A SMELL OF SMOKE
The discovery of the face and figure of the old man whom Ruth had once
met and spoken with on the island thrust out of the undergrowth and
showing through a good part of the length of film that had been made that
first day, caused a good deal of disturbance. The King of the Pipes, as
he had called himself, was entirely "out of the picture." His
representation on the celluloid could not be removed. And he had been in
focus for so many feet of the film that it was utterly impossible to cut
it, and thus save the picture.
"It is a wretched piece of business," Mr. Hammond said to Ruth, as they
came from the projection room after seeing the reel run off again and
again. "The entire scene will have to be made over. And, aside from that
irremediable fault, I consider the work remarkably good. Mr. Hooley may
never again be able to get it so good."
Ruth and Helen had told him about the old crazy man--a hermit,
perhaps--and Mr. Hammond had given instructions that before the retaking
of the scene was tried the island should be searched for the King of the
Pipes.
"Whoever, or whatever, he is," the producer said, "he's got to be looked
after while we are making this picture. He is likely to burst most
unexpectedly into any of the outdoor scenes, and on any location, and
break up the show. This is going to cost money, Miss Ruth."
"I know it, Mr. Hammond. But it never crossed my mind that it was on that
very island I had my meeting with the man."
"When Hooley tries to shoot the picture again we must send somebody up
into that island to watch for the old fellow. He'd better be under
confinement, anyway, if he's crazy."
"The poor old thing." Ruth sighed. "I don't think he means any harm--"
"He's harmed us all right," grumbled the president of the Alectrion Film
Corporation. "I tell you, a day's work like this--with such salaries as
we pay, and supplies and all--mounts into real money."
"Oh," said Ruth, "some of the film can be saved. All that until the
Frenchmen land--"
"We won't dare risk it. In a costume story like this somebody is sure to
get his dress, or armor, or something, different next time from what it
was to-day. And if we try to save any part of this piece of film the
change will show up in the finished picture. Every critical spectator
will see the break and will comment upon it. Might as well make up our
minds to take the loss; but we must be sure that a similar accident does
not occur again."
"Will Mr. Hooley risk taking the scene over on that island?" asked Ruth
thoughtfully.
"Why not? It is a fine location--couldn't be beat. We've got to shoo that
old man out of it, that's all."
The girl had an idea that if she could meet the queer old man again she
might be able to convince him that some other island would serve quite as
well for his "kingdom" as that particular isle. At any rate, she hated
the thought of his being abused or roughly treated.
Soon after the fiasco in the projection room, Tom Cameron arrived by
motor-boat from the town across the bay. Now, Ruth was secretly very glad
to see Tom. She always would be glad to see his sunny face, no matter how
or when. But she could not approve of his being here at the Thousand
Islands at this particular time.
Tom had grown up to be one of those young men who do not know what they
want to do in life, and the reaction from the strain of his military life
had, as was natural, intensified this tendency to drift. After the time
that he had determined to be a soldier, then to go West and hunt Indians
and grizzly bears, and then shifted to the desire to be a pirate or a
policeman, Tom Cameron had really expressed very little taste for any
commercial pursuit.
He had made his mark in his preparatory school and college in several
lines of athletics. But a boy in his position would scarcely become a
professional baseball player or pull an oar for a living. To tell the
truth, Tom had never shown much aptitude for his father's business. Dry
goods did not interest him.
Yet when he had come home after the armistice Ruth thought he was going
to buckle right down to business with Mr. Cameron's firm. There seemed to
be a super-abundant supply of energy in Tom that had to be worked off.
And Ruth thought it would be worked off properly under the yoke of
business. Besides, Mr. Cameron was getting no younger, and he ought to
have the support of his only son in business affairs.
But the last winter, since Ruth and the Cameron twins had returned from
the Northwest, things had not gone with Tom quite as the girl of the Red
Mill would have chosen.
Yet she felt that it was not really her business to interfere. Indeed,
she did not purpose to interfere. If she undertook to advise Tom it would
please him only too well--that she knew, of course.
For Tom considered Ruth quite as much his property as Helen--only in a
slightly different way. And if Ruth showed in any manner that she
considered Tom her property--well, it would be all off, to use one of
Helen's favorite expressions.
There was no engagement between Ruth and Tom--not even a tacitly
recognized one. In times of stress and need Tom had proved himself to be
a very good friend indeed, and Ruth fully appreciated this. But during
this past winter he had been somewhat spoiled--or so the girl thought.
In the first place, Helen was determined to make a hero of her handsome
brother. Captain Cameron was pushed to the fore by his sister in every
possible way and manner. Helen had many gay friends in New York--she had
met them through the Stones, for Helen had often been with Jennie when
Ruth was elsewhere and more seriously engaged.
Naturally Tom had been one with his sister in gay parties, dances,
theater groups, supper crowds, and all the rest. Business had gone by the
board with Tom; and before Ruth realized it the young returned soldier
had lapsed into a butterfly existence that busy Ruth did not approve.
