CHRISTOPHER CUTLER PIPER TURNS UP
“Gee, I’m worn to a rag!” moaned Charlie, sinking to the ground during
a lull in the work and mopping his brow. “When it comes to actual
fighting it’s all right but this steady grind gets a fellow’s goat.”
“Oh, stop your grouching,” sang out Blake cheerfully, busying himself
with the machine. “Wait till one of those playful little bombs bursts
under your nose and scatters its cunning little splinters all over the
place. Then you’ll have something to worry about.”
“On the contrary,” retorted Charlie, getting painfully to his feet, “it
seems to me that under those circumstances nothing would ever worry me
more. Hey, look here,” he added suddenly, pointing to where a small
group of persons could be seen approaching. “Isn’t there something
familiar about that whole party, especially the fellow in the middle?”
“Middle of what?” queried Blake, still busy with his machine and
somewhat impatient of the interruption.
“Oh, next week, of course,” Charlie was beginning scornfully, when Joe,
who had come up behind them unnoticed, broke in with a yell.
“Well, if here isn’t the whole moving picture crowd!” he shouted
joyfully. “And in their midst, the well-beloved face of our old pal, C.
C. Say, this is luck!”
“Luck,” repeated Macaroni dolefully, as they went to meet their
friends. “If you call meeting a wet-blanket like C. C. luck----”
“Well, for the love o’ Mike!” cried C. C. himself, catching sight of
the boys. “What ill--I mean, good--wind blew you hither?”
“After that greeting we know it’s C. C.,” grinned Blake, amid a chorus
of greetings and exclamations from Miss Lee, Miss Shay and other
members of the moving picture company. After a moment or two more of
friendly conversation, they passed on to meet Mr. Hadley, all, that is,
except Christopher Cutler Piper, _alias_ C. C., who lingered to speak
to the boys.
“Going to cheer up the boys in the trenches?” Joe demanded of the
gloomy comedian.
“Say,” protested Charlie, “haven’t the poor fellows enough to stand,
what with liquid fire and poison gas, without turning C. C. loose on
them? Have a heart!”
“Even Hun kultur couldn’t think up any worse torture than that,” agreed
Joe.
C. C. turned a grieved and protesting eye upon them.
“Say, that’s a fine reputation you’re giving me,” the gloomy comedian
protested. “Here I come in a spirit of self-sacrifice, to offer my
services to the government, only to have my best friends turn upon me
like vipers in my bosom----”
“Gee, how does it feel?” asked Blake in mock awe, while even C. C.
grudgingly vouchsafed a gloomy grin.
“But seriously,” added Blake, as they turned and made their way slowly
toward the deserted picture machine, “what did bring you to this neck
of the woods, C. C.? Last I heard of you, you were showing off to
admiring crowds on Fifth Avenue.”
“Ah, but duty called,” sighed C. C., “and I left my homeland for the
dangers of the trenches. You surmised correctly, Macaroni--I have come
to cheer up our brave fighting men.”
“Oh, gee,” groaned Charlie Anderson, but Joe interrupted him.
“What’s your line?” he inquired with interest. “Going to do a ballet,
or imitations?”
“Worse and worse and more of it,” broke in Blake, irrepressibly.
“Can’t you see it--old C. C. in a spirited imitation of the dying
codfish? Going to let us in on it, C. C.?”
“Yes, I can just see myself,” answered Mr. Piper bitterly. “The
soldiers appreciate my talents, anyway. I entertained a crowd of them
at the Y. M. C. A. last night and you should have heard the applause.
Why, it shook the whole building.”
“Don’t kid yourself, old man,” cried Joe airily. “That was a bomb that
shook the building and as for the applause--well, I’ve heard that life
in the trenches sometimes affects men that way--shell shock, you know,
and such things.”
“All right,” sighed poor C. C. resignedly. “Scoff if you will--I’m used
to it. Only some time when a bomb alights upon my devoted head and
there’s a large amount of nothingness left where I once stood, you may
be sorry. But never mind, I never expected to be appreciated.”
The comedian wandered off and then the boys lost no time in hunting up
the girls who had acted so many parts in the dramas the company had
filmed.
“Awfully glad to see you!” cried Blake.
“Best thing ever,” came from Joe.
“We’re glad, too,” cried the girls.
Quite a talk followed. In the midst of this Mr. Hadley came rushing up
in his bustling way with both hands extended in hearty greeting to the
boys. They grasped his hands with hearty liking, for their relations
with their employer had always been of the most cordial kind in the
years they had been together.
