A QUEER PROPOSAL
Oak Farm was a most delightful place. Ruth and Alice agreed to this
even before the first meal was served. They stood at the window of
their room--a large one with two beds--and gazed across the green
meadows, off to the greener woodland and then to the distant hills
which girt the valley holding Oak Farm in its clasp.
The hills were purple now with the coming of night--a deep purple
like the depth of a woodland violet--and their tops were shrouded in
mist.
At the foot of the hills ran a little river, and now it looked like
some ribbon of silver, twining in and out amid the green carpet of
the fields.
"Oh, isn't it beautiful--just beautiful!" sighed Ruth.
"Do you mean the odor of that fried chicken?" asked Alice, with a
frank laugh, as she let down her hair, preparatory to putting it up
again, in the general process of "dressing." "It is delightful; but I
would hardly call it 'beautiful.'"
"Oh, you know what I mean!" returned Ruth, not turning from the
window which gave a view of the distant hills. "I'm speaking of the
scenery."
"Oh, yes, I suppose it is beautiful," agreed Alice, who, truth to
tell, was not gifted with a very strong æsthetic sense. "But I
suppose Mr. Pertell came here because it was so practical for the
rural dramas."
"Beauty counts in them, too," said Ruth, softly. "Oh, just look at
the purple light on those hills, Alice!"
"Can't, my dear. I've dropped a hairpin and I can't see it in the
dark. Gracious, I never thought! We won't have any electric lights
here, and no gas. I wonder if we'll have to go back to candle days."
"They weren't so bad," observed Ruth. "I think it must have been fine
in the Colonial days, to have the candles all aglow, and----"
"Candle fiddlesticks!" exclaimed Alice, who could be very outspoken
at times. "Give me an incandescent light, every time. It's getting
dark here. I wonder what system of illumination they have?"
"Kerosene lamps," replied Ruth. "There's one on the mantel. I'll
light it."
"Do, that's a dear. I've dropped another hairpin, and I need every
one."
There was silence in the bedroom of the old-fashioned country house
for a space. Ruth lighted the lamp, and drew down the window shades.
The girls freshened themselves up after their journey, and prepared
to descend to the dining room. From the kitchen came more delicious
odors as Mrs. Apgar and her helper finished preparing the evening
meal.
Scattered about, in other apartments of the big farmhouse, were the
other members of the film theatrical company. Mr. DeVere had been
given a room near his daughters', and they could hear him talking in
his husky voice to Mr. Pertell, who was across the hall.
"When are they going to begin taking the pictures?" asked Ruth, as
she helped Alice hook up a waist that fastened in the back.
"Oh, not for some days yet, I fancy," was the answer. "Mr. Pertell
will have to look around, and pick out the best backgrounds for the
different scenes. I wonder what sort of parts I'll get? Something
funny, I hope; like tumbling into the river and being rescued."
"Alice! You wouldn't want anything like that!" cried Ruth, much
shocked.
"Wouldn't I, though! Just give me a chance. I can swim, you know!"
"Yes, I know, but tumbling into the river--with your clothes on--it
might be dangerous!"
"Oh, well, if we're in the moving picture business we will have to
learn to take chances. I read in the paper the other day how a couple
leaped from the Brooklyn Bridge with a parachute--a man and woman."
"Yes, I know; but we're not going to do anything like _that_! Papa
wouldn't let us."
"No, I suppose not," and Alice sighed as though she really wanted to
indulge in some such daring "stunt" as a bridge leap.
"I know one part you're going to have, Ruth," went on Alice, as she
surveyed herself in the glass.
"What is it?" asked Ruth, eagerly. "Shall I like it?"
"I think you will, dear. It's laid in an old mill--there is one on
Oak Farm, I believe. You're to be imprisoned in it, and your lover
rides up--probably on one of those silly milk-white steeds I object
to--and rescues you--breaks down the door in fact--and gets you just
as you are about to be bound on the mill wheel."
"Really, Alice?" cried Ruth, clasping her hands in delight, for she
dearly loved a romantic rôle.
"Really and truly--truly rural, I call it."
"How did you hear of it?"
"Oh, I overheard daddy and Mr. Pertell talking about it. Mr. Pertell
asked daddy if he'd object to your taking a part like that."
"And what did dad say?"
"Oh, he agreed to it, as long as you weren't in danger. But I want
something funny. I believe I'm to be a sort of 'cut-up' country maid,
in some of the plays. I'm to upset the milk pails, tie a tin can to
the calf's tail, hide under the sofa, when your country 'beaus' come
to see you, and all that."
"Oh, Alice!"
"That's all right--I just love parts like that. None of the love
business for me!"
"I should say not--you're entirely too young!" exclaimed Ruth, with
sudden dignity.
"Pooh! You're not so old! Oh, there goes the supper bell. Come on!
I'm starved!"
The entire theatrical troupe gathered about the table, and a merry
party it was. That Mrs. Apgar was a good cook was one of the first
matters voted on, and there was not a dissenting voice. It was well
that there was plenty of chicken, for nearly everyone had more than
the first helping.
"Ach! But I'm glad that I came here!" announced Mr. Switzer, as he
passed his plate for more. "Ven I get so old dot I can vork no more,
I am coming here!" and he leaned back with a contented sigh.
Even Pepper Sneed smiled graciously, and for once seemed to have no
fault to find, and no dire prediction to make.
"The meal is very good," he said to Pop Snooks, the property man.
"Glad you think so--even if we did come out on track thirteen," was
the reply. "I think that accident was the best thing that could
happen. It delayed us so we all had fine appetites."
After supper the members of the company went on the broad veranda, to
sit in the dusk of the evening and listen to the call of the night
insects.
"We'll all have a day or so of rest," Mr. Pertell said. "That is, you
folks will, while I lay out my plans and decide what we are to make
first. Russ, I'll want you, the first thing in the morning, to take a
walk around the farm with me, and we'll decide on which are the best
backgrounds."
"Oh, may I come!" cried Alice, before Ruth could restrain her.
"Why, yes, I guess so," answered the manager, slowly. "Only we'll
probably do a deal of walking."
"I don't tire easily," Alice replied.
"Oh, by the way, Mr. Apgar," said Mr. Pertell after a pause, turning
to the farmer, "I am planning one play that has a barn-burning
incident in it. Have you some old barn on the premises I could set
fire to."
"Good land!" exclaimed the farmer, starting from his chair. "Set fire
to a barn! Why th' idea! Th' sheriff will git after you, sure pop.
That's arson, man!"
"Oh, no, not the way I'd do it," laughed the manager. "I'd be willing
to pay you for the barn, so no one would lose anything. Haven't you
some such building on the place--one that isn't of much use?"
"Wa'al, I reckon there might be," was the slow answer, as if the
farmer could not understand the strange proposition. "But as fer
settin' fire to it; wa'al, I reckon you'll have to git permission of
th' mortgagee. You see we're in trouble about this place. Sandy,
maybe you'd better tell him," and he turned to his son.