CHARLIE AGAIN?
Ruth looked, but not in time to see the face of the person Helen
pointed out. To be sure, the back looked familiar and the walk was
strongly reminiscent of Charlie Reid. But she could not be sure.
“Wasn’t it?” hissed Helen, as at the heels of their porter, the boys
bundled them into the train.
Ruth was flushed and excited. She shook her head.
“I only saw his back, Helen. I—don’t know!”
No more was said about it until the girls were safely established in
their new quarters and Chess and Tom had excused themselves to find
their own seats in the sleeper.
“I’m sure it was Charlie Reid, Ruth,” said Helen then. She herself
was tremendously excited, though her emotion was of a different kind
from Ruth’s. To Helen this unlooked-for appearance of Charlie Reid—if
indeed it were he—meant a break in the monotony of the train trip
and a little added interest in things in general. While to Ruth, the
possibility that they had been trailed so far by Charlie Reid meant
only one thing. And that was that Sol Bloomberg was still determined
on harming her in some way.
“If that was really Charlie Reid,” she said tensely, “then I might
just as well bid good-bye right now to my peace of mind, Helen.
Before long it will be gone entirely, broken into a thousand pieces.”
“Which—your peace of mind or Charlie?” asked Helen flippantly.
She came and sat beside Ruth and patted her hand in a manner that was
meant to be soothing and only served at the moment to irritate the
harassed young director.
Ruth drew her hand away as gently as she could and with a resigned
gesture put back a lock of hair that had become dislodged.
“You can laugh all you like, Helen,” she sighed. “But I can tell you,
Sol Bloomberg is nothing to laugh at, and if he has set his little
hound on my trail, it behooves Miss Ruth Fielding to watch her step!”
“I’ll trust you for that,” said Helen.
Seeing that Ruth was really disturbed she did her best to mend the
situation.
“Perhaps it wasn’t Charlie Reid after all,” she suggested, though
in her heart she was almost sure that it was. She, at least, had
obtained a fairly good view of the man’s face. “It was dim in the
station, anyway, and Charlie Reid has a rather ordinary type of face.
I suppose there are thousands of them scattered all over the world.”
But despite Helen’s loyal attempts to get her friend’s mind off the
subject, that day was completely spoiled for Ruth.
It was decided by the two girls, at Ruth’s suggestion, that they
should say nothing concerning their suspicions to the boys just then.
“Time enough when we are sure we are being followed,” said Ruth, and
Helen agreed with her that there was really no end to be gained by
speaking of the incident.
Even had they been right in identifying the man they had glimpsed on
the platform as Charlie Reid, neither Ruth nor Helen could advance
any theory as to why the fellow was following them. But they knew
that if this was indeed Ruth’s enemy, he would sooner or later reveal
his purpose to them, and they were in no hurry for that time to come.
As a matter of fact, as time went on and their journey neared a
close, both Ruth and Helen became nearly convinced that it was not
Charlie Reid they had seen in the station at all. For the person they
had thought was Reid had certainly boarded the train with them.
Knowing this, the girls made repeated excursions throughout the
length of the train and examined every passenger closely while, at
the same time, not appearing to do so.
But they saw no sign of Charlie Reid. Either he had boarded the train
and left it at the very next stop or he was keeping himself well
hidden.
The failure to see anything of Reid helped drive the unpleasant
incident from Ruth’s mind, and by the time they reached Seattle,
Bloomberg had once more faded into a rather dim background.
The morning on which they were due at their destination found them
really sorry to terminate their Arabian Nights’ train trip.
“I never had so much fun,” sighed Helen, as they sat among freshly
packed grips with their hats and wraps close at hand. “After this no
one can ever tell me that traveling is a bore. I shall contradict
them rudely!”
“It has been a lark,” Ruth agreed. “I’ve felt all along as though we
were riding in a private train.”
“Maybe you will be some day; who knows,” said Tom, with a smile, and
Ruth’s own quick smile answered it.
