictures will have
to go. The scene was too good to spoil, as long as you were not drowned."
"I was in no danger of drowning," returned Mr. Towne, coldly. "I am a
good swimmer. I was taken by surprise, that is all."
"Well, it made good pictures," declared the manager, indifferently.
"Too bad I couldn't get you just as you went overboard!" sighed Russ. "I
was taken by surprise, too; but I did the best I could. We can have you
do that part over."
"Never!" cried Mr. Towne, angrily. "I will never be seen in an
undignified position again, nor in clothes that have not been freshly
pressed," and he stalked away toward his stateroom.
"I can sympathize with you, my dear fellow," murmured Mr. Bunn, who was
as careful of his dignity, in a way, as was the other. "They have made me
do the most idiotic things in some of the dramas," the older man went on.
"I have had to play fireman, and ride in donkey carts, slide down hill
and all such foolishness--all to the great detriment of my dignity."
"Yes, this moving picture business is horrid," agreed Mr. Towne, who was
dripping water at every step. "But what is a chap to do? I tried the
other sort of drama--on the stage, you know; but I did not seem to have
the temperament for it."
"Ah, would that I were back again, treading the boards in my beloved
Shakespeare, instead of in this miserable moving picture acting," sighed
the tragedian.
The excitement caused by the mishap to Mr. Towne soon subsided. The
steamer got on her way again, once the small boat had been hoisted up,
and several tugs and motor craft that had gathered to give aid, if
needed, went on their courses.
"Well, that's something for a start," remarked Alice, as she walked the
deck with Ruth.
"Yes, I knew something would happen," spoke Mr. Sneed, gloomily. "I felt
it coming."
"How could you?" asked Paul, winking at Russ.
"Because to-day is Friday. Something always happens on Friday."
"Yes, we generally have fish for dinner," remarked Russ, with a twinkle
in his eyes.
"You may laugh," sneered the gloomy actor, "but the day is not over yet.
I am sure that something else will happen. The ship may sink before it
gets to Florida."
"Oh!" cried Ruth.
"Don't be silly!" laughed Alice, while Russ gave Mr. Sneed a meaning look
and remarked in a low voice:
"That's enough of such talk, old man. It gets on the girls' nerves. Why
can't you be cheerful?"
"I never am--on Friday," grumbled Mr. Sneed.
"No, and on very few other days," commented Russ, as he went below to
take the film out of his camera in readiness to ship it back to New York
for development.
Ruth and Alice had done much traveling with their father when he was
engaged in the legitimate drama, for he was with a number of road
companies, that went from place to place. Water journeys were, however,
rather a novelty to them, and now that the excitement of the rescue was
over they went about the ship, looking at the various sights.
The _Tarsus_ was not a big vessel, but it was a new and substantial craft
engaged in the coast trade. A fairly large passenger list was carried
and, as this was the winter season, many tourists were heading for the
sunny South--the warm beaches of the coast, or the interior where the
palms waved their graceful branches in the orange-scented breezes.
"How is your throat, Daddy?" asked Ruth, as Mr. DeVere joined his
daughters in a stroll about the deck.
"Much better, I think," he said. His voice was always hoarse now, totally
unlike the vibrant tones in which he was used to speak his lines. "The
pain seems less. I have hopes that the warm air of Florida may improve,
and even cure it, in connection with the medicine I am taking."
"Oh, wouldn't that be just great!" cried Alice, as she clasped her arms
about his neck. "Perhaps you could go back to the real theaters then,
Daddy."
"I might," he replied with a smile at her; "but I do not know that I
would. I am beginning to like this silent 'drama.' It is a rest from the
hard work we old actors used to have to do. There is much less strain.
And if I went back to the legitimate, I would have to take you with me,"
he added.
"Never, Daddy!" cried the younger girl. "I am going to remain with the
'movies'! I would be lost without them."
"Assuredly, they have been a great blessing to us," observed Ruth,
quietly. "I do not know what we would have done without them, when you
were stricken the second time," and she looked fondly at her father. She
thought of the dark days, not so far back, when troubles seemed
multiplying, when there was no money, and when debts pressed. Now all
seemed sunshine.
"Yes, it would be a poor return to the movies, to desert them after all
they did for us," agreed Mr. DeVere. "That is, as long as they care for
us--those audiences who sit in the dark and watch us play our little
parts on the lighted canvas. A queer proceeding--very queer.
"I little dreamed when I first took up the profession immortalized by
Shakespeare, that I would be playing to persons whom I could not see. But
it is certainly a wonderful advance."
Down the bay, out through the Narrows and so on out to sea passed the
_Tarsus_, carrying the moving picture players. The day was cold, and a
storm threatened, but soon the frigid winter of the North would be left
behind. This was a comforting thought to all, though Alice declared that
she liked cold weather best.
Mr. Towne came up on deck, again faultlessly attired. His unexpected bath
had not harmed him, in spite of the fact that it was cold, for he had at
once taken warm drinks, and been put to bed, for a time, in hot blankets.
He could talk of nothing, however, save the fact that he was to be shown
in the wet clothing he so despised.
"It is a shame!" he declared. "If I could find that film I would destroy
it myself."
"It is safely put away," laughed Russ.
The day passed, and evening came. On through the darkness forged the
_Tarsus_, while about her were the flashing beams from lighthouses, or
the bobbing signal lamps from other ships.
Ruth and Alice were in their stateroom, talking together before retiring.
Alice had that day's paper and was idly glancing over it. She yawned
sleepily, when an item suddenly caught her eye.
"Oh, dear!" she exclaimed. "That must be dreadful!"
"What is it?" asked Ruth, who was letting down her long hair.
"Why here's an item from some place in Florida. It says that two girls
went out in a motor boat, to gather specimens of rare swamp flowers, and
have not been heard of since. It is feared they may have been upset and
drowned, or that alligators attacked them. Oh, how dreadful!"
"Don't let Mr. Sneed hear about that," cautioned Ruth. "Where in Florida
was it?"
"The item is dated from Winterhaven, but it says that the girls started
from some place near Lake Kissimmee."
"Oh!" cried Ruth, pausing with the comb half way through a thick strand
of hair, "suppose it should be those two girls we met?"
"I don't imagine it could be," reasoned Alice. "They did not look like
girls who would be bold enough to go off after swamp blooms. But think of
the poor girls, whoever they are, out all alone at night, with maybe
alligators around their boat! Oh, I hope we don't have to go too far into
the wilds."
"We may," remarked Ruth, uneasily, as she reached for the paper to read
for herself the disquieting item.