THE PLAY OF THE HOSE
"Russ! Daddy! Somebody save Alice!" cried Ruth, from her place near
the young moving picture operator. "Can't someone do something?"
"Get a pitchfork!"
"Go at him with those hoes!"
"Throw stones at him!"
This was some of the advice from the others of the moving picture
company, as they stood grouped back of the camera, where they had
been watching the filming of the last scene in the little drama.
Meanwhile, of course, Russ had stopped the camera, for he did not
want to include the bull in the picture, no provision having been
made for the creature by the author who furnished the "scenario," or
"screed."
The animal had "butted into" the scene in a most uncalled-for manner,
and now was butting its massive head against the frail green stalks
of corn, knocking them aside, pawing the dirt and shaking its head
at the frightened players.
For a moment, after their first outcries, the players were silent.
Alice, who had shown just the least inclination to faint, now stood
upright again, and with a vivid blush, released herself from Paul's
arms.
"I--I'm all right now," she said, softly, straightening out her
shirtwaist.
"You won't be if that bull comes for us," he answered. "Here, get
behind me. I'll see if I can scare him off."
"Oh, no! Don't!" she begged. "That might make him worse. See, he is
quiet now."
And indeed the animal had not moved much beyond the spot where he had
broken through the rows of corn to interrupt the moving pictures.
"Something's got to be done," said Mr. Pertell, in a quiet voice. "I
think it will be best if none of you moves. Keep your places, and
I'll see if I can't slide out back of Russ, and get help--or at least
a weapon to drive the bull away. A fence rail would do. Russ, stand
still. You make a good screen for me now, and the bull can't see me.
He may make a jump if he sees any of us moving. Such creatures often
do, I understand."
It seemed the best plan to follow, but there was no need of trying
it, for at that instant Sandy Apgar, who had returned, and who had
heard the cries, came bursting in on the scene.
For a moment, at seeing this new figure, and supposing, perhaps, that
it was a more active enemy than the others, the bull made as if to
leap forward, with lowered horns. But, fortunately, the young farmer
had an effective weapon in a pitchfork. Its sharp tines Sandy held
toward the bull, pricking the creature slightly. This was too much
for the beast, and with a bellow of pain, instead of rage, as before,
he turned, and with drooping tail crashed his way through the corn,
as he had come.
"Pesky gritter!" exclaimed Mr. Switzer, in his strong German accent.
"He nearly gafe me heart disease. Feel how he thumps inside my west,"
he appealed to Mr. Sneed.
"Ha! What do I care about your heart!" exclaimed the "grouch,"
inconsiderately. "My foot will be lame for a week where I hit it.
This is getting worse and worse--I suppose you'll be turning wild
tigers and lions loose on us next!" he cried in a highly aggrieved
tone to Mr. Pertell.
"This wasn't my fault," said the manager. "I did not invite the bull
here."
"No, I guess nobody did," laughed Sandy. "But I hope he didn't hurt
any of you."
"No, he only scared us," said Ruth, who had gone to the side of her
sister.
"I can't understand how he got out," went on the young farmer. "He's
kept in a field with a strong fence, and th' gate is always locked.
Th' hired man knows better than to let him out, too."
"It might be a good idea to see that he is put back in his
enclosure," suggested Mr. DeVere. "I'm sure we'll all feel safer if
we know he isn't roaming about the place when we pose for more
pictures."
"Indeed we will," agreed Mr. Pertell. "I can see you all looking
around nervously, instead of paying attention to the play, if that
bull isn't locked up."
"I'll attend to it right away," promised Sandy. "He's dangerous
enough, but he's afraid of this pitchfork. I can always manage him
with that. I'll go see how he got out. I don't understand it."
"I'll go with you," volunteered Russ. "We'll have to make the last
bit of this scene over," he went on, to Mr. Pertell.
"Yes, I suppose so," agreed the manager.
"And they'll want a little time to get over the scare so they can
pose properly," went on Russ, nodding at Alice and Paul, who, as well
as the others who filled in the background of the picture, were
somewhat disturbed.
"Yes, it will be just as well to take a breathing space," said Mr.
Pertell. "But don't run into danger, Russ. We've got lots of plays
yet to film."
"I won't," laughed the young operator, and as he went off after
Sandy, Ruth gazed after him with rather anxious eyes.
"I knew something like this would happen!" exclaimed Mr. Sneed,
gloomily. "That track thirteen----"
"Say, if you don't drop that you can look for another place!" cried
the manager, sharply. "Everything that happens you blame on that
silly superstition."
"And things aren't done happening yet, either," went on the "grouchy"
actor, but he took care not to let the manager hear him.