“Well, well,” said Mr. Hadley, beaming upon them both. “I’m delighted
to see you two boys again and to find that you’re safe and sound, in
spite of all you’ve been through.”
“You’re no more glad than we are to see you,” replied Blake. “But this
is a surprise. We hadn’t the least idea that you were coming to this
side of the big pond.”
“I made up my mind in a hurry,” replied Mr. Hadley, “and when I had
decided, I found that a letter wouldn’t reach you any sooner than I
would get here myself. So here I am and most of the company with me.
Got over without any trouble, though one time we did get a glimpse of a
periscope and we had a few anxious minutes.”
“Did you get all the films we sent you?” asked Blake, with whom the
thought of his profession was always present.
“Most of them,” replied the producer, “though two lots you mentioned
in your letters never arrived. Guess they went down in one of the
submarine sinkings.”
“That’s too bad,” said Joe. “How did you like those you did get?”
“They were fine and dandy,” replied Mr. Hadley with enthusiasm. “They
made a big hit with the public, and they were especially popular with
the boys in the training camps. I had a letter from the War Department,
and they spoke in the warmest way about them. But I mustn’t be giving
you boys a swelled head or you’ll be striking me for a raise in
salary,” he concluded with a laugh.
“What’s the big idea in bringing the company over?” asked Blake.
Mr. Hadley showed a slight trace of embarrassment.
“Well,” he said rather hesitatingly, “I’m a business man, but hang it
all! I’ve got some red blood in my veins just as you young cubs have,
and I thought it would be the least that I could do to bring over
some of the stars and go through the camps giving entertainments and
cheering up the boys. We’ll make a tour of the hospitals, too. You know
the girls and the comedians are not only movie actors, but most of them
have been on the regular stage, and they can sing and dance and give
skits and imitations. They were all willing and glad to come along to
do their bit.”
“That’s just bully!” cried Joe in delight.
“It will do the boys more good than medicine,” added Blake.
“We’ll hope so,” said Mr. Hadley. “If it does we’ll be fully repaid.
But now to business,” he continued, with a return of his usual brisk
manner. “I’ve just had a talk with your captain and he tells me there’s
something brewing. He’s got wind of a coming attack and he thinks it’s
going to be a heavy one. It struck me that it will be a dandy chance to
get some very stirring films. Are you game?”
“You bet!” they replied in unison, the gleam of anticipation in their
eyes.
“You’re like the war horse that sniffs the battle from afar,” laughed
their employer. “You’ve got your nerve right with you. And it will take
lots of nerve. It’s one thing to stand up to a party of Boches with
your bayonet in your hand, but you fellows may have to stand up to
them unarmed. It’s risky work,” he said hesitatingly, “but I know you
fellows won’t back out----”
“Back out!” exclaimed Joe hotly. “The only thing I want to know is why
we’re wasting time standing here.”
“Yes,” added Blake eagerly, “let’s get at them.”
“All right,” said Mr. Hadley with an admiring and satisfied glance.
“That’s the answer I expected to hear. Now then remember that you’re
going to take the best films we’ve had yet. We’ve got to get them, but
what’s just as important we’ve got to keep them. Hang on to the films
after you get them as though your lives depended on it. The Boches
would give a lot to get hold of them, but you fellows are smart enough
to double cross them. Go to it, boys, and good luck go with you.”
With a wave of the hand he left them, and the moving picture boys
quickly got their equipment ready and reported to their captains who
directed them to that part of the front where the fighting was likely
to be hot. Then with hearts aflame they dropped into the trenches
beside the grim fighting men.
These men were simply waiting,--waiting for the moment when their taut
muscles would be released, when they would burst in a trained, inspired
flood over the barrier of wood and dirt to meet and stop the hordes of
Huns approaching them.
Past these rigid, dust-stained heroes the boys went to a vantage point
from which they could take pictures of the coming battle.
Walking, stumbling, half-blinded by the smoke from bursting shells,
half-deafened by the thunder of the guns, the boys hurried on to the
appointed spot.
Here, their fingers trembling with excitement, faces burning, eyes
glowing, the boys set up the machine and made ready for the greatest
moment of their lives.
Mr. Hadley had spoken truly. It was one thing to await the onslaught of
the enemy, bayonet in hand, and quite another to stand there unarmed,
calmly taking pictures of the fight when any moment a bursting shell
might blow them into eternity.
But they had been face to face with death before and had come through
alive. Their jaws set hard and they looked calmly straight ahead. If
need be they could die like men.