HELPING TO MAKE THE MOVIES
"Whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o! whe-e-e-o-o-o!" screamed the siren as
Bruce Clifford's motorcycle came to a halt in front of the Weir cottage
on Willow Street. Then:
"Hi, Bud--bud-de-de! Hello-o-o, Bud! Come on, wake up!" shouted the
leader of the Owl Patrol, cupping his hands about his mouth and directing
his voice toward an upstairs window. A moment later the window in
question opened and Bud in his undershirt, with a towel in one hand and a
cake of soap in the other, appeared.
"What're you making such a row for? I'm awake," he shouted rather
irritably, for Bud really never became thoroughly cheerful until after he
had had his breakfast.
"Say, Bud, the highway bridge over Muddy Brook--the one just below the
railroad tracks on Lake Road; has gone down under a big motor truck full
of scenery and things belonging to the Historical Motion Picture Company,
the outfit that has been taking Revolutionary War pictures over near
Ticonderoga. The machine's half under water and the men need help.
There's a chance for the Scouts to get busy. Are you with us?"
"You bet I am. I'll be to headquarters in three winks," said the leader
of the Blue Heron Patrol, considerably better natured.
"Fine! Hurry now! I'm off to headquarters to call the rest of the
fellows together," said Bruce, as he started his motorcycle and shot up
the long incline that led to the machine-shop headquarters of Quarry
Troop No. 1, of Woodbridge, popularly known as the Boy Scout Engineers.
The leader of the Owls had left home a little after daylight that morning
with fishing pole and creel strapped to his machine, for he intended
trying the brown trout in Concord valley. But when he reached the little
highway bridge where the Lake Road crossed a shallow brook near the
Rutland Railroad tracks, a situation presented itself that banished all
thought of trout fishing.
The ends of the bridge timbers had rotted away from dampness and under
the weight of a big motor truck had parted from their stone pier. Their
collapse had projected the heavy vehicle front first into the stream, so
that its hood was jammed against the abutment, while its hind wheels
still remained on the sloping bridge floor. The chauffeur and his two
assistants stood surveying the scene in a most dejected attitude.
Of course Bruce stopped at the stream and looked over the situation,
asking innumerable questions. But the men were not in a pleasant frame
of mind and gave him only disagreeable answers, which nettled the scout
to the point of exclaiming:
"Huh, if you weren't so grouchy about it, I'd like to try help you get
out of the mess you are in. Maybe we could help a great deal. I'm a
member of the Boy Scout Engineers, and it is just our fun to lend a hand
in a fix like this."
The chauffeur looked at the lad in amazement for a moment. Then he spoke
in milder tones.
"Excuse me, son. I didn't mean t' be so nasty. If you fellows will give
us a hand, we'd be mighty much obliged. I know what the scouts are.
I've met 'em before."
"Thank you for the compliment," said Bruce. "We'll be here with block
and tackle in less than an hour. In the meantime, get your truck
unloaded," and, turning about, he raced back to town, stopping only to
awaken Bud Weir before reaching headquarters.
Entering the home of the troop, he hurried to the wire-room on the second
floor and began calling the scouts from breakfast. The telegraph line
leading from headquarters was a big loop that extended through the town
and connected with an instrument in the home of every second class scout,
and all the boys could be called to headquarters in a jiffy.
When his summons had been answered by most of the boys, Bruce hurried
downstairs and proceeded to get "Old Nanc," the troop's homemade
automobile, ready for service. Into it he loaded all the manila rope he
could lay hands on, as well as blocks and pulleys, chains, crowbars,
axes, sledges and everything else that might come in handy.
By the time this work was well under way the scouts began to arrive and
lend a hand. They came on motor cycle and on foot until there were
twenty-odd gathered at headquarters. And when they were all assembled,
Bruce outlined briefly the situation at the Lake Road bridge and gave
them his idea of how the task should be handled. Of course, they were
all eager to undertake the work, and in a few minutes they were on their
way to the scene of trouble.
The chauffeur and his men had done as Bruce suggested, and when the lads
arrived they found two great stacks of canvas scenery by the roadside.
They gave this only a moment's inspection, however, for they had work
before them. With as much system as a trained army corps they began to
unload the coils of rope and the pulleys. Then, under Bruce's direction,
several wove the cordage into a block and tackle arrangement. This done,
a group headed by Romper Ryan removed shoes and stockings and began to
ford the shallow stream, carrying the block and tackle with them. In no
time they had one of the pulleys lashed to a substantial maple tree by
the roadside. The other pulley was fastened to the back end of the
automobile truck, which was still on the sloping floor of the bridge.
When this was completed the single strand of rope on which they were to
haul was passed back across the stream and attached to the rear axle of
"Old Nanc."
Then came the test of the boys' engineering skill. At the request of
Bruce the scouts all seized the rope to assist "Old Nanc" in hauling the
big machine backward up the grade. Bud, the official driver of the
troop's automobile, climbed to his place and everything was ready.
"Now, all together! Pull!" shouted Bruce, and at the command every scout
arched his shoulders and hauled his hardest, while "Old Nanc's" engine
began to cough and grumble furiously.
