MOVING PICTURES
For a moment silence followed the announcement that meant so much to
Joe. He could hear murmurs of surprise, and the violent motion of the
craft in which he lay, bound helpless and unseeing, told him that the
work of rescue was under way. The motor boat, he reflected, must be
making fast to the other. The bandage over Joe's eyes prevented him from
seeing what went on. Then came a series of exclamations and questions,
and, to Joe's surprise, the voices of women and girls mingled with those
of men.
"My, look, Jackson!" a man's voice exclaimed. "He's bound, and gagged.
There's been some crime here!"
"You're right. We must get him aboard our boat."
Joe could tell, by the motion of the boat which contained him, that some
of the rescue party were getting into it to aid him. Then he felt the
bandage being taken from his eyes, and the gag from his mouth.
"Hand me a knife, somebody!" called a man. "I'll cut these ropes."
Joe opened his eyes, and closed them again with a feeling of pain. The
sudden light of a bright, sunny morning was too much for him.
"He's alive, anyhow," a girl's voice said.
Joe half opened his eyes this time, and saw a strange sight. Alongside
his boat was a cabin motor craft, and on the rear deck he could see
gathered a number of men, women and girls. What took Joe's attention
next was a queer oblong box, with a crank at one side, and a tube
projecting from it, mounted on a tripod. Then, as his eyes became more
accustomed to the light, Joe saw bending over him in the boat, two men.
One of them had a knife, with which he quickly cut the ropes that bound
Joe's arms and feet. It was a great relief.
He sat up and looked about him. The motor boat was a large and fine one,
and was slowly drifting down into Delaware Bay, for Joe could see a vast
stretch of water on all sides.
"Too bad we can't work this rescue into a scene," spoke one of the men
on the motor craft.
Joe looked at him wonderingly, and then at the machine on the bow of the
boat. All at once he realized what it was--a moving picture camera. He
had seen them before.
"Are you folks in the movies?" he asked as he stood up, with the help of
the two men.
"That's what we are," was the answer. "We came out early this morning to
do a bit of 'water stuff,' when we saw your boat adrift. We put over to
it, and were surprised to see you tied in it. Can you tell us what
happened?"
"Yes," answered Joe, "I was practically kidnapped!"
"Come aboard, and have some coffee," urged a motherly-looking woman of
the party.
"Yes, do," added another member of the company. "We have just had
breakfast."
The aroma of coffee was grateful to Joe, and soon he was aboard the
motorboat, sipping a steaming cup.
"Kidnapped; eh?" remarked one of the men. "Then we'd better save that
boat for you. It will be a clue to those who did it."
"Oh, I know who did it, all right," answered Joe, who was rapidly
feeling more like himself. "I don't need the boat for evidence. But,
since you have been so kind to me, I wish you'd do one thing more."
"Name it," promptly said the man who seemed to be in charge of the
company.
"Get me somewhere so I can send word to Philadelphia--to Manager Watson
of the St. Louis Cardinals. I want to explain what happened, so he won't
expect me in the game to-day."
"Are you a member of the St. Louis team?" asked one of the men,
quickly.
"One of the pitchers--my name is Matson."
The two leading men of the company looked at each other in an odd
manner.
"It couldn't have happened better; could it, Harry?" one asked.
Our hero was a trifle mystified until the man called Harry explained.
"You see, it's this way," he said. "My name is Harry Kirk, and this is
James Morton," nodding toward the other man. "We manage a moving picture
company, most of whom you now see," and he indicated those about him.
"We have been doing a variety of stuff, and we want to get some baseball
pictures. We've been trying to induce some of the big teams to play an
exhibition game for us, but so far we haven't been successful. Now if
you would use your influence with your manager, and he could induce some
other team to play a short game, why we'd be ever so much obliged."
"Of course I'll do all I can!" cried Joe. "I can't thank you enough for
your rescue of me, and the least I could do would be to help you out!
I'm pretty sure I can induce Mr. Watson to let his team give an
exhibition, anyhow."
"That's all we want--an opening wedge," said Mr. Kirk, "but we couldn't
seem to get it. Our finding of you was providential."
"It was for me, anyhow," said Joe. "I don't know what might have
happened to me if I had drifted much farther."
Joe explained how it had happened, and the unreasoning rage of Shalleg
toward him.
"He ought to be sent to jail for life, to do such a thing as that!"
burst out Mr. Kirk. "You'll inform the police; won't you?"
"I think I had better," said Joe, thoughtfully.
The motor began its throbbing, and the big boat cut through the water,
towing the small craft, in which Joe had spent so many uncomfortable
hours.
The young pitcher was himself again, thanks to a good breakfast, and
when the dock was reached was able to talk to Manager Watson over the
telephone. It was then nearly noon, and Joe was in no shape to get in
the game that day.
To say that the news he gave the manager astonished Mr. Watson is
putting it mildly.
"You stay where you are," directed his chief. "I'll send someone down to
see you, or come myself. We'll get after this Shalleg and his gang. This
has gone far enough!"
"What about the game to-day?" asked Joe.
"Don't you worry about that. We'll beat the Phillies anyhow, though I
was counting on you, Joe. But don't worry."