IN NEW YORK
“Ah, my letters have taken unto themselves wings,” laughed the
Spaniard, as he stooped to pick up the scattered papers. “And you have
assisted me in saving them,” he went on, as he took the part of the
epistle Blake held out to him.
As he did so Mr. Alcando himself had a glimpse of the words Blake
had thought so strange. The foreigner must have, in a manner, sensed
Blake’s suspicions, for he said, quickly:
“That is what it is not to know your wonderful American language.
I, myself, have much struggles with it, and so do my friends. I had
written to one of them, saying I expected to go to Panama, and he
writes in his poor English, that he hopes I do go, and that I get all
the pictures I can, especially big ones.”
He paused for a moment, looking at Blake sharply, the boy thought. Then
the Spaniard went on:
“Only, unfortunately for him, he does not yet know the difference
between ‘guns’ and ‘ones.’ What he meant to say was that he hoped I
would get big pictures--big ones, you know. And I hope I do. I suppose
you do take big moving pictures--I mean pictures of big scenes, do you
not?” and he included Joe in the question he asked.
“Oh, yes, we’ve taken some pretty big ones,” Blake’s chum admitted, as
he thought of the time when they had so recently been in the flooded
Mississippi Valley, and when they had risked danger and death in the
jungle, and in earthquake land.
“Though, I suppose,” went on Mr. Alcando, as he folded the part of a
letter Blake had picked up, “I suppose there are big guns at Panama--if
one could get pictures of them--eh?” and again he looked sharply at
Blake--for what reason our hero could not determine.
“Oh, yes, there are big guns down there,” said Joe. “I forget their
size, and how far they can hurl a projectile. But we’re not likely
to get a chance to take any pictures, moving or otherwise, of the
defenses. I fancy they are a sort of government secret.”
“I should think so,” spoke Blake, and there was a curious restraint in
his manner, at which Joe wondered.
“Yes, we probably won’t get much chance to see the big guns,” went
on the Spaniard. “But I am content if I learn how to become a moving
picture operator. I shall write to my friend and tell him the
difference between the word ‘one’ and ‘gun.’ He will laugh when he
finds out his mistake; will he not?” and he glanced at Blake.
“Probably,” was the answer. Blake was doing some hard thinking just
then.
“But so you have decided to go to the Canal?” asked the Spaniard, when
he had collected his scattered papers.
“Yes, we are going down there,” answered Blake, “and as Mr. Hadley
wishes you to go along, of course we’ll take you with us, and teach you
all we know.”
“I hope I shall not be a burden to you, or cause you any trouble,”
responded the Spaniard, politely, with a frank and engaging smile.
“Oh, no, not at all!” returned Joe, cordially. He had taken quite a
liking to the chap, and anticipated pleasure in his company. Usually
when he and Blake went off on moving picture excursions they had some
members of the Film Theatrical Company with them, or they met friends
on the way, or at their destination. But neither C. C. Piper, nor any
of the other actors were going to the Canal, so Blake and Joe would
have had to go alone had it not been for the advent of Mr. Alcando.
“We’re very glad to have you with us,” added Blake. “How soon can you
be ready to go?”
“Whenever you are. I can leave to-day, if necessary.”
“There isn’t any necessity for such a rush as that,” Blake said, with
a laugh. “We’ll finish out our week’s vacation, and then go to New
York. Our cameras will need overhauling after the hard service they got
in the flood, and we’ll have to stay in New York about a week to get
things in shape. So we’ll probably start for the Canal in about two
weeks.”
“That will suit me excellently. I shall be all ready for you,” said the
Spaniard.
“Then I’ll write to Mr. Hadley to expect us,” Blake added.
The boys left Mr. Alcando straightening out his papers, and started
back through the town to the farm.
“What made you act so funny, Blake, when you picked up that piece of
paper?” asked Joe, when they had alighted from their motor cycle at the
Baker homestead a little later.
“Well, to tell you the truth, Joe, I was a bit suspicious.”
“What about; that gun business?”
“Yes,” and Blake’s voice was serious.