Especially, did she believe, was such an aimless life bad for Tom
Cameron.
She met him in the living room of the bungalow, however, with her usual
warmth; perhaps "lack of warmth" would be the better expression. For
although Ruth was always quietly cordial with most people, she was never
"hail fellow, well met" with anybody, unless it was her own, dear, old
girl friends of Briarwood Hall.
She resisted, however, making any criticism upon Tom's presence in the
moving picture camp. Everybody in the house--and there were several
members of the company there besides Mr. Hammond and the director--greeted
Tom Cameron cordially. He was a favorite with them all.
And the minute Totantora heard of Tom's arrival, the Osage chief appeared
at the door, standing with glittering eyes fixed on the ex-captain and
unmoved expression of countenance while he waited to catch Tom's
attention.
"Bless my heart!" cried the rollicking Tom, "here's my old buddy!
Totantora, how are you?"
They shook hands, the Indian gravely but with an expression in his eyes
that revealed a more than ordinary affection for the young white man. In
France and along the Rhine Totantora, the Osage chief, had become the
sworn follower of the drygoods merchant's son--a situation to cause
remark, if not wonder.
Tom had learned a few words of the Osage tongue and could understand some
of Totantora's gutturals. What the chief said seemed at one point to
refer to Ruth, who, quite unconscious, was talking with Mr. Hammond
across the room. Tom glanced at Ruth's back and shook his head slightly.
But he made no audible comment upon what the Indian said.
He did not, indeed, see much of Ruth that night; but in one moment of
privacy she said to Tom:
"Do you want to make an early morning excursion--before Lazybones Helen
is roused from her rosy slumbers?"
"Bet you!" was Tom's boyish reply.
"Six o'clock, then, at the dock. If you are there first rouse out Willie,
the boatman, and offer him a five dollar bill from me to take us through
the islands in the _Gem_. That's his boat."
"I'll find him to-night and make sure," said Tom promptly.
"You are a faithful servitor," laughed Ruth, and left him before Tom
could take any advantage of her kindness.
The appointment was kept to the letter and minute in the morning. Helen
was still asleep when Ruth dressed and stole out of the bungalow. Not
many of the people on the island, save the cooks and dining-room
employees, were astir. But Tom and the boatman--and the _Gem_--were at
the dock in readiness.
Ruth gave Willie his instructions. He was to make a landing at the far
end of the island on which the picture had been taken the day before. It
was too early for any of Mr. Hooley's men to be over there looking for
the old man whose face had spoiled several hundred feet of good film.
Ruth wished, if possible, to first interview the strange man.
She took Tom into her confidence at once about the King of the Pipes. She
did not believe the man was so crazy that he ought to be shut up in an
asylum. He was merely "queer." And if they could get him off the island
and out of the way while the picture was being shot, he might then go
back to his hermit life and play at being king all he wished to.
"What a lark!" exclaimed Tom, looking at the matter a good deal as his
twin sister did. "And you are constantly falling in with queer
characters, Ruth."
"You might better say they are falling in with me, for I am sure I do not
intentionally hunt them up," complained Ruth. "And this poor old man has
cost us money enough."
"It is too bad," was Tom's comment.
"Worse than that, perhaps Mr. Hooley will never again get as fine an
allegorical picture as he did yesterday. They were all in the spirit of
the piece when the shot was made."
They arrived at the sloping stone beach and landed as Ruth and the girls
had before disembarked. Ruth led Tom up the rough path into the woods
beyond the table-rock. The trees stood thick, and the bushes were thorny,
but they pushed through to an open space surrounding an old, gnarled,
lightning-riven beech. The top of this monarch of the ancient forest had
been broken off and the line of its rotted trunk and branches could be
marked amid the undergrowth. But the staff of it stood at least thirty
feet in height.
"What a spread of shade it must have given in its day," said Tom. "All
these other tall trees have grown up since the top broke off."
"Quite so," agreed Ruth. "But where do you suppose that queer old man has
his camp?"
They looked all about the island, coming back at last to the riven beech.
But they found no mark of human occupancy on the island.
"I smell wood smoke, just the same," Tom declared, sniffing the air.
"There is a fire somewhere near."
They saw no smoke, however, nor did they find any cavity in the rocks
that seemed to have been occupied by man or used as the rudest kind of
camp.
"Maybe he doesn't live on this island after all," said Tom. "He could get
to half a dozen other islands from here in a light canoe. Or even on a
raft."
"He spoke as though he considered this particular island his kingdom,"
rejoined Ruth. "This was the only place he warned me away from--not from
the islands in general. I don't understand it at all, Tom. And I don't
want the men to be unkind to him."
"Well, it looks to me," observed her friend, "that if we cannot find him,
they will be unable to find him as well. So I wouldn't worry, Ruth."
But the girl went back to the Gem and sailed again to the headquarters of
the moving picture company not at all satisfied as to the result of their
undertaking.