“Not for a considerable time yet, Tom, if ever,” she said. “But it
is sort of fun to play with the idea, isn’t it?”
“May I ask what plans your August Highness has made for us, once we
reach Seattle?” asked Chess.
“Tom knows. He does all that sort of thing for me, you know,” said
Ruth, with a grateful glance at the young fellow. “We are stopping at
the Tevor-Grand, aren’t we, Tom—there to meet the rest of the crowd?”
Tom nodded and Helen said eagerly:
“Who are the crowd, Ruth? Will there be many?”
“About twelve actors, three cameramen and two directors,” said Ruth,
looking remarkably businesslike as she counted them off on her
fingers. “There will be quite a company of us—and all picked players
at that.”
“But why two assistant directors?” Helen asked. “I should think you
were a dozen all rolled into one, Ruthie.”
“She is the big one, of course,” Tom explained, a proud note in his
voice.
“The big cheese, the whole works, so to speak,” Chess interpolated.
“Just about,” returned the grinning Tom. “These two other directors
are merely understudies, you understand, directing the minor scenes
and otherwise taking some of the load off her shoulders.”
“I shouldn’t think they would enjoy being bossed about by a girl,”
said Helen. She had spoken impulsively and was instantly sorry when
she saw a shadow of uneasiness cross Ruth’s face.
“That has worried me just a little,” Ruth confessed. “A woman
director is at a disadvantage with a man because the men in the
company always seem to go on the assumption that she’s no good until
she proves the contrary. There are good woman directors in the moving
picture business——”
“Ladies and gentlemen, the proof is right before your eyes,” murmured
Helen with a mischievous glance at Ruth.
“But they have always had to work twice as hard to prove their
ability as a man in the same position,” finished Ruth.
“All the more credit to the woman when she gets there, then,” said
Helen.
Ruth smiled.
“But that doesn’t make the fight any the easier,” she pointed out.
Tom was about to reassure her on this point when there was a knock on
the door. It was the porter to announce that they were just slowing
into Seattle and to get their suitcases.
Chess gave a whoop of joy and grabbed up his hat.
“All ashore that’s going ashore,” he chortled, dropping the hat long
enough to put Helen’s on her head hindside before, at which the young
lady was tremendously indignant. “Follow me, ladies and gentlemen,
and I will show you the sights of this famous seaport——”
“Oh, Chess, do hush!” cried Helen, as they joined the tide of
humanity sweeping down the aisles. “Every one is looking at you.”
“Might as well give ’em a treat,” replied that youth, with
irrepressible good humor. “No one ever accused me of having a stone
where my heart ought to be!”
Chess’s high spirits were infectious, and before they reached the
street and a taxicab they were all weak with mirth. Chess could be
irresistibly funny when he wanted to, and this was evidently one of
those occasions.
“Aren’t you glad we brought him along?” Helen asked of her chum,
regarding her fiancé as if he were some strange kind of animal. “As a
circus clown, I declare he can’t be beat—oh, dear me, Chess, do ask
that taxi driver to be a little more careful! That time he tried to
upset a truck.”
“Let him have his fun if he likes it,” Chess returned imperturbably.
“He’s entitled to a little recreation in his off hours.”
Despite the seemingly reckless driving of the chauffeur through
traffic that was nothing short of murderous, the four young people
managed to reach the Tevor-Grand Hotel whole and in their right minds.
Tom, as usual thoughtful and reliable, had wired ahead for rooms,
and upon registering his little party at the desk was treated by the
deferential clerk in charge with as much civility as though he had
been an old patron of the hotel.
When Ruth asked about the company, mentioning the names of the
directors, she was informed that they had arrived only a short time
before.
Two porters caught up their luggage and Ruth turned with the others
toward the elevators. Suddenly she gave a little gasp and stood
still, her eyes traveling across the lobby to the door of the writing
room at the farther side.
“Am I dreaming?” she cried. “Or was that really Charlie Reid?”