AN ARRIVAL
Mr. Hammond was in no placid state of mind himself after the peculiarly
acting individual who called himself "John, the hermit," left his office.
The very fact that the man refused to tell anything about his personal
affairs--who he really was, or where he came from--induced the moving
picture producer to believe there must be something wrong about him.
Mr. Hammond went to the door of the shack and watched the man tramping up
the beach toward the end of the point. What a dignified stride he had!
Rather, it was the stride of a poseur--like nothing so much as that of the
old-time tragedian, made famous by the Henry Irving school of actors.
"An ancient 'ham' sure enough, just as the boys say," muttered the
manager.
The so-called hermit disappeared. The moving picture people were gathering
for dinner. The sun, although still above the horizon, was dimmed by
cloud-banks which were rising steadily to meet clouds over the sea.
A wan light played upon the heaving "graybacks" outside the mouth of the
harbor. The wind whined among the pines which grew along the ridge of
Beach Plum Point.
A storm was imminent. Just as Mr. Hammond took note of this and wished
that Ruth Fielding and her party had returned, a snorting automobile
rattled along the shell road and halted near the camp.
"Is this the Alectrion Film Company?" asked a shrill voice.
"This is the place, Miss," said the driver of the small car.
The chauffeur ran his jitney from the railroad station and was known to
Mr. Hammond. The latter went nearer.
Out of the car stepped a girl--a very young girl to be traveling alone.
She was dressed in extreme fashion, but very cheaply. Her hair was bobbed
and she wore a Russian blouse of cheap silk. Her skirt was very narrow,
her cloth boots very high, and the heels of them were like those of
Jananese clogs.
What with the skimpy skirt and the high heels she could scarcely walk. She
was laden with two bags--one an ancient carpet-bag that must have been
seventy-five years old, and the other a bright tan one of imitation
leather with brass clasps. She wore a coal-scuttle hat pulled down over
her eyes so that her face was quite extinguished.
Altogether her get-up was rather startling. Mr. Hammond saw Jim Hooley
come out of his tent to stare at the new arrival. She certainly was a
"type."
There was a certain kind of prettiness about the girl, and aside from her
incongruous garments she was not unattractive--when her face was revealed.
Mr. Hammond's interest increased. He approached the spot where the girl
had been left by the jitney driver.
"You came to see somebody?" he asked kindly. "Who is it you wish to see?"
"Is this the moving picture camp, Mister?" she returned.
"Yes," said the manager, smiling. "Are you acquainted with somebody who
works here?"
"Yes. I am Arabella Montague Fitzmaurice," said the girl, with an air that
seemed to show that she expected to be recognized when she had recited her
name.
Mr. Hammond refrained from open laughter. He only said:
"Why--that is nice. I am glad to meet you, my dear. Who are you looking
for?"
"I want to see my pa, of course. I guess you know who _he_ is?"
"I am not sure that I do, my dear."
"You don't--Say! who are you?" demanded Bella, with some sharpness.
"I am only the manager of the company. Who is your father, child?"
"Well, of all the---- Wouldn't that give you your nevergitovers!"
exclaimed Bella, in broad amazement. "Say! I guess my pa is your leading
man."
"Mr. Hasbrouck? Impossible!"
"Never heard of him," said Bella, promptly. "Montague Fitzmaurice, I
mean."
"And I never heard of him," declared Mr. Hammond, both puzzled and amused.
"What?" gasped the girl, almost stunned by this statement. "Maybe you know
him as Mr. Pike. That is our honest-to-goodness name--Pike."
"I am sorry that you are disappointed, my dear," said the manager kindly.
"But don't be worried. If you expected to meet your father here, perhaps
he will come later. But really, I have no such person as that on my staff
at the present time."
"I don't know---- Why!" cried Bella, "he sent me money and said he
was working here. I--I didn't tell him I was coming. I just got sick of
those Perkinses, and I took the money and went to Boston and got dressed
up, and then came on here. I--I just about spent all the money he sent me
to get here."
"Well, that was perhaps unwise," said Mr. Hammond. "But don't worry. Come
along now to Mother Paisley. She will look out for you--and you can stay
with us until your father appears. There is some mistake somewhere."
By this speech he warded off tears. Bella hastily winked them back and
squared her thin shoulders.
"All right, sir," she said, picking up the bags again. "Pa will make it
all right with you. He wrote in his letter as if he had a good
engagement."
Mr. Hammond might have learned something further about this surprising
girl at the time, but just as he introduced her to Mother Paisley one of
the men came running from the point and hailed him:
"Mr. Hammond! There's a boat in trouble off the point. I think she was
making for this harbor. Have you got a pair of glasses?"
Mr. Hammond had a fine pair of opera glasses, and he produced them from
his desk while he asked:
"What kind of boat is it, Maxwell?"
"Looks like that blue motor that Miss Fielding and her friends went off in
this morning. We saw it coming along at top speed. And suddenly it
stopped. They can't seem to manage it----"
The manager hurried with Maxwell along the sands. The sky was completely
overcast now, and the wind whipped the spray from the wave tops into their
faces. The weather looked dubious indeed, and the manager of the film
corporation was worried before even he focused his glasses upon the
distant motor-boat.