COUNTERCLAIMS
"I declare, Ruth! that was a ridiculous thing to do," exclaimed Helen,
when they were on their way back to the Point. "But it certainly brought
the sewing circle women all up standing."
"I've been wondering all day what Ruth was up to," said Tom, who was
steering the big car. "I was in on it without understanding her game."
"Well, it was just what the directer needed," chuckled Jennie. "Oh, it
takes our Ruth to do things."
"I wonder?" sighed the girl of the Red Mill, in no responsive mood.
She had something very unpleasant before her that she felt she must do,
and nothing could raise her spirits. She did not speak to anybody about
the hermit's scenario. She waited for Mr. Hammond to express his opinion
of it.
At the camp she found a letter for her from the doctor's wife who had
promised to keep her informed regarding Arabella Montague Fitzmaurice
Pike. That young person was doing well and getting fat at the Perkins'
farm. But Mrs. Holmes was quite sure that she had not heard from her
father.
"You've got another half-orphan on your hands, Ruth," said Helen. She made
it a point always to object to Ruth's charities. "I don't believe that man
will ever show up again. If he went away with a medicine show----"
"No, no," said Ruth firmly. "No child would ever respect and love her
father as Bella does if he was not good to her. He will turn up."
Just then Tom called from outside the door of the girls' shack.
"What say to a moonlight dip off the Point?" he asked. "The tide is not
very low. And I missed my splash this morning."
"We're with you, Tommy," responded his sister. "Wait till we get into
bathing suits."
Even Ruth was enthusiastic--to a degree--over this. In twenty minutes they
were running up the beach with Tom and Henri toward the end of the Point.
"Let's go over and get the surf," suggested Jennie. "I do love surf
bathing. All you have to do is to bob up and down in one place."
"Heavy is lazy even in her sport," scoffed Helen. "But I'm game for the
rough stuff."
They crossed the neck of land near the hermit's hut. There was a hard
beach almost in front of the hut, and up this the breakers rolled and
foamed delightfully. The so-called hermit, hearing their voices, came out
and sat on a rock to watch them. But he did not offer to speak until Ruth
went over to him.
"Mr. Hammond let me read your script, John," she said coldly.
"Indeed?" he rejoined without emotion.
"Where did you get the idea for that scenario?"
He tapped his head with a long forefinger. "Right inside of that skull. I
do my own thinking," he said.
"You did not have any help about it? You originated the idea of 'Plain
Mary?'"
He nodded. "You ain't the only person who can write a picture," he
observed. "And I think that this one they are filming for you is silly."
Ruth stared down at him, but said nothing more. She was ready to go back
to camp as soon as the others would, and she remained very silent. Mr.
Hammond had been asking for her, Miss Loder said. When Ruth had got into
something more presentable than a wet bathing suit, she went to his
office.
"What do you know about this?" he demanded in plain amazement. "This story
the old man gave me to read is a wonder! It is one of the best ideas I
ever saw for the screen. Of course, it needs fixing up a bit, but it's
great! What did you think of it, Miss Ruth?"
"I am glad you like it, Mr. Hammond," she said, steadying her voice with
difficulty.
"I do like it, I assure you."
"It is _my_ story, Mr. Hammond!" she exclaimed. "It is the very scenario
that was stolen from me at home. He's just changed the names of the
characters and given it a different title, and spoiled some of the scenes.
But a large part of it is copied word for word from my manuscript!"
"Miss Fielding!" gasped the president of the Alectrion Film Corporation.
"I am telling you the truth," Ruth cried, rather wildly, it must be
confessed, and then she broke down and wept.
"My goodness! It can't be possible! You--you've let your mind dwell upon
your loss so much----"
"Do you think I am crazy?" she demanded, flaring up at him, her anger
drying her tears.
"Certainly not," he returned gently; yet he looked at her oddly. "But
mistakes have been made----"
"Mistakes, indeed! It is no mistake when I recognize my own work."
"But--but how could this old man have stolen your work--and away back
there at the Red Mill? I believe he has lived here on the Point for
years. At least, every summer."
"Then somebody else stole it and he got the script from them. I tell you
it is mine!" cried Ruth.
"Miss Fielding! Let us be calm----"
"You would not be calm if you discovered somebody trying to make use of
something you had originated, and calling it theirs--no you wouldn't, Mr.
Hammond!"
"But it seems impossible," he said weakly.
"That old man is an actor--an old-school actor. You can see that easily
enough," she declared. "There was such a person about the Red Mill the day
my script was lost. Oh, it's plain enough."
"Not so plain, Miss Ruth," said Mr. Hammond firmly. "And you must not make
wild accusations. That will do no good--and may do harm in the end. It
does not seem probable to me that this old hermit could have actually
stolen your story. A longshore character like him----"
"He's not!" cried Ruth. "Don't you see that he is playing a part? He is no
fisherman. No longshore character, as you call him, would be as afraid of
the sea as he is. He is playing a part--and he plays it just as well as
the parts Mr. Hooley gives him to play."
"Jove! There may be something in that," murmured the manager.
"He got my script some way, I tell you!" declared Ruth. "I am not going to
let anybody maul my story and put it over as his own. No, sir!"
"But--but, Miss Ruth!" exclaimed Mr. Hammond. "How are you going to prove
what you say is true?"
"Prove it?"
"Yes. You see, the burden of proof must be on you."
"But--but don't you believe me?" she murmured.
"Does it matter what I believe?" he asked her gently. "Remember, this man
has entrusted me with a manuscript that he says is original. At least it
is written in his own hand. I cannot go back of that unless you have some
means of proof that his story is your story. Who did you tell about your
plot, and how you worked it out? Did you read the finished manuscript--or
any part of it--to any person who can corroborate your statements?"
"Oh, Mr. Hammond!" she cried, with sudden anguish in her voice. "Not a
soul! Never to a single, solitary person. The girls, nor Aunt Alvirah, nor
Tom----"
She broke down again and he could not soothe her. She wept with abandon,
and Mr. Hammond was really anxious for her. He went to the door, whistled
for one of the boys, and sent for Mrs. Paisley.
But Ruth recovered her composure--to a degree, at least--before the
motherly old actress came.
"Don't tell anybody! Don't tell anybody!" she sobbed to Mr. Hammond. "They
will think I am crazy! I haven't a word of proof. Only my word----"
"Against his," said the manager gravely. "I would accept your word, Miss
Ruth, against the world! But we must have some proof before we
deliberately accuse this old man of robbing you."
"Yes, yes. I see. I will be patient--if I can."
"The thing to do is to find out who this hermit really is," said Mr.
Hammond. "Through discovering his private history we may put our finger on
the thing that will aid you with proof. Good-night, my dear. Try to get
calm again."