“Buttermilk and corn cakes!” cried Joe with a laugh. “You don’t mean to
say you think this fellow is an international spy; do you? Trying to
get secrets of the United States fortifications at the Canal?”
“Well, I don’t know as I exactly believe _that_, Joe, and yet it was
strange someone should be writing to him about the big guns.”
“Yes, maybe; but then he explained it all right.”
“You mean he _tried_ to explain it.”
“Oh, well, if you look at it that way, of course you’ll be suspicious.
But I don’t believe anything of the sort. It was just a blunder of
someone who didn’t know how, trying to write the English language.
“It’s all nonsense to think he’s a spy. He came to Mr. Hadley well
recommended, and you can make up your mind Mr. Hadley wouldn’t have
anything to do with him if there was something wrong.”
“Oh, well, I don’t exactly say he’s a _spy_,” returned Blake, almost
wavering. “Let it go. Maybe I am wrong.”
“Yes, I think you are,” said Joe. “I like that chap, and I think we’ll
have fine times together.”
“We’ll have hard work, that’s one thing sure,” Blake declared. “It
isn’t going to be easy to get good pictures of the big ditch. And
waiting for one of those Culebra Cut slides is going to be like camping
on the trail of a volcano, I think. You can’t tell when it’s going to
happen.”
“That’s right,” agreed Joe with a laugh. “Well, we’ll do the best we
can, old man. And now let’s go on a picnic, or something, to finish out
our vacation. We won’t get another this year, perhaps.”
“Let’s go down and see how they’re coming on with the new bridge, where
the horse tried to jump over the ravine,” suggested Blake, and, a
little later they were speeding in that direction.
The final week of their stay in the country went by quickly enough,
and though the boys appreciated their vacation in the quiet precincts
of Central Falls, they were not altogether sorry when the time came to
leave.
For, truth to tell, they were very enthusiastic about their moving
picture work, and though they were no fonder of a “grind” than any real
boys are, they were always ready to go back to the clicking cranks that
unwound the strips of celluloid film, which caught on its sensitive
surface the impressions of so many wonderful scenes.
They called at the hotel one evening to tell Mr. Alcando that they were
going to New York the following day, and that he could, if he wished,
accompany them. But they found he had already left. He had written them
a note, however, in which he said he would meet them in the metropolis
at the offices of the moving picture concern, and there complete plans
for the trip to Panama.
“Queer he didn’t want to go in to New York with us,” said Blake.
“There you go again!” laughed Joe. “Getting suspicious again. Take it
easy, Blake.”
“Well, maybe I am a bit too fussy,” admitted his chum.
Their trip to, and arrival in, New York was unattended by any incidents
worth chronicling, and, taking a car at the Grand Central Terminal,
they were soon on their way to the film studios.
“Well, well! If it isn’t Blake and Joe!” cried C. C. Piper, the grouchy
actor, as he saw them come in. “My, but I am glad to see you!” and he
shook their hands warmly.
“Glad something pleases you,” said Miss Shay, with a shrug of her
shoulders. “You’ve done nothing but growl ever since this rehearsal
started.” Blake and Joe had arrived during an intermission in the
taking of the studio scenes of a new drama.
“Is he as bad as ever?” asked Joe of Mabel Pierce, the new member of
the company.
“Well, I don’t know him very well,” she said, with a little blush.
“He’s worse!” declared Nettie Shay. “I wish you’d take him out
somewhere, boys, and find him a good nature. He’s a positive bear!”
“Oh, come now, not as bad as that!” cried Mr. Piper. “I am glad to see
you boys, though,” and really he seemed quite delighted. “What’s on?”
he asked. “Are you going with us to California? We’re going to do a
series of stunts there, I hear.”
“Sorry, but we’re not booked to go,” said Blake. “I guess it’s Panama
and the Canal for us.”
Mr. Piper seemed to undergo a quick and curious change. His face, that
had been lighted by a genial smile, became dull and careworn. His
manner lost its joyousness.
“That’s too bad!” he exclaimed. “Panama! You’re almost sure to be
buried alive under one of the big Culebra slides, and we’ll never see
you again!”