The tackle grew taut. The pulleys squeaked and groaned and the bridge
timbers protested in like manner as the big truck began to move. Up it
crawled, inch by inch. Now the hood was out of water! A moment later
the rear wheels were onto the road! Slowly but surely it was lifted out
of the brook until, finally, with a mighty tug, the lads backed it clear
off the bridge and safely onto the highway.
"Fine!" shouted the chauffeur. "I knew you scouts were the bully boys.
But, say, fellows, how's the machine going to get across the stream! We
are bound for Woodbridge, you know, and we're on the wrong side of the
busted bridge now."
"Oh, maybe we can work that out some way," said Bruce. "I guess we'll
try to make a pair of shears out of a couple of fence rails, then hitch
the block and tackle to the bridge floor and hoist it back to its proper
level again. The rest of the fellows will get all of the discarded
railroad ties they can find along the tracks over yonder and build a
square crib under the bridge. They can lay the ties on top of each other
in log cabin fashion and I guess that will hold up the bridge under your
machine. It will make the crossing safe until the town authorities can
put new bridge timber in place, too."
"Sounds mighty sensible," said the chauffeur. "Will it take long?"
"I don't think so. It's only half past ten now. Here comes the ten
thirty Montreal Special," said Bruce, as the Canadian flyer shot around a
bend in the railroad tracks, her whistle screaming her approach to the
Woodbridge station.
"Come on, then, let's get busy right away. Perhaps we can have the
machine into Woodbridge by noon," said the chauffeur. Then, to his
assistants, he called. "Hi, you fellows, git over there to the railroad
tracks and pick up some o' those old ties. Go along with the scouts.
They know old ones from new ones."
All the lads, except two or three of the older boys, waded the brook and
started out after crib building material. The others remained to help
Bruce rig up the shears and put the block and tackle into place.
Fortunately, section gangs had been working on the railroad recently,
putting in new ties, and there were any number of discarded timbers along
the embankment. These the lads appropriated, for they knew that the
railroad men no longer wanted them and that sooner or later a bonfire
would be made of them. The heavy timbers were piled up on the bank of
the brook as fast as the scouts could find them, and by the time Bruce
and his helpers had hitched the block and tackle to the sagging bridge
the crib builders were ready to begin work.
Raising the bridge floor was accomplished quickly, for the wooden
structure was nowhere near as heavy as the auto truck. Indeed, "Old
Nanc" managed to haul it up all alone. This accomplished, the scouts
waded into the water again, and, working in pairs, carried the railroad
ties to a point just under the broken structure. The first two ties were
put up and down stream and weighted with stones to keep them from
floating away. Two more were then placed across the stream on top of the
first set, exactly like logs in a cabin. Then, like bees, the boys
traveled back and forth to the bank, carrying the heavy ties, until
finally the crib was constructed snugly under the bridge flooring with
two heavy cross timbers resting safely on top.
When the tackle was finally removed and the bridge platform settled into
place and gave every indication of being safely propped up by the crib,
the scouts gave a ringing cheer, for their efforts had been successful.
And, as if in answer to the cheer, the loud honking of a motor horn was
heard and a big red motor car containing one man and the driver came
tearing down the road.
"Here comes our manager, Mr. Dickle!" exclaimed the chauffeur when he saw
the machine.
Mr. Dickle proved to be a very businesslike and bustling individual. He
bounded from the car before it stopped, demanding at the same time to
know all the particulars of what had happened. It seems that he had seen
the stalled motor truck from the window of the ten thirty train and had
hired the first automobile he could find at the Woodbridge station and
rushed to the scene of trouble.
Briefly Bruce and the chauffeur told him all that had happened and all
that had been done.
"Rebuilt the bridge, eh? Looks as if it would hold a steam engine now.
That's bully," exclaimed Mr. Dickle. "Now, if you fellows can tell me of
a building equipped with electricity that I can rent for a studio for a
couple of days, you will have done me another great favor. We are going
to make some historical films of Ethan Allen and the Green Mountain Boys.
Say, by the way, you fellows look intelligent. How would you like to be
my supes? I'll pay you fifty cents a day. How about it?"
"What's a supe?" asked Bruce and Bud together.
"Why, a supernumerary. I want a number of people to take part in the
production, as Green Mountain Boys or British soldiers or the mob, or
roles like that, where good actors are not needed. I have a big battle
scene as a climax. I'll need you in that surely."
"In the movies, eh? Whoope-e-e-e! Fine!" exclaimed several, and the
manager knew immediately that he would not have to look further for
additional members for his cast.
"And, say, about a studio; perhaps you could use the meeting room on the
top floor of our headquarters building. We have all the electricity you
want, only there isn't much daylight for taking pictures. There are only
three windows, and--"
"Tut, tut, never mind the daylight. We don't need it in modern
photography. We'll go up and look at the place," said the manager. Then
to the chauffeur he shouted: "Here, Jim, fasten a rope to the truck and
I'll have this machine of mine tow you up to the scouts' headquarters."