"To what low estate have I fallen!" soliloquized Wellington Bunn,
wiping his heated brow. He was wearing a slouch hat, instead of his
beloved silk one, and was attired in shabby garments, as befitted his
character of a farmhand. "The idea of a man who has played the
immortal Shakespearean characters falling so low as to consort with
wild bulls. Ah, it is pitiful--pitiful!" he murmured.
"You didn't consort mit dat bull very much!" put in Mr. Switzer, with
a cheerful laugh. "I saw you trying to git behint a corn stalk, to
consort mit 'im alretty yet!"
"Certainly, I did not wish to be trampled on," replied Mr. Bunn, with
dignity--that is, with as much dignity as he could muster under the
circumstances. "Oh, to what low estate have I fallen! A mere country
bumpkin--I, who once played Hamlet!"
The others were recovering their spirits, now that the danger was
over. Sandy and Russ followed the trail of the bull through the corn,
and soon they had him before the gate of his own enclosure.
"That gate is open!" exclaimed the young farmer. "I don't see how it
happened. There is something wrong here."
The bull was driven in, and then an examination disclosed the fact
that the lock of the gate had been broken; by a stone, evidently, for
a shattered rock lay on the ground nearby.
"This is strange," murmured Sandy. "Someone has done this on purpose,
I don't like it--after what happened the other night."
"What was that?" asked Russ.
"Why, Mr. Pertell and I saw a suspicious-looking man out in the road,
and we chased him," and he told of the circumstance.
"And you think he broke this lock to let the bull out?" asked the
moving picture operator.
"Well, he might have, but I can't think what his object would be,
unless he wanted to spoil some of your moving pictures. Have you got
any enemies?"
Russ thought of Simp Wolley and Bud Briskett, who had tried to get
his invention, as told in the preceding volume, "The Moving Picture
Girls," but they were in jail, as far as he knew. Clearly there was
some mystery here, but it was not to be solved at once.
The gate was made as secure as possible, and Sandy said he would get
a new lock that day.
"I reckon you folks don't want old Nero buttin' in on you again," he
said to Russ.
"Indeed we don't!" answered the young operator. He was puzzled over
Sandy's suggestion as to whether or not some enemy had loosed the
dangerous animal.
A little later the end of the interrupted scene was filmed again, and
then the actors and actresses were at liberty for the rest of the
day.
"I declare, Laura!" exclaimed Miss Pennington, "I'm so nervous about
that bull that I don't want any more farm plays."
"Me, either," returned her chum. "But really, the summer is a bad
time to change. I think we'll have to stay with Mr. Pertell; but I
can't bear this company since those DeVere girls came in."
"Nor can I. They give themselves such airs!"
Which was manifestly unfair to Ruth and Alice, but neither Miss
Pennington nor Miss Dixon was over-burdened with fairness.
At first Russ had an idea of speaking to Mr. DeVere about Sandy's
theory concerning who might have let loose the bull; but, on second
thoughts, he decided not to. The actor had not been so well of late,
his voice troubling him considerably, though he managed to go through
his parts with credit.
"I'd tell Ruth or Alice," reflected Russ, "only I don't like to
bother them. They helped me save my patent, and they know how to do
things in an emergency. But I guess I'll wait."
For the next day Mr. Pertell had planned a little drama which gave
Mr. Bunn a chance to appear in his favorite roles--some Shakespearean
characters. The plot, or at least the first part of it, had to do
with Mr. Bunn coming up to the farmhouse in a frock coat, and his
favorite tall hat. He was to assume the character of a theatrical
man, who, after obtaining board at a country home, fell in love with
the daughter of the house through teaching her some roles from
Shakespeare's plays, several characters of which Mr. Bunn himself was
to assume.
All was ready for the first part of the play, and Russ began filming
the initial scene, where the actor comes up the gravel walk leading
to the Apgar farmhouse. Mr. Bunn had given his silk hat an extra
brushing, and it glistened bravely in the sun. To make the scene
contain a little more life, Mr. Pertell had stationed Mr. Switzer at
one of the front flower beds, with a garden hose to spray the blooms.
Up the walk came the actor, grave and dignified. Russ was grinding
away at the handle of the moving picture camera.
Suddenly a dog wormed his way in under the hedge from the road, and,
probably meaning no mischief, ran for Mr. Switzer, barking joyously,
and leaping about.
"Hi dere! Look out, you! Don't you nip my legs!" cried the German. He
sprang to one side, and, naturally, forgot all about the spurting
hose he held.
In an instant the stream was directed full at Mr. Bunn, deluging him
with water, which descended in a shower on his precious silk hat, the
drops falling from the brim copiously.
"Here! What--what do you mean? You--you----" began the Shakespearean
actor, and then his words were muffled, for the stream from the hose
struck him full in the